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OFFICE OF HRH THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE

Richard D. Engle, Esq.

Sir:

Your interesting communication mentioning a Mr. Selene has been hacked intocome to the notice of the Duke's Office. We would be grateful for further information on the proclivities and activities of this individual, and a representative of the British Government will be contacting you shortly.

We trust we will have your full cooperation.

Yours faithfully,

Col. the Hon. Swithin Frothington-Fforde, KBE

Principal Assistant Secretary

From: R. Engle, National Affairs Desk, Division of Horny Goatweed

To: Hogswine Frothington (or as we used to know him back in school, "Old Stinky")

Re: This whole Pervo Situation

First off, I am not an esquire. I hate fucking lawyers. But I can understand your misunderstanding, given the way I behave.

As to this person's "proclivities," as you put it, I only see certain ones, and trust me, they are disturbing enough to make one believe we are only dealing with the tip of the iceberg, here. My only hope (which I hang on threadbare) is that he isn't doing anything involving barnyard animals, or engaged in other deep things (shaving monkeys, say).

Let's reel it back and look at the macro of all this. Our intelligence does know this, er, bare simple fact, that being that at any given moment, there are a number of people (well, men, mainly) scattered over the planet who are sitting in front of a computer screen, with their knickers down around their ankles, a large supply of tissue nearby, and (my) a product called "Lonely Man Hand Lotion."

This is the general state of it. As to his particular habits, activities, preferences, I will leave it to your own imagination. I wish I could help you more, but this all has been so disturbing that the preponderance of my cycles have been spent attempting to eliminate the graphic, psychological effects (mental pictures) that this triggered in my mind.

I wish I could be of more service, and perhaps I will, but at this point I am in triage.

Finest,

Lord Engleton

(a.k.a. Lance Thrustworthy, a.k.a. Dirk Digler, etc.)

Edited by Rich Engle
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Frothy:

Best send McSporran over to interview these chaps (they may be the same person or a figment of each other's imaginations); no need to alert M16 as yet. We have enough on our plates here with that wanker who keeps managing to steal the Earl of Wessex's underwear from the laundry.

Keep in touch,

Piggie

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Frothy:

Best send McSporran over to interview these chaps (they may be the same person or a figment of each other's imaginations); no need to alert M16 as yet. We have enough on our plates here with that wanker who keeps managing to steal the Earl of Wessex's underwear from the laundry.

Keep in touch,

Piggie

MESSAGE AUTO-DESTRUCT WILL ACTIVATE APPROX 60 SEC.S AFTER READING

Our dearest Curly-Tail:

First off, apologies in advance: as you may or may not know, it was Weasel Stomping Day over here in the Everglades, which of course puts a halt to whatever government functions are actually still functioning. If you are not familiar with the tradition, or perhaps need to refresh your understanding of this colorful ethnic event, I offer you a lovely reel--just ignore the upfront advertisement (though it is rather appropriate to the matter-at-hand)--I can't filter out what those bloody Nips over at Sony stick into almost anything the Film Ministry puts out. I mean, I guess if we paid down our debt a bit, they might stop this, as well as refrain from opening up any more of these damn buffets (they say they are Chinese but we all know who is really in back of it--and let me tell you, if that's sushi, it came out of the dumpster from that nasty Indian restaurant we ate at last year there in Toronto; you know, the one that required me to have my exhaust port teflon-coated).

Anyway, I don't know much as to recent sightings, activities. This Adam fellow is an elusive little bugger; likely a bugger that engages in, well, buggery. I have heard stories, horrible, horrible rumors they are, involving donkeys, leather straps, and 55 gallon drums filled with lukewarm oatmeal. Even if part of this is true, well, you know how They say "most myths are based in fact." Disturbing, indeed.

About the only, um, "hard" intelligence involves two fraternal twins who came running into the Indian gambling joint down south of me closer to the swamps. One of them (I know not whether it was brother or sister) was said to be garbed in the traditional plaid skirt/knickers/shiny strap shoes kind of outfit--you know, the private school thing--and the other one had some kind of ventriloquist dummy duck taped to them. I guess they really messed up the action on the blackjack tables and one was reported to scream, over and over in some ritualistic kind of loop (and this is a rough translation) "If that's what it is, I'm going back to Father Christopher--at least he had better candy and the whiskey was single malt."

I mean, that puts a chill on a man, thinking of such.

