Posts Tagged ‘Bergdorf’s
In her never-ending quest to perpetually embarrass herself and all those who still cling to warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feelings for her mother and father, HRH Princess Caroline of Kennedy today, in the jewelry department at Bergdorf’s on Fifth Avenue, announced her intention to replace Justice Souter on the Supreme Court.
While the entire transcript of her remarks this afternoon is not yet available, here are a few choice bits of what other shoppers remembered from what they described as “a totally inappropriate disruption of an otherwise first-rate retail experience with more of that attention-seeking dilettante’s latest flights of fancy”:
“Ladies and Gentleman, I come to you today not as the daughter of a former president, not as the daughter of a former first lady known around the world for her style and grace, not as the niece of a shameless drunk who left a woman to drown in his submerged Oldsmobile, not as the embarrassment to herself and, you know, others who tried to claim a Senate seat that didn’t belong to her, not as that same embarrassment who then thought she could be Ambassador to the Vatican, despite the Pope’s personal protests against me, and the fact the last Ambassador Kennedy did as much damage to US-British relations as was humanly possible.
No, today I come before you, my reddish-brown mane never looking better, my diamonds never sparkling more, as not any of those previously mentioned things that make my mother, father, and brother roll over in their graves. No, today I am standing before you as just Caroline Kennedy, the woman who now wants to be a Justice on the Supreme Court. The woman who once had that pony you all remember and loved.
But it is not the word “Macaroni”, but the word “Supreme” that courts me, a bon mot if ever I’ve heard myself or John Kerry say one. Because “Supreme” is what I’ve always been in the eyes of most Americans. The only princess this nation has ever truly had. The last remnant of a better age known as Camelot. A woman so beloved and admired that no matter how many ridiculous, you know, things I do to, um, make myself look incredibly stupid, I will always command my rightful place in the hearts of all Americans.
If Diana Ross could be a Supreme, with a sense of self-entitlement and a monumental ego dwarfed entirely by my own, then I can rightfully say to all of you here assembled before me, and all of the clerks busy wrapping up my latest purchases in the back, that a Supreme Court Justice is what I should really be.
In preparation for my new role, I have already spoken to my good friend Giorgio Armani who has graciously agreed to donate his services to redesign the Court’s flowing black robes and create something much more flattering for me, most likely in trademarked Armani bedazzled gray. You can rest assured that when I take my place on that bench, and I remind you I did go to Harvard Law School and have written children’s books of poems and songs, and so I qualify for this, I will, you know, look really good up there, and stuff. I will sit there next to the other Justice Kennedy the way I wanted to sit next to my Uncle Ted Kennedy in the Senate, because I truly believe every institution should have at least two, you know, Kennedys in it because usually the first Kennedy is very old, very drunk, or unattractive, or all of the above, and I can help with that.
Because I am a giver.
After all, I am the daughter of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis, daughter of former President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, sister of my brother, John Kennedy, who would have probably been President right now if he had sense enough not to fly his own plane. Because my more accomplished and talented family members cannot be here today, I will use their memory to wrap myself in greatness I have never possessed, in a way that forces you to see me as someone I am truly not, better than I have ever been.
I am not sure what the Supreme Court does, exactly, though I remember someone telling me about it in law school, of which I went to, you know, Harvard. And Harvard doesn’t let just anyone graduate from there, even if you don’t write a single article for law review and the rules for holding a position in that body are sometimes changed for no apparent reason other than to allow someone without the best grades to break tradition and become president.
Since we live in a world where celebrity and image matter more than actual ability or accomplishment, I ask all of you before me, in this most beautiful and sacred place, the, you know, jewelry department at Bergdorf’s, to raise your spring silk scarves into the air with me as I celebrate what will most surely be a smooth confirmation as the next Senator Ambassador to the Vatican Supreme Court Justice of the United States.
I wants it, I wants it, I wants it, and this time I’m going to have it!”
HRH Princess Caroline of Kennedy, taking a break from her usual busy schedule on Fifth Avenue and the hallowed halls of Bergdorf’s, graciously agreed to read to many grown people the other day in Manhattan.
She read a statement her Uncle Ted Kennedy’s staff or personal assistant wrote, about the need for mandatory volunteerism in America.
“It is imperative that people be forced to do things for others and not be paid for it in this country,” we imagine HRH Princess Caroline saying, flipping her reddish-brown mane from her wrinkled, sun-scorched face, with all the practiced equine grace of her beloved pony, Macaroni. “Compulsory volunteerism is what made all kingdoms great, from the mighty tsardom of Michael Romanov to the glorious Habsburg Empire and the many princedoms of all the various Germanic lands, from Prussia to Bavaria, Baden Wurtemberg to Schezwig-Holstein. And as my grandfather Joseph P. Kennedy told the British people on the eve of WWII, we should do as the Germans do, because the individualism and right to control our own destinies that made Britain and its progeny strong and independent is certainly not what’s needed now. No, we the elite demand the allegiance of ye serfs in the form of unlimited, unpaid, unconstitutional mandatory volunteerism, beginning with polishing the marble floors of my own personal pied-a-terre and making my silver so dazzlingly polished that I can see my gorgeous mane and remarkable smile effortlessly in it.”
