2012 was an odd year for sex. I need only draw your attention to Hulk Hogan’s sex tape to prove my point, though due warning: the sight of those gleaming white-to-the-point-of-glow-in-the-dark buttocks is a sight that cannot be unseen (please do join me, however, in fervent prayer that when Hulk refers to “eating like a pig 10 minutes ago” at the end of a 30 minute video, he was merely referring to the mid-shag power bar refuel break that simply got cut in the editing process to make way for more of those money shots). And at this point, I fear I must take a moment and step away from these pages so I may regain my composure….
… Right, where was I? Ah yes, babies. Just like Hulk’s bobbing buttocks, they’ve been popping up everywhere recently, infiltrating our line of vision every which way we turn. Elton John’s ‘Baby Joy’ has been vociferously heralded from the cover of Hello! Magazine; the huge monetary glut that is already Kimye’s Kash Kow is being ardently decried by fervent religious types and the Daily Mail alike (the latter with much gleeful hand rubbing); and of course there was the announcement from Hugh Hefner’s gold(digger)en haired bride that she can barely wait to do her bit to further the population by producing the next generation of girls with debilitating daddy issues. But that is a coupling I do not like to dwell too long upon, or thoughts of the octogenarian’s withered and decrepit love making spring unbidden to mind and with that, I must once again walk away (really, this article is taking forever to write; at this point it will be February before I ever get round to posting it).
Then of course there was the bump that started it all and it is this one in particular that we must focus our attentions on today, for there has been a momentous development in this particular gestation period. I refer of course to the royal foetus and the news of its arrival on none other than its paternal grandmother’s birth date, which can only mean one thing. Ah yes! I can see from the look of dawning enlightenment on your faces that you got there before me: why, this is clearly and 100% rationally, as prescribed by scientific evidence and infallible logic, Princess Di reincarnated in K-Mids womb in the form of the royal baby. That’s right: Baby Di.
Obviously we are feeling untold levels of excitement here and if you do not share in this with us, it must simply be because you have not considered the manifest implications of Diana 2.0. So let me paint a picture for you: with the precociousness of children (not the ones that spend the first five years of their life eating crayons, as was the case with certain Lavelle children) and the unflappable lack of social awareness (aka big mouths) that will cause young children to blurt out the most inappropriate of statements at the most inopportune moments, teamed with the knowledge of her former life, Baby Di is likely to come out with some veritable stonkers of sound bites that will finally put paid to some of those all important questions and conspiracy theories that have been knocking around since the mid 90s. Furthermore, they will likely solely fuel the future of tabloids and even be enough to keep print journalism ? even when everything else has gone digital to the point where no one ever leaves their room except via hologram ? alive for at least the duration of her early childhood, if not longer, what with the potential for rehash on slow days. Add to that the obligatory difficult teen years when, following a particularly bad break up with one in a long line of unseemly boyfriends, Teen Di is caught doing lines off her uncle Harry’s chest, while he lies beer belly up after a particularly arduous bender ? following the untimely announcement of his real parentage ? and The Mirror could be set for life. The possibilities are endless.
Long live Her Majesty!
Image: Sarah Ferrari