Kate Middleton

[RedinSweden]

If they like German names and alliteration they should just go for Karl. King Karl. Like King Kong, but not really.

 

Wolfgang Windsor

[KMD7]

Sky news gone into overdrive at the hospital waiting for them to emerge. Riveting stuff.

[Cardie]

At what point does Kay Burly get Dando'd in her stupid face?

 

Baby fucking cambridge!

[Bjornebye]

Helmut

 

Adolf

 

Or

 

Clive

[Section_31]

Seriously weird this shit, and all the royal stuff in the last few years. It's gone like in an overly nationalistic country where you've got to force yourself to smile and clap otherwise people think you're a bit fucked up.

[Cardie]

Unconfirmed reports that the delay is because Rafiki has gone mental and started throwing it's shit at Camilla.

[KMD7]

Kay Burley needs a fucking slap! Such nonsense from a grown woman.

[Pidge]

If they call it James, I'm suing.

 

I'd imagine a certain Mr Hewitt has probably ruled that one out...

[Mendoza]

[YOUTUBE]CAtrjDZdA-E[/YOUTUBE]

[Hermes]

3.7Kg!!!!

 

Christ, that's heavier than the mother.

[Bjornebye]

Seriously weird this shit, and all the royal stuff in the last few years. It's gone like in an overly nationalistic country where you've got to force yourself to smile and clap otherwise people think you're a bit fucked up.

 

Tell me about it. Fucking bed-wetters.

[Anny Road]

Fucking unreal bullshit on sky.

'Just shows how normal and modern they are indicated by driving the family home himself'

 

Don't know about you but I drove home to a palace in a brand new Range Rover followed by an elite team of SAS security officers in another brand new range rover. Who doesn't.

[clangers]

Seriously weird this shit, and all the royal stuff in the last few years. It's gone like in an overly nationalistic country where you've got to force yourself to smile and clap otherwise people think you're a bit fucked up.

 

It is and I don't believe it's representative of the population, I'd suggest the vast majority are disinterested. I can only speak personally and I can't say either my friends or those I work with are overwhelmed with an urge to celebrate.

 

It's at most mild celebrity interest.

 

In many ways I find particularly the BBC's disproportionate and fawning coverage more offensive than the royal's themselves. It smacks of the establishment, the BBC acting as personal propoganda for the royal family.

 

There's a vociferous and quite disturbed 10% who buy into the monarchy and identify with them. The rest don't really give a .....

 

It's all going to come to an end, Charles once king will find it impossible to respect the boundaries of a modern monarch and will directly interfere in the democratic process. He already is, the fact that the current government have gone out of their way to prevent disclosure of his behaviour says a great deal.

[Fowlers God]

Hahahahah you're all moaning BUT still watching the shit.....

[Section_31]

It is and I don't believe it's representative of the population, I'd suggest the vast majority are disinterested. I can only speak personally and I can't say either my friends or those I work with are overwhelmed with an urge to celebrate.

 

It's at most mild celebrity interest.

 

In many ways I find particularly the BBC's disproportionate and fawning coverage more offensive than the royal's themselves. It smacks of the establishment, the BBC acting as personal propoganda for the royal family.

 

There's a vociferous and quite disturbed 10% who buy into the monarchy and identify with them. The rest don't really give a .....

 

It's all going to come to an end, Charles once king will find it impossible to respect the boundaries of a modern monarch and will directly interfere in the democratic process. He already is, the fact that the current government have gone out of their way to prevent disclosure of his behaviour says a great deal.

 

It's all spot on that.

 

There's something strange been happening in Britain for a while and I can't quite explain or put my finger on it, it's more a subconscious feeling that things are getting more and more strange.

 

The way soldiers and athletes are fawned over, the way celebrity culture has become intertwined with it, soldiers getting awards from Carole Vorderman while James Corden wipes away a tear in the audience, the more aggressive media stance on things like immigration, the EU, and anything that's perceived as being anti English, anti forces, union minded or left wing. It's like a weird form of intangible, spiritual fascism which probably stems from the fact the politicians and media all have the exact same outlook on life, the country, and everyone's place in it, there simply are no alternative views anymore - none that are given air time.

[Iantn]

[YOUTUBE]-ZY-SIaO00s[/YOUTUBE]

 

 

This guy is boss!

[General Dryness]

I don't think you've thought that one through, have you?

