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The following is a letter received by his Royal Highness Prince Williams of England just a week before his wedding to the commoner Kate Middleton, which the Humor Times was able to intercept:
Dearest, most exalted, Royal Highness Prince Williams,
It is out of the utmost duty that I write this missive to you before your day of marital conjoining with the commoner Kate Middleton. It is a duty not of a peasant from a colony warning his lordly comrade from the upper class of dangers, but something of a closer bond. It is a kinship of, if I may dare say, man to man, or in this case, man to pampered, green school boy who, in all reality, has despite handicap done rather well for himself.
It may seem rude or impolite that I, one of the dirty, lowly, down trodden working class, would even dare to impart an understanding to one so obviously high in station above me, but it must be said. Surely those poof boys and thin veined girl servants that administer to you all day meeting all your demands but enacting them with the absolute minimum amount of social contact possible will not have the wit or the nerve to warn you.
And God knows the ministers and lords who direct your life and position themselves as surrogate fathers would not inform you of the dire danger hence approaching, my most gracious One. Lord no! They spent a life time building up their career positions and would dare not endanger it with timely warnings to a royal sprout, even if he stand chance to be the future King. They will let the guillotine fall where it will.
No, I must take this difficult task upon myself, and alone bear the consequences of the fruit it may bear.
Let me be the one to warn you, dear William, of the seriousness of the danger you now face. It can be summed up in one word:
Yes, my unfortunate William, you are about to embark upon an odyssey that many braver and more tried men have faced and sunk and drowned thereby. That perilous journey is that of marrying one of these creatures of the damned.
Alas, dear William, do not be taken in by ravishing faces and well turned ankles. There is a Devil, William, and it is not a he. It is Woman, disguising herself to throw off the faithful men who would other wise be true and virtuous were it not for an Eve’s lustful temptation. Few know that Beelzebub had boobs. Satan is a woman and the spirit of this evil lurks hidden in the dark heart that lies beneath her ample bosoms. Behind their angelic looks and come hither smiles, there always lurks a dark beast that is only satiated by male blood.
I know, William, the truth is hard to face. The females themselves often know it not themselves. But the cold hard truth of the matter that lies beneath all the illusions of our lives, that the impulse behind all the flesh toned nylons, the come hither smiles, the darkened bedroom eyes, the low cut dresses, the brick shithouse figures, the seemingly innocent flashes of lithesome breasts, of slender waists, of sturdy thighs; all of these things are oriented toward the fulfillment of Woman’s one basic, soul deep desire:
They want us to help make babies for them.
This is the sad truth we men must face William- they want and need us only to pop a bun in the oven for them. In all reality they have no other use for us. We are merely the carriers of life’s vital essence that they need within themselves to reach their destiny. Other than that we are merely noisy, belching, football watching, toilet fouling, lay abouts who would die miserable, starving deaths were it not for them taking care of us.
And you have been targeted by one of them. She saw you coming William. Commoners are often unexpectedly brilliant when it comes to knowing the right things to say to get close to their prey, much the same talent as assassins have who specialize in slitting throats. And geared into their DNA are the secrets of seduction, the talent of taking down a man no matter how strong, intelligent or talented he may be like a circus calf with John Wayne after him.
Woe be to we men Williams, for it is our lot to play the fools in the game of life. Although it appears that we have conquered and run the world by the time the last acts curtain has opened and we end the play humiliated, disgraced and defeated by powers we can’t see and don’t understand, it is too late and we leave life’s stage lesser than when we began, with an ego shriveled like wild berries in the hot August sun.
Beware, dear William, your inheritance is that of a King, but Life’s dowry, via a woman, shall bring upon your neck knave-hood’s yolk.
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