The following is a transcript from a statement made earlier today by Pippa Middleton:
My Dear Fellow Commoners of the Realm:
It is I, your darling Pips. Alas, as some of you may have heard, over the weekend I was taken hostage by French aristocrats. Well, one was a barrister – but one mustn’t judge. There is grace and goodness everywhere, even bits of Scotland!
However, I digress. I was somewhere on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, lamenting how dreadfully popular it had become in recent years, when a tiny Fiat with three men inside sped around the corner. Before I could react, out popped a man who I can only describe as resembling a Davad Palladini tarot (you know the sort). He said to me, “Darling, I am an artist in search of a muse to draw. Can you do dramatic hands?” Then he pulled a garish Hermès bag over my head and tossed me in the backseat like a sack of potatoes – can you imagine the scene? Him treating me like a common Irish vegetable!
When they removed the bag, we were somewhere in the countryside. My kidnapper introduced himself to me. He had a French accent: “Darling, I am the White Rhino, the Delicate Virgo, the Early Dawn in a Rooster’s Crow – can you ever forgive me for kidnapping you?”
I thought this all plangently poetic, but I found his odor of stale cigarettes and vodka distracting. Or was that my blouse?
I discovered that this gaggle of Frenchmen called themselves “The Merry Antoinettes.” The White Rhino’s two friends said they were named Freddie Mercury and Bruno Mars. They called me “Queen.” We had a picnic.
I shan’t recount the horrors of that bucolic meadow, but it is sufficient to tell you that the Merry Antoinettes only served Beaujolais.
Also, it’s worth mentioning that they’d been playing “Niggas in Paris” on repeat for three hours, in addition to however long they were driving around the city before then. Every time it ended, Bruno Mars hit “repeat.” What is a “fish fillet”?
When the horrors of that bucolic meadow were through, the nine bottles of Beaujolais glowing in me, and “Niggas in Paris” playing in the background against the early evening solstice, the White Rhino and I shagged. This dishonorable moment was also the closest I’d ever been to aristocracy. Prior to that, I’d always been made of honor.
I can’t be sure, but I think Bruno and Freddie shagged as well.
The White Rhino had worn away at my purity like the ocean strikes the cliffs of Dover, crumbling my chastity into his ocean of mirth. When it was over, for a while he drew chalk sketches of my hands.
Back in the Fiat, we set out towards Paris. Freddie Mercury mixed us cocktails of gin and milk and we sang along to what was by then a wonderful, clever ditty that I must admit I also loved.
Here is where the gun appeared. You see, Freddie wanted a fag and Bruno offered to help, having purchased a novelty gun lighter earlier. But neither was sure how to use it, the French being unfamiliar with arms. I tried to help, but the only arms I have ever bore were mine in a Maid of Honor dress at a particular wedding. If you’re unfamiliar, my dear public, have your help look it up for you on the internet. Is the internet still popular? One never knows.
Anyway, the White Rhino is half German, so he said he might be able to figure out how to work the gun lighter. Alas, as he turned to face the backseat and light Bruno’s fag, that is when the infamous picture was snapped. We hadn’t noticed the paparazzi until then, being absorbed with our gin and milk cocktails and singing along to “Niggas in Paris.” I know it looks like I’m laughing, but that’s how anyone’s mouth would looking singing the phrase “Prince William’s ain’t do it right if you ask me, ‘Cause I was him I would have married Kate & Ashley.”
I love each and every one of you. Thank you for your understanding in this deeply personal time.
Sincerely,
Pippa Middleton
[End of transcript]
-Dead Curious.com Contributing Editor: Julian Belvedere