 

Haven't thought through the sight of Kate Middleton getting a good rodding? I assure you I have sir.

[General Dryness]

Seriously weird this shit, and all the royal stuff in the last few years. It's gone like in an overly nationalistic country where you've got to force yourself to smile and clap otherwise people think you're a bit fucked up.

 

Ever has it been though. Remember when Di bought the farm? Fucking hell, you'd think she knew each and every one of the over-emotional wankers personally.

[Pureblood]

Hahahahah you're all moaning BUT still watching the shit.....

 

I had to switch 5 live off. The worst are the fuckers who queue up. There was one old bitch who had been there for something daft like 2 weeks (seriously), then she had to move from her spot because only the media were allowed in the area where she was. Hahahaha. Stupid old cunt.

[Kevin D]

Seriously weird this shit, and all the royal stuff in the last few years. It's gone like in an overly nationalistic country where you've got to force yourself to smile and clap otherwise people think you're a bit fucked up.

 

This was in the New York Times back in May. Switch a few words around and it's all there:

 

THE Roaring ’20s was the decade when modern celebrity was invented in America. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Great Gatsby” is full of magazine spreads of tennis players and socialites, popular song lyrics, movie stars, paparazzi, gangsters and sports scandals — machine-made by technology, advertising and public relations. Gatsby, a mysterious bootlegger who makes a meteoric ascent from Midwestern obscurity to the palatial splendor of West Egg, exemplifies one part of the celebrity code: it’s inherently illicit. Fitzgerald intuited that, with the old restraining deities of the 19th century dead and his generation’s faith in man shaken by World War I, celebrities were the new household gods.

 

What are celebrities, after all? They dominate the landscape, like giant monuments to aspiration, fulfillment and overreach. They are as intimate as they are grand, and they offer themselves for worship by ordinary people searching for a suitable object of devotion. But in times of widespread opportunity, the distance between gods and mortals closes, the monuments shrink closer to human size and the centrality of celebrities in the culture recedes. They loom larger in times like now, when inequality is soaring and trust in institutions — governments, corporations, schools, the press — is falling.

 

The Depression that ended Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age yielded to a new order that might be called the Roosevelt Republic. In the quarter-century after World War II, the country established collective structures, not individual monuments, that channeled the aspirations of ordinary people: state universities, progressive taxation, interstate highways, collective bargaining, health insurance for the elderly, credible news organizations.

 

One virtue of those hated things called bureaucracies is that they oblige everyone to follow a common set of rules, regardless of station or background; they are inherently equalizing. Books like William H. Whyte’s “Organization Man” and C. Wright Mills’s “White Collar” warned of the loss of individual identity, but those middle-class anxieties were possible only because of the great leveling. The “stars” continued to fascinate, especially with the arrival of TV, but they were not essential. Henry Fonda, Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis, Jimmy Stewart, Perry Como, Joe DiMaggio, Jack Paar, Doris Day and Dick Clark rose with Americans — not from them — and their successes and screw-ups were a sideshow, not the main event.

 

Our age is lousy with celebrities. They can be found in every sector of society, including ones that seem less than glamorous. We have celebrity bankers (Jamie Dimon), computer engineers (Sergey Brin), real estate developers/conspiracy theorists (Donald J. Trump), media executives (Arianna Huffington), journalists (Anderson Cooper), mayors (Cory A. Booker), economists (Jeffrey D. Sachs), biologists (J. Craig Venter) and chefs (Mario Batali).

 

There is a quality of self-invention to their rise: Mark Zuckerberg went from awkward geek to the subject of a Hollywood hit; Shawn Carter turned into Jay-Z; Martha Kostyra became Martha Stewart, and then Martha Stewart Living. The person evolves into a persona, then a brand, then an empire, with the business imperative of grow or die — a process of expansion and commodification that transgresses boundaries by substituting celebrity for institutions. Instead of robust public education, we have Mr. Zuckerberg’s “rescue” of Newark’s schools. Instead of a vibrant literary culture, we have Oprah’s book club. Instead of investments in public health, we have the Gates Foundation. Celebrities either buy institutions, or “disrupt” them.

 

After all, if you are the institution, you don’t need to play by its rules. Mr. Zuckerberg’s foundation myth begins with a disciplinary proceeding at Harvard, which leads him to drop out and found a company whose motto is “Move fast and break things.” Jay-Z’s history as a crack dealer isn’t just a hard-luck story — it’s celebrated by fans (and not least himself) as an early sign of hustle and smarts. Martha Stewart’s jail time for perjury merely proved that her will to win was indomitable. These new celebrities are all more or less start-up entrepreneurs, and they live by the hacker’s code: ask forgiveness, not permission.

