Sex and the City 2


Holy Overkill! It's your special day!

M’lady. An infinitude of lavendiferous blessings to you on this most special of days, when you are to pledge your troth to your hairy big-dicked brute of a bridegroom. As you stand, glowing in the lilywhite rapture of your wedding-dress, while the plainer womenfolk nip at the fluffwork with loving, sisterly pincers, allow me, your humble servant, to convey the well-wishes of the guests:

From Hindustan, the Rajah of Bombay has sent you the soul of a tortoise, embossed with the golden teardrops of a dying wizard.

From Bedfordshire, the Guild of Orphans has sent you a packet of Monster Munch and a balloon. Enclosed within the balloon (which cost them a year’s gruel money), was a petit-parcel of parchment, on which was written “we love yoo Carry”. Bless their little dirty faces.

From the Republic of Texas, President Houston has sent you a Cherokee Sooth-Sayer and with it a note in which he expressed, in his characteristically rambunctious fashion, disappointment that you had declined to be his First Lady (cf. Sex and the City, Season 2). What a rascal, eh M’Lady?

From Libya, Colonel Gadafi has sent you an exploding muff. They do things differently there.

Your good friend Charlotte has sent you a Latvian baby.

The enchanting Miss Miranda has sent you a Fraggle Stick. I’ll put it with the others, shall I?

Samantha has sent you a rude pun. Tee hee. She is incorrigible.

Unfortunately, your standard-issue gay friend sent you the same pun, but he did include a receipt so you can take it back to the shop and replace it.

…oh my m’lady. You look like a cross between Greta Garbo, Princess Diana and the Virgin Mary. I could cry. I really could.


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2 Responses to “Sex and the City 2”

  1. oldrope Says:

    Dead Lady Di or living Lady Di?

    That whole business with the gay pal sending the same pun has happened to me on so many occassions I am considering striking it from my next wedding list. Or maybe only invite straight people… might offend the groom…

  2. j-j-j-j-johnlbaptiste Says:

    To be fair, your last wedding list was a flipping disgrace. What spasm of diseased whimsy could possible have inspired you to invite “Beaver-Cleaver” McManhandle, the illustrious rodent-swallower. The father of the bride’s speech was completely ruined by the plaintive and chilling squeaks of a semi-digested stoat from within Beaver-Cleaver’s shockingly uncumberbunded abdomen. I was scandalised, sir, scandalised. I shall never marry you again.

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