The best-case scenario here is that he will go back to his traditional stalking grounds, which is around the New York/New Jersey area. And that would be a good thing, if there is any goodness to be had in this. Even better, if he focuses on New Jersey, which always deserves any kind of plague put upon it.

That's it. If you have lemons, make lemonade.

Keep me in the loop, and I'll stay on the smegma trail, as rotten a business as it is--it is, after all, my Job.

Finest Kind,

Milk Moustache

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  • 2 months later...

EYES ONLY

Frothy:

Best send McSporran over to interview these chaps (they may be the same person or a figment of each other's imaginations); no need to alert M16 as yet. We have enough on our plates here with that wanker who keeps managing to steal the Earl of Wessex's underwear from the laundry.

Keep in touch,

Piggie

MESSAGE AUTO-DESTRUCT WILL ACTIVATE APPROX 60 SEC.S AFTER READING

Our dearest Curly-Tail:

First off, apologies in advance: as you may or may not know, it was Weasel Stomping Day over here in the Everglades, which of course puts a halt to whatever government functions are actually still functioning. If you are not familiar with the tradition, or perhaps need to refresh your understanding of this colorful ethnic event, I offer you a lovely reel--just ignore the upfront advertisement (though it is rather appropriate to the matter-at-hand)--I can't filter out what those bloody Nips over at Sony stick into almost anything the Film Ministry puts out. I mean, I guess if we paid down our debt a bit, they might stop this, as well as refrain from opening up any more of these damn buffets (they say they are Chinese but we all know who is really in back of it--and let me tell you, if that's sushi, it came out of the dumpster from that nasty Indian restaurant we ate at last year there in Toronto; you know, the one that required me to have my exhaust port teflon-coated).

Anyway, I don't know much as to recent sightings, activities. This Adam fellow is an elusive little bugger; likely a bugger that engages in, well, buggery. I have heard stories, horrible, horrible rumors they are, involving donkeys, leather straps, and 55 gallon drums filled with lukewarm oatmeal. Even if part of this is true, well, you know how They say "most myths are based in fact." Disturbing, indeed.

About the only, um, "hard" intelligence involves two fraternal twins who came running into the Indian gambling joint down south of me closer to the swamps. One of them (I know not whether it was brother or sister) was said to be garbed in the traditional plaid skirt/knickers/shiny strap shoes kind of outfit--you know, the private school thing--and the other one had some kind of ventriloquist dummy duck taped to them. I guess they really messed up the action on the blackjack tables and one was reported to scream, over and over in some ritualistic kind of loop (and this is a rough translation) "If that's what it is, I'm going back to Father Christopher--at least he had better candy and the whiskey was single malt."

I mean, that puts a chill on a man, thinking of such.

The best-case scenario here is that he will go back to his traditional stalking grounds, which is around the New York/New Jersey area. And that would be a good thing, if there is any goodness to be had in this. Even better, if he focuses on New Jersey, which always deserves any kind of plague put upon it.

That's it. If you have lemons, make lemonade.

Keep me in the loop, and I'll stay on the smegma trail, as rotten a business as it is--it is, after all, my Job.

Finest Kind,

Milk Moustache

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EYES ONLY

Frothy:

Best send McSporran over to interview these chaps (they may be the same person or a figment of each other's imaginations); no need to alert M16 as yet. We have enough on our plates here with that wanker who keeps managing to steal the Earl of Wessex's underwear from the laundry.

Keep in touch,

Piggie

MESSAGE AUTO-DESTRUCT WILL ACTIVATE APPROX 60 SEC.S AFTER READING

Our dearest Curly-Tail:

First off, apologies in advance: as you may or may not know, it was Weasel Stomping Day over here in the Everglades, which of course puts a halt to whatever government functions are actually still functioning. If you are not familiar with the tradition, or perhaps need to refresh your understanding of this colorful ethnic event, I offer you a lovely reel--just ignore the upfront advertisement (though it is rather appropriate to the matter-at-hand)--I can't filter out what those bloody Nips over at Sony stick into almost anything the Film Ministry puts out. I mean, I guess if we paid down our debt a bit, they might stop this, as well as refrain from opening up any more of these damn buffets (they say they are Chinese but we all know who is really in back of it--and let me tell you, if that's sushi, it came out of the dumpster from that nasty Indian restaurant we ate at last year there in Toronto; you know, the one that required me to have my exhaust port teflon-coated).