 

The obsession with celebrities goes far beyond supermarket tabloids, gossip Web sites and reality TV. It obliterates old distinctions between high and low culture, serious and trivial endeavors, profit making and philanthropy, leading to the phenomenon of being famous for being famous. An activist singer (Bono) is given a lucrative role in Facebook’s initial public offering. A patrician politician (Al Gore) becomes a plutocratic media executive and tech investor. One of America’s richest men (Michael R. Bloomberg) rules its largest city.

 

This jet-setting, Davos-attending crowd constitutes its own superclass, who hang out at the same TED talks, big-idea conferences and fund-raising galas, appear on the same talk shows, invest in one another’s projects, wear one another’s brand apparel, champion one another’s causes, marry and cheat on one another. “The New Digital Age,” the new guide to the future by Eric Schmidt and Jared Cohen of Google, carries blurbs from such technology experts as Henry A. Kissinger and Tony Blair. The inevitable next step is for Kim Kardashian to sit on the board of a tech start-up, host a global-poverty-awareness event and write a book on behavioral neuroscience.

 

This new kind of celebrity is the ultimate costume ball, far more exclusive and decadent than even the most potent magnates of Hollywood’s studio era could have dreamed up. Their superficial diversity dangles before us the myth that in America, anything is possible — even as the American dream quietly dies, a victim of the calcification of a class system that is nearly hereditary.

 

As mindless diversions from a sluggish economy and chronic malaise, the new aristocrats play a useful role. But their advent suggests that, after decades of widening income gaps, unequal distributions of opportunity and reward, and corroding public institutions, we have gone back to Gatsby’s time — or something far more perverse. The celebrity monuments of our age have grown so huge that they dwarf the aspirations of ordinary people, who are asked to yield their dreams to the gods: to flash their favorite singer’s corporate logo at concerts, to pour open their lives (and data) on Facebook, to adopt Apple as a lifestyle. We know our stars aren’t inviting us to think we can be just like them. Their success is based on leaving the rest of us behind.

[Gnasher]

Kay burley is an utter cunt. Looks down on poor people. Sky news are utter cunts. The whole media are establishment arse licking cock sucking cunts. They showed ther true colours when that evil cunt thatcher died, utter private school educated eton cunts. Cunts.

[Hand Shandy]

Haven't thought through the sight of Kate Middleton getting a good rodding? I assure you I have sir.

 

So you've considered the fact that you'll get to see William's bare arse bobbing up and down for about thirty seconds before he spunks his load?

[Gnasher]

This was in the New York Times back in May. Switch a few words around and it's all there:

 

THE Roaring ’20s was the decade when modern celebrity was invented in America. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Great Gatsby” is full of magazine spreads of tennis players and socialites, popular song lyrics, movie stars, paparazzi, gangsters and sports scandals — machine-made by technology, advertising and public relations. Gatsby, a mysterious bootlegger who makes a meteoric ascent from Midwestern obscurity to the palatial splendor of West Egg, exemplifies one part of the celebrity code: it’s inherently illicit. Fitzgerald intuited that, with the old restraining deities of the 19th century dead and his generation’s faith in man shaken by World War I, celebrities were the new household gods.

 

What are celebrities, after all? They dominate the landscape, like giant monuments to aspiration, fulfillment and overreach. They are as intimate as they are grand, and they offer themselves for worship by ordinary people searching for a suitable object of devotion. But in times of widespread opportunity, the distance between gods and mortals closes, the monuments shrink closer to human size and the centrality of celebrities in the culture recedes. They loom larger in times like now, when inequality is soaring and trust in institutions — governments, corporations, schools, the press — is falling.

 

The Depression that ended Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age yielded to a new order that might be called the Roosevelt Republic. In the quarter-century after World War II, the country established collective structures, not individual monuments, that channeled the aspirations of ordinary people: state universities, progressive taxation, interstate highways, collective bargaining, health insurance for the elderly, credible news organizations.

