Duh, It’s Always About Me

Don't forget about me!

 
In honor of the wedding of Will and Kate, we here at UF have decided to bring the two gayest of English pursuits: Royal Watching and Prissy Soccer Supporting. Next up on the celebrity list: Diana, Princess of Wales.

I’ve been having a great time, thanks. Just last week, I was enjoying Afrojack with Usher and Sir Paul McCartney. If you watch the video, I’m hiding off to the right. It wouldn’t really be good form if I was out there, flaunting that I’m still alive in front of all those sweaty Americans, would it?

The idea that Will is marrying a girl “of the people” is laughable. Kind of like Liverpool ever winning their 19th league title. But it’s nice of him to realize that he’s still got a hard-on for me by picking such a plain girl. I hope they do well for each other, at least until he loses the rest of his hair and starts screwing farm animals like his father did in the 1990s.

Oh, wait, that was a woman? Well, then…

In the time I’ve been away, it’s not like I haven’t been a part of Will’s life. There was that hot chick in Ibiza that I paid to help him lose his virginity. There was that team of ninjas I hired to keep him alive on his “military exercises,” which really was a paintball trip that makes Barney Stinson look like a Green Beret. There was the genetic code I gave him to make sure he has a bigger dick than that inbred ex-husband of mine.

All in all, I’m the best mother in the world.

One thing I want to make clear is that I’ve gotten a little too big for soccer. I used to be a Chelsea fan. I mean, overpriced team filled with international players and a foreign sugar daddy? Come to mama! But even I can’t root for someone who lets themself go like Fat Frank and John Terry. And that slut Ashley Cole chose Cheryl over me? Piss off, boys.

So, after a few weekends of dressing up like a dude so I could sleep with Cristiano Ronaldo, I’ve decided to take my talents to South Beach and become a fan of the Miami Heat.

That’s soccer, right? No, well, no matter. It’s not like I really followed the soccer players when they were on the field.

In the high-class world of sophisticated people who faked their deaths to get away from the paparazzi, Mario Chalmers is the best thing to come along since Fabio. I mean, the boy went to college in Kansas. Isn’t that just precious?

Every once in a while, when I wake up in a pool of someone else’s vomit next to a person whose vomit it also isn’t, I catch some soccer on the telly. See, I still use English words occasionally. Like “torch,” although it’s usually to say stuff like, “Bitch, don’t make me torch your career. You weren’t THAT good in ‘Mean Girls’.”

When I do catch the good ol’ footy on the TV, I’m reminded what a great place England was for me. I spent much of my best shopping years there. I held the casting call for my two sons there. (You didn’t think I actually pushed them out of my vagina, did you? That door is enter-only.) I slept with my first Frenchman there.

In the end, I’ll always root for Manchester United, because they’re the best team, and Wayne Rooney has a good looking wife and maintains the English standard for ugly dudes landing decent looking women. And I met this guy in the desert a few weeks ago. He wore a Ryan Giggs jersey and called me a cougar. Granted, he wasn’t up to my usual standards, but I was always about the charity work, now, wasn’t I?

Before I go, I just want to say thanks for all the donations to my “foundation.” These tits didn’t pay for themselves, people, and I am your Candle in the Wind, after all.

Oh, and that ring Will gave to Kate? It’s one of the fake ones The Likely Lad has wanted to buy off the TV ads. Only cost me $12. The real one? Let’s just say that Chumlee and Big Hoss gave me a sweet price for it, once I threw in some added documentation, if you know what I mean.

So to Will and Kate, I say Mazel Tov. Oh, and surprise, Will, you’re secretly Jewish.