Anyway, I don't know much as to recent sightings, activities. This Adam fellow is an elusive little bugger; likely a bugger that engages in, well, buggery. I have heard stories, horrible, horrible rumors they are, involving donkeys, leather straps, and 55 gallon drums filled with lukewarm oatmeal. Even if part of this is true, well, you know how They say "most myths are based in fact." Disturbing, indeed.

About the only, um, "hard" intelligence involves two fraternal twins who came running into the Indian gambling joint down south of me closer to the swamps. One of them (I know not whether it was brother or sister) was said to be garbed in the traditional plaid skirt/knickers/shiny strap shoes kind of outfit--you know, the private school thing--and the other one had some kind of ventriloquist dummy duck taped to them. I guess they really messed up the action on the blackjack tables and one was reported to scream, over and over in some ritualistic kind of loop (and this is a rough translation) "If that's what it is, I'm going back to Father Christopher--at least he had better candy and the whiskey was single malt."

I mean, that puts a chill on a man, thinking of such.

The best-case scenario here is that he will go back to his traditional stalking grounds, which is around the New York/New Jersey area. And that would be a good thing, if there is any goodness to be had in this. Even better, if he focuses on New Jersey, which always deserves any kind of plague put upon it.

That's it. If you have lemons, make lemonade.

Keep me in the loop, and I'll stay on the smegma trail, as rotten a business as it is--it is, after all, my Job.

Finest Kind,

Milk Moustache

Frothy, old boy!

Delighted to wind up this operation with a win-win all round! Can't thank you enough for your invaluable help. It was your brilliant mention of the vat of warm oatmeal which cracked the case. I'm putting you in for a medal, though of course you can never wear it except at investiture in the Palace basement, and at your funeral.

That New Jersey chap was quite the red herring wasn't he? Of course we will be keeping an eye. But our man was, of course, a Scotsman and one we had been seeking for quite a while. We ran him to earth in a No-Frills supermarket in Ragged Tusk, Manitoba in Canada, stocking up on Quaker Oats at 79 cents a package, 5 for $3.00. Sad, really.

The Wessex Underwear flap was also solved without publicity. It turns out that it was in fact the Countess who was appropriating the netherware- and the Earl was doing the same with hers, ha! ha! An innocent family game, with no third parties involved , but may have been misunderstood if the information had got into the wrong hands...so mum's the word, eh? Remember the blood oath we swore behind the cricket hut between Prep and Chapel...

As ever,

Piggie

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Memo:

A Royal note...

The goods news: Prince William and wife, Kate (nee Middleton) get to move into the Kensington Palace apartment the lesser royals have always coveted: the late Princess Margaret’s digs.

◆The bad news: The rooms are painted pink and turquoise ... colors apparently loved by ladies who tipple and smoke.

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Memo:

A Royal note...

The goods news: Prince William and wife, Kate (nee Middleton) get to move into the Kensington Palace apartment the lesser royals have always coveted: the late Princess Margaret’s digs.

◆The bad news: The rooms are painted pink and turquoise ... colors apparently loved by ladies who tipple and smoke.

Memo:

A Royal note...

The goods news: Prince William and wife, Kate (nee Middleton) get to move into the Kensington Palace apartment the lesser royals have always coveted: the late Princess Margaret’s digs.

◆The bad news: The rooms are painted pink and turquoise ... colors apparently loved by ladies who tipple and smoke.

Memo:

A Royal note...

The goods news: Prince William and wife, Kate (nee Middleton) get to move into the Kensington Palace apartment the lesser royals have always coveted: the late Princess Margaret’s digs.

◆The bad news: The rooms are painted pink and turquoise ... colors apparently loved by ladies who tipple and smoke.

If they try to paint the walls and put in execise equipment, Mags and the Queen Mum will haunt them. Scary, scary wakings in the night to hear G&T rattling in glasses....

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A dossier of evidence obtained by BBC Newsnight from an ex-policeman hired by the News of The World (NoW) shows the newspaper was engaged in covert surveillance on a huge scale.

Over eight years Derek Webb was paid to follow more than 100 targets.

They included Prince William, Prince Harry's ex-girlfriend Chelsy Davy, former attorney general Lord Goldsmith and football manager Jose Mourinho.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/15644038

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  • 1 month later...