 

One virtue of those hated things called bureaucracies is that they oblige everyone to follow a common set of rules, regardless of station or background; they are inherently equalizing. Books like William H. Whyte’s “Organization Man” and C. Wright Mills’s “White Collar” warned of the loss of individual identity, but those middle-class anxieties were possible only because of the great leveling. The “stars” continued to fascinate, especially with the arrival of TV, but they were not essential. Henry Fonda, Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis, Jimmy Stewart, Perry Como, Joe DiMaggio, Jack Paar, Doris Day and Dick Clark rose with Americans — not from them — and their successes and screw-ups were a sideshow, not the main event.

 

Our age is lousy with celebrities. They can be found in every sector of society, including ones that seem less than glamorous. We have celebrity bankers (Jamie Dimon), computer engineers (Sergey Brin), real estate developers/conspiracy theorists (Donald J. Trump), media executives (Arianna Huffington), journalists (Anderson Cooper), mayors (Cory A. Booker), economists (Jeffrey D. Sachs), biologists (J. Craig Venter) and chefs (Mario Batali).

 

There is a quality of self-invention to their rise: Mark Zuckerberg went from awkward geek to the subject of a Hollywood hit; Shawn Carter turned into Jay-Z; Martha Kostyra became Martha Stewart, and then Martha Stewart Living. The person evolves into a persona, then a brand, then an empire, with the business imperative of grow or die — a process of expansion and commodification that transgresses boundaries by substituting celebrity for institutions. Instead of robust public education, we have Mr. Zuckerberg’s “rescue” of Newark’s schools. Instead of a vibrant literary culture, we have Oprah’s book club. Instead of investments in public health, we have the Gates Foundation. Celebrities either buy institutions, or “disrupt” them.

 

After all, if you are the institution, you don’t need to play by its rules. Mr. Zuckerberg’s foundation myth begins with a disciplinary proceeding at Harvard, which leads him to drop out and found a company whose motto is “Move fast and break things.” Jay-Z’s history as a crack dealer isn’t just a hard-luck story — it’s celebrated by fans (and not least himself) as an early sign of hustle and smarts. Martha Stewart’s jail time for perjury merely proved that her will to win was indomitable. These new celebrities are all more or less start-up entrepreneurs, and they live by the hacker’s code: ask forgiveness, not permission.

 

The obsession with celebrities goes far beyond supermarket tabloids, gossip Web sites and reality TV. It obliterates old distinctions between high and low culture, serious and trivial endeavors, profit making and philanthropy, leading to the phenomenon of being famous for being famous. An activist singer (Bono) is given a lucrative role in Facebook’s initial public offering. A patrician politician (Al Gore) becomes a plutocratic media executive and tech investor. One of America’s richest men (Michael R. Bloomberg) rules its largest city.

 

This jet-setting, Davos-attending crowd constitutes its own superclass, who hang out at the same TED talks, big-idea conferences and fund-raising galas, appear on the same talk shows, invest in one another’s projects, wear one another’s brand apparel, champion one another’s causes, marry and cheat on one another. “The New Digital Age,” the new guide to the future by Eric Schmidt and Jared Cohen of Google, carries blurbs from such technology experts as Henry A. Kissinger and Tony Blair. The inevitable next step is for Kim Kardashian to sit on the board of a tech start-up, host a global-poverty-awareness event and write a book on behavioral neuroscience.

 

This new kind of celebrity is the ultimate costume ball, far more exclusive and decadent than even the most potent magnates of Hollywood’s studio era could have dreamed up. Their superficial diversity dangles before us the myth that in America, anything is possible — even as the American dream quietly dies, a victim of the calcification of a class system that is nearly hereditary.

 

As mindless diversions from a sluggish economy and chronic malaise, the new aristocrats play a useful role. But their advent suggests that, after decades of widening income gaps, unequal distributions of opportunity and reward, and corroding public institutions, we have gone back to Gatsby’s time — or something far more perverse. The celebrity monuments of our age have grown so huge that they dwarf the aspirations of ordinary people, who are asked to yield their dreams to the gods: to flash their favorite singer’s corporate logo at concerts, to pour open their lives (and data) on Facebook, to adopt Apple as a lifestyle. We know our stars aren’t inviting us to think we can be just like them. Their success is based on leaving the rest of us behind.

 

Well written thoughtful post. They're all a bunch of cunts.

[Trumo]

Hahahahah you're all moaning BUT still watching the shit.....

 

Hahahahaha you capitalised the wrong word....

[Carvalho Diablo]

Name the child "Quintus".