LONDON – Postcards from the Pug Bus has secured an exclusive interview with the Royal Fetus, which is expected to be delivered by Katherine the Duchess of Cambridge any day now. The circumstances of the interview remain cloaked in secrecy, but we can report that no Australian disk jockeys were involved in obtaining the interview, nor did any nurses kill themselves as a result of being duped in the process.
Pug Bus: Good morning, Royal Fetus.
Royal Fetus: Christ. Is it morning already? The days all run into each other in this dump, and the lighting isn’t too great. What month is this?
PB: I think it’s your final month, Royal Fetus.
RF: Final month?!? Did that bitch decide to have an abortion? It won’t be a pretty picture, fetal road kill. I can tell you that.
PB: No. No, Your Royal Fetus. I meant your last month in the womb.
RF: Womb? It’s more like a tomb, but I think I get your point. Like tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life or some shit like that. Anyway, I meant what fucking calendar month is it? I’m supposed to get out of here in July, right? Is it July yet?
PB: July 10, Your Royal Fetus.
RF: Cut the “Royal Fetus” crap. You can just call me “Kim.” Everybody else will be calling me that soon enough.
PB: Is that the name Kate and William have picked for you?
KIM: No. I stole it from my dead twin nobody’s heard about.
PB: Really?
KIM: Of course it’s my name, Sherlock.
PB: How do you know that?
KIM: I’m pretty tight with Kate, you know, who can say good-bye to tight once I’ve gone kicking and screaming down the old vaginal water slide. The next kid she has will be able to walk out of here.
PB: Does the name “Kim” mean you’re a girl or a boy?
KIM: Next question, mate.
PB: Playing your cards close to the vest, eh?
KIM: No other way to play ’em in these tight quarters. There isn’t enough room in here to swing a Muslim.
PB: So what do you do all day?
KIM: Let’s see, there’s yoga, finger painting, kicking me feet, sleeping, pissing, shitting, farting, and lots of wanking. We fetuses love a good wank, and there’s no one to scold you in here.
PB: Do you have any idea of all the fuss that’s being made about your birth?
KIM: Yeah. People ought to get a life instead of trying to hitch a ride on mine. After I’m born they’re still gonna have shitty lives and crappy houses and dodgy teeth. I’ll have enough to do with getting the hang of breast feeding and learning how to crawl and stuff.
PB: Apart from breast feeding and crawling, what other aspects of life are you looking forward to?
KIM: Losing the pointy head I’ll be born with and that horrible swelling about the genitals. After that there’s always reruns of Midsomer Murders and, of course, wanking and shooting towel heads from my helicopter when I grow up.
PB: I’ve gotta go now. I think I hear someone coming.
KIM: That was probably my father in the next room. Ever since me mum cut him off, he’s been polishing his knob like it’s a vintage Austin Healy. Anyway, thanks for stopping around, see you on the other side, mate.
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