Dear Diary,

I have had to pretend I did not hear dearest Grandmamma again, when inside I was screaming, :"I don't KNOW!! She won't tell me anything! I have suggested we get one of those pregnancy test thingies and asked her how she was feeling , I have told her how beautiful and glowing she looks and all I get are brief smiles and eye-rollings and "Do you think they would lend me the Poltimore tiara for the state dinner, darling? It would look rather well with blue and it isn't too ostentatious.."the Trying is as usual, I think, but .. dash it all, I mean, if there is anything to know don't I have the right to know it?

Well, constitutionally and so on, I do not have any rights at all, but when a man's own wife will not answer a simple question...

Thank God for the Falklands or wherever I am going. I have a right to go there, Mrs Catherine Cambridge, and indeed a duty, and some people should think about their duty also, not naming any of their various names. I will just stand up to her and say firmly, "Kate", I will say, ....

She just came into the room, must dash.. she's got on some green wrap, rather clingy...don't think I've seen it before...

Later

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So often, Dear Daunce, when I read your journal I am just on the verge of understanding your allusions...or maybe that is an illusion on my part???

Hmmm....I wonder if I were to google the Poltimore tiara or Mrs. Cambridge or The Trying????? :o

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So often, Dear Daunce, when I read your journal I am just on the verge of understanding your allusions...or maybe that is an illusion on my part???

Hmmm....I wonder if I were to google the Poltimore tiara or Mrs. Cambridge or The Trying????? :o

As a proud affiliate of the Commonwealth Monarchist League I will save you a little Google time.

Source: OED

TRYING. Gerundive, deriv. OE tri, to go and maybe do;

The attempt to beget an heir to the English throne

Example: Edward the Confessor spent too much time Confessing and not enough time Trying.

Variation/Cognate

Honour and offer (source: Kolker et al)

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Thank you Daunce. I must have been asleep in high school during my Monarchism class.

(Wikipedia: Baron Poltimore, of Poltimore in the County of Devon, is a title in the Peerage of the United Kingdom. It was created in 1831 for Sir George Bampfylde, 6th Baronet.)

(Philipedia: In hockey, to give someone "a Poltimore" is to knock their front teeth through the back of the head with a single sharp stroke of the butt end of the hockey stick = poultice + claymore.)

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Thank you Daunce. I must have been asleep in high school during my Monarchism class.

(Wikipedia: Baron Poltimore, of Poltimore in the County of Devon, is a title in the Peerage of the United Kingdom. It was created in 1831 for Sir George Bampfylde, 6th Baronet.)

(Philipedia: In hockey, to give someone "a Poltimore" is to knock their front teeth through the back of the head with a single sharp stroke of the butt end of the hockey stick = poultice + claymore.)

Phil, it is Tiara Thursday over on the Royal Order of Sartorial Splendour blogsite. TT is currently running a popular series "Top 15 tiaras" (the Poltimore is #7.

There are also some tips for gentlemen's evening wear and I do mean gentlemen, at the very least. You will never wonder again, whether to wear your Commander of the Loyal Order of Epistemoloigsts, battle stars and medals from the Gulch War , or your Panthers jersey with plastic rat rampant.

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> your Commander of the Loyal Order of Epistemoloigsts

Some people on this list suggest that I brag too much or am a social metaphysicoid attention whore, so I've stopped wearing that decoration when I sit down to post. In fact what I'm wearing. . . . . well, never mind.

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Duchess of Cambridge is mobbed at Christmas Service...

She is a hot little number. She wears a nice hat in this appearance, but her hubby should wear one also, or face away from the sun so as not to blind us.

There is even a picture of Prince Phillip having a conversation with O'biwan's father in Kenya! Who would have thought this piece of history existed!

It is the second photo from the bottom.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2078446/Royal-Family-attend-Christmas-Day-service-Sandringham-Duke-Edinburgh-recovers-hospital-heart-operation.html

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There is beautiful news about the little bald girl whose wish was to "meet a real princess" and who was hugged by the Duchess this summer.

Her cancer is in remission. What a wonderful Christmas present for that family. The Cambridges have sent her a happy message.

Her name is Diamond Marshall. How brightly may she always shine.

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There is such lovely news about the little bald girl whose wish was to "meet a real princess" and who was hugged by the Duchess this summer.

Her cancer is in remission. What a wonderful Christmas present for that family. The Cambridges have sent her a happy message.

Her name is Diamond Marshall. How brightly may she always shine.

