Kate Middleton’s breasts.
I suppose if Prince William didn’t know the celebrity hell his mother was forced to live through during her too short life, he has a glimpse of it now as he lives through the idiocy of the current paparazzi scumballs who recently printed a secret pic of Kate; topless on a remote and secluded private French beach.
Who fucking cares that Kate was topless on a French beach!?
Jesus, it’s not like we haven’t seen enough of that already!
Instead of blushing about it, William and Kate should come out confident and pissed off – and tell the paparazzi, and society at large, to simply grow up.
Nor should they care about the opinions of the people who still get in a tither over a pair of exposed titties.
God, no body I know gives a fuck what that level of IQ thinks about regarding much of anything.
And why more girls don’t go topless on our beaches is beyond me. I sure as fuck would. Being topless on a summer day is one of the great feelings in life! Especially when one is at the beach, or in a park. Or when I’m home at the farm.
I know that feeling of freedom and sun. Most of my friends know that feeling as well. And obviously Kate Middleton knows it too.
But some ass-wank photographer with a high-powered camera knew he’d get a million bucks if he could capture a Middleton nipple. And he did.
And now I have to listen to the talking heads talk about it on the nightly news (where they continue to talk about it like it’s a subject that really matters in the world. Wedged, as it is, between stories on the famine in West Africa and the environmental price we are paying for our Tar/Oil Sands.).
And as part of the news coverage I have to look at the pic of Kate – with the obligatory little black line drawn across her you-know-whats.
Stop. Let’s clarify: not only did the photo get taken in the first place, and it was published (in France), and it’s an outrage for everyone (except for the French – who said they looked, but really didn’t care), and after all of that, I’m not allowed to see the photo.
I have to pretend I can see them / like the teany-weanie little black line isn’t really there.
I swear to god, those who control television and the media should be all sent to an island for the idiots.
They take an absolutely asinine topic like Kate’s little-bitty breasts, blow it (them) all out of proportion, and yet deem it necessary that the rest of us not look, or be able to see what it is they are talking about. That somehow we are too immature to understand what it is they are talking about.
They are our benign parents.
Protecting our innocence.
They’re like twelve-year olds, they titter and snicker and think and bully like they’re twelve-year olds, and they get sentimental like twelve-year-old girls tend to do (think Princess Di.). Yet, they rule the world. (see also blog about Jian Ghomeshi)
If people really feel sorry for Kate then they need to stop buying all that celebrity bullshit that they pump out and sell in the lines at the supermarkets. Or put on television after the evening news.
But you know what? That shit sells, and sells big, so you know more of us like this crap than we care to admit.
We know those newspaper rags are little more than garbage nests for cockroaches. But their stories pleasures the most base of instincts in us.
It’s written for those of us who desire, and get pleasure, when others fail.
And the higher the pedestal, the juicier the fall.
Amy Winehouse. Marilyn Monroe. Princess Diana.
And how fat is Kirsty Alley today…
So now we’ve all seen the Princess Kate’s little plums.
God people, we really need to grow up…