HRH The Prince of Wales: The Human Tampon
Every so often some member of the British royal family pays an official visit to America and for whatever reason our press corps hangs on every cupped hand wave and mumbled response to idiotic raves from fawning gawkers. Far be it from Booble to allow an 8-day official visit by the Prince of Wales and his former concubine and now “trophy wife” (say that with a straight face) Camilla Parker Bowles to pass without a swipe. After all, the royal mafia spin machine should not be allowed to work it’s voodoo on our media without the Boobs setting the record straight: Charles is not here as an ambassador of good will or to further enhance Anglo-American relations (as if that were possible with such a fop as Charles). Charles’ trip here is pure self-aggrandizement to prove his “Royal Crown worthiness” to the current figurehead-of-state Queen Elizabeth II (his mommy), who by all accounts is a bit chilly to the notion of giving up the crown to her son.
The royals are a fucked up bunch and pretty much so by design. When you give people tons of money and time, inflated titles (and the attendant ego-inflating sycophantic staff) and no real direction in life, guess what? You become a little screwy. Look at Hollywood. Look at all those bozos who made millions off Internet stock options in the 90s. Rock stars, another good example. Divorce, drugs, alcoholism, bulimia (repeat as necessary) are the common battle scars of today’s royal family.
Take Chuck’s aunt, Princess Margaret. Divorced, she died a couple of years ago essentially of partying too much. Chuck’s former sister-in-law, Sarah Ferguson (who’s father frequented massage parlors), was quite a party girl in her own right (Kitty Kelly claims she was treated for cocaine and amphetamines use prior to her marriage to Prince Andrew). Divorced, she’s now forced to work as a pitch-person for Weight Watchers. Apparently, she’s been tested for AIDS more than your average porn star due to her continued drug use and promiscuity with drug users.
Charles takes the cake, though. As the king-in-waiting and a grown man over 40, it was truly astonishing to learn that he was even capable of thinking about being reincarnated as his mistresses tampon, let alone saying it out loud (and to the actual would-be user of said tampon!) as he did in a recorded conversation with Camilla in 1989. Gross! He’s been “absorbing” a lot more than just would-be feminine effluent since making that comment. The British press have dubbed him “Prince Tampon.” Some have made the argument that he’s an Al Qaeda symp (due to his defense of Muslims in the wake of 9/11), others that he’s the anti-christ, still others that he’s simply lost his marbles with his occasional conversations with plants and Luddite tendencies. From a public relations standpoint (which is all the royal family has left) he has become, as the Brits say, a bloody mess.
But there’s hope for Charles yet. Fortunately for him he actually used the brand name Tampax in that now infamous phone conversation with Camilla. So, should his mother continue to stiff-arm him from the throne and his little organic farming experiment become consumed by locusts, he could always be a pitch man for Tampax, a la “Fergie” and Weight Watchers. He could have his own version of the tampon — “The Chuck.” “When your little friend comes along — UP CHUCK!” [Cut to shot of Charles superimposed on used tampon swirling in toilet bowl yelling, "I'll be back next month!"]