Excellent. Now that is what life is about! Great news. Thanks Carol.

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  • 1 month later...

Dear Diary,

It is quite bracing to be here in Argentina where everyone does not love one and indeed some are protesting against one. The taste of real life that I so treasure. I am missing dear K dreadfully, everytime I check my watch of course there she is in one dimension. She is in an emotional state because Victoria of Sweden has had a baby, and I so wish I could comfort her in person and of course Try Try again---must get mind off, wish Harry would stop sending me photos of new acquaintances and asking me what the Argentine barmaids are like.

I have not got to search for anybody much less rescue anybody yet and I am not sure who qualifies to be rescued by me here, so I hope nobody falls into the water.

Ich dien,

William

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  • 5 months later...

Dear Diary,

Harry is my brother and I love him but sometimes he is a STUPID GIT.There I have said it and I'm not sorry. Just when things were going so well, the Olympics and I rescued a Canadian from drowning and everyone had forgotten about Bea's wedding hat, and now this. When I am King I will tell Harry where to take his vacations, I won't care how old he is.

Terrible flap, Grandmama is refusing to get out of bed this morning and keeps saying she just can't cope anymore, we are all at sixes and sevens.

Aunt Sarah keeps ringing with offers to pop over and help.

Right now I wish they had posted me to Afghanistan.

Ich dien,

William

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Dear Diary,

We got her out of bed finally, but breakfast (very late) was quite fraught as she would not talk so of course we could not talk either except to the servants. Papa was quite sharp to the footman who brought him the wrong kind of honey for his toast.

Afterwards we gave her the good news, that the British public does not care about Harry's cavortings, and still think he is a fine prince. "What is the world coming to" she said. Afterwards papa said to me, it is a nine days wonder and they will be back to staring at Kate's waistline again.

That again! Sometimes I want to scream I AM DOING MY BEST. I Would not add that I have been told that my best is jolly good. But I would think it.

Ich dien

William

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Dear Diary,

Bea and Eug have come round to ask me for advice, they said.How could they get jobs. They do not want to be a burden on Uncle Andy since he has lost his job as trade envoy. And the Slim Down Monarchy has taken away their security detail except for official duties and they do not have any official duties, and now when they go to parties sometimes they do not have anybody to dance with.

I was stumped. Normally I would ask Kate but she has not had any jobs. Finally I came up with, the Armed Forces have many opportunities if you are interested, I find it a rewarding career. And Grandpapa's Trust, I am fairly sure, provides young people with job advice about staying off the dole. And they could get married, they are jolly attractive girls, even Bea's eyes do not pop as much as they used to.

I just did my best as I always try to do, but they did not seem too enthusiastic. I think I should take advice from Papa about it, in case the question comes up again.

Ich dien,

William

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Dear Diary,

As I write Papa and Uncle Andy are having a row right outside my door, thankfully it is locked, they do not know I am in here. Awfully embarrassing, I do not want to be an eavesdropper but I cannot help hearing.

Uncle Andy is upset about the jobs thing. "Telling ROYAL PRINCESSES to join the bloody army...you are not king yet you know...starving us out...when Papa hears about this..."

and my Papa, 'Mummy's blue-eyed boy...India...Air Miles Andy..."

This is awful. I am going to slip out the back way to the garden.

In haste,

william

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Dear Diary,

Met Cousin Richard and Birgitta in the garden. They were doing the same thing as me, ha, ha. Princess Michael came to call on them so they were pretending not to be home. We had quite a chuckle and a good chat.

They gave me some perspective on the jobs thing. Cousin R had a job as an architect but he had to give it up and be a duke when his brother got killed. Cousin B had a job too. She thought she was marrying an architect not a duke.

They said that their jobs were much more fun than being royal. But the job market is uncertain, whilst being royal is a secure income unless there is a revolution.

Cousin R has always been considered the brainbox in the family, so I am always interested in his views.

Ich dien,

William

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Dear Diary,

Harry is brazening it out and what can one do? "They told me it would stay in Vegas. It is not my fault. I am not married after all" and so on. And this! "Kate's cousin thinks it is a good example that a young man is comfortable with his body." The cheek! "That is all fine and well", said I, "but how many other bodies did you get comfortable with? Did they all take bloody videos? " He rolled his eyes around and would not answer me. Maybe Papa should get M16 to talk to him again. I give up.

Ich dien,

William

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