I tried to smile through my tears. Predictably,

I tried to smile through my tears. Predictably, Harry misinterpreted my crying as tears of joy. His expectations of me this Valentine's Day were just too high. I wanted out.

Prince Harry's publicity campaign wasn't fooling me. I remembered when he dressed up as Hitler and posed naked during a game of strip snooker. My love affair with the Prince had

become national news. Now every royal schmuck with an urge was turning to me to satisfy their affair needs. Well, I'm tired of sneaking around and ending up on The Sunday Telegraph

Wire, it's like resting on a cheese cutter. So I said to the Queen and her Dopey clan, "Under no uncertain terms will I

sign this nuclear non-proliferation agreement! The terms are preposterous!" There was no way I was going to relinquish our military advantage nor be required to wear a training bra

. It was vital that my breasts remained feral, but I couldn't just walk out of negotiations and start WW3. I agreed to cease enriched uranium production and wear a thong. Was it en

ticement, the small bit of concealment? The Shiek seemed distracted by the mild pink coif of modesty strapped across my nethers. He pressed for full inspection of my hot spots but

Was only allowed to look at them from a distance. He had a harem where hot spots were ubiquitous, that should have kept him satisfied. But he was a megalomniac with fanged teeth.

but he was about breaking teeth. He cracked out his implements and dug in. Dr. Oolong lived up to his name, and now the wolf could smile in public again.