This round so totally goes to Canada. Why? Well, let’s see…what did the widely respected Guardian have as a front-page headline two days ago?
Queen’s Grandson to Marry in Castle.
Like, duh. You think he’s going to do it in a graveyard at midnight, a Vegas Chapel of Luv, or some unpronounceable South American bureaucrat’s office? No; he’s Peter Fucking Phillips and he is going to goddam well get married at Windsor Castle and we DO NOT NEED A NEWSPAPER to tell us that.
The story, strangely, appears to be offline now. Perhaps they came to their senses, or perhaps I’m not the first to have remarked on the remarkable stupidity of that headline.
And what, you may ask, is this world-beating entry from the Socialist Republic of Canuckistan? Just this:
He’s Eating My Brain! I Can Feel It!
Naturally, it takes more than a grizzly bear attack in which he gnaws on your brain to keep a Canadian down; the fellow actually picked himself up after the bear was done with him and drove himself 25 kilometres to a gas station, where they called for help.
His hands were so swollen and bloody, he could barely get his keys out of his pocket, said Case, an experienced outdoorsman.
“I knew that if I didn’t drive and have the fortitude to control things, I was going to die.”
Case then drove 25 agonizing kilometres to the closest town to seek help. He finally reached a gas station and asked the attendant to call for an ambulance.
“I think my brains are hanging out,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m alive. I started wiggling my fingers and toes…”
“I said [to the doctors], ‘There’s nothing hanging out that you’re not telling me?’ They said, ‘No, you’re OK'”
“They started using the peroxide and, ‘Ooh,’ I said, ‘that hurt more than the bear!'”
Badassery. We haz it.
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
: 
that’s not really fair, he could’ve been getting married in westminster abbey, or some other church instead of the castle. though a graveyard at midnight sounds much more interesting.
No, he’s technically a commoner, so he can’t be married at Westminster Abbey. Only “real” royals can be married there.
He did get married in church…in the castle’s church. Must be nice to have your own church.
I think Viggo Mortensen and Exene were married in a graveyard; she was going through a Goth phase at the time. But it might just have been a ruined church, too. Neither of them are what you’d call tremendously religious.
Do you know much about his Canadian bride Spring, or Autumn or whatever her name is?
All I know is, she’s from Montreal.
http://www.cbc.ca/world/story/2008/05/17/royal-wedding.html
Pingback: Cannibalism Unicorn Chaser « raincoaster
“He’s eating my gristle and he’s gnawing on my head. I was saying, ‘He’s eating my brains. I can feel it.’
-eeek!
Eew!
Your Grace
Apparently, he was prepared to give up his right to Brenda’s throne to marry his True Love
For a tale romantique, one can forgive birth in Shepherds Bush or even Montreal
but surely you can’t expect us to forgive being born in Texas or West Virginia
Yr obedt servt etc
G E
Well, you’ve obviously never been to Montreal. Montreal is cooler than Paris, and far less touristy or abusive.
As for Texas or West Virginia, those are things I prefer not to think about, thankyouverymuch.
What’s so special about that? I do the same thing every Election Day after leaving the polling place.
No wonder you people drink so much.
Blah, Exene.
I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall in their bedroom.
Oh yes, it’s a very complicated situation, that one. When she got her star on the walk of fame, Viggo didn’t show up, but the man she dumped to marry Viggo did.
Maybe she’s the only who is not in denial that Viggo is gay.
Uh oh, I committed blasphemy! But I can’t help but think that he is too brilliant of a man to be straight!
From what I’ve heard, he’s straight. He’s actively straight three or four nights a week, apparently, so try hanging out in bars in Venice, California.
Really? I was in Venice Beach for eleven days. How did I miss that one?
Okay, that is IT! The next time you visit Max give me a heads-up and I will dig out the man’s ADDRESS, which I have somewhere in my Stalker folder.
Pingback: Why it’s called “Meatspace” « raincoaster