Because mandatory volunteerism is a good idea, as proven by the whole-hearted spirited endorsement of a woman who has never worked an honest day in her long, privileged, impossibly fairytale life.
This doesn't appear to be a joke: Obamas actually gave the Queen of England an iPod (and she already had one)
We didn’t think anything could be more asinine than the Obamas gift of 25 DVDs that won’t play on European machines to legally blind Gordon Brown, but giving the Queen of England an iPod is actually worse.
And Her Majesty already has one!
Since 2005…when Prince Andrew convinced her to get one.
Well, now she has two.
The nice one she picked out for herself years ago, and the one the Obamas brought for her. At least this will work in Europe though, unlike those DVDs no one there can ever watch, and are probably being used as coasters right now.
It honestly would be better if the Obamas just stopped giving people gifts. The world can go 4 years without receiving anything from Best Buy shoddily gift-wrapped by either of the Obamas or their staff.
Having the Obama daughters draw pictures for people would be a better and more thoughtful present for any occasion. GIFT CERTIFICATES to Netflix or Amazon would be better at this point.
In other related news, upon hearing of the Obamas gift to the Queen of England, HRH Princess Caroline of Kennedy, Queen of her own heart, paused mid-roll amongst a pile of Versace and Hermes silk scarves on the plushly carpeted floor of Bergdorf’s to incredulously ask, “Where’s MY iPod?”.
“I wants it, I wants it, I wants it! Do you know who my father was? Do you know who my uncle is? I WANT THE iPOD! Wants it, wants it, wants it!”.
Let’s just hope the Bergdorf’s clerks get hazard pay, because we sense another Princess Caroline meltdown tantrum coming on.
Somebody notify Pastis! They’re going to need the calming blanket and hot fudge sundae emergency cheer-up kit at lunchtime again!
UPDATE: Let’s see how long it takes for someone to figure out whether the Obamas bought the Queen an iPod with an American pronged recharger. Perhaps they learned their lesson with the DVDs that won’t play in Europe, but somehow we doubt that. It feels like Reggie Love or someone else on staff was dispatched to Best Buy again.
Is it even possible to buy a UK-pronged recharger-equipped iPod in the US?
Because, otherwise, once that iPod’s batteries run down, it will be worthless.
HRH Princess Caroline of Kennedy’s remarks at the ribbon-cutting of the new Armani store in Manhattan:
“Mr. Armani, Mayor Bloomberg, bald man to my right who is smiling, poor people out of camera range, all those who’ve come to gaze in wonder upon me, I, Her Royal Highness, Caroline I, last remaining vestige of Camelot, do hereby declare this important new store on Fifth Avenue, you know, OPEN!
Open, sez a ME!
For too long, you know, I’ve complained about having to go all the way to Bergdorf’s for my Armani, which is more than four blocks away from Saks, you know, and an intolerable burden away from Bloomingdales. At last, I shall be inconvenienced no more, with a new Armani store cutting that distance considerably, you know, and it could not have happened soon enough.
You know, I stand before you today not as the woman who continues to trade off the, you know, accomplishments of her father or the well-attended revered memory of her mother, and the last living link to, you know, the myth and wonder of American royalty long passed, but as a woman who, like, you know, believes squarely that clothes are not just for wearing or for buying, but for loving. Loving dearly as children. You know? Children made of mohair and cashmere, leather and merino wool. Children who can neither read nor write, for they lack eyes or hands, and have merely buttons for the former and zippers for the latter, you know.
Children, who like me, often disappoint their parents, even if said parents are sewing machines and looms, and not enchanting ghosts used shamelessly for self-promotion by their heirs, or those their heirs support. Hope, change, Camelot, you know.
No, I, your noble Princess, do believe the children are our future. Wear them well, and let Armani lead the way. Wear them with pride, and fill this store with golden laughter not at, but for, the huddled masses gaping through glass from the outside, who may never be able to afford any of the gloriously overpriced treasures within this sparkling new ivory box, but will sleep happily in cardboard dreaming of all of us who can indeed afford them. Like, you know, ME.
You know, Mr. Armani, I could never thank you enough for providing me with, you know, something to do for at least three hours each day, that I’ll happily require my assistant and scribe to pencil in before, you know, lunch at Pastis and rolling around on the floor of the silk department at Bergdorf’s, splashing Chanel No. 5 at, you know, passersby. Foiled in my quest to move to Washington and set up my court there, you’ve given me new reason to carry on, and be carried away, amongst all these, you know, very pretty things.
Because it is not about me, the last living emblem of an age long forgot, but it’s about the, you know, clothes. Such beautiful clothes. MY clothes. In MY new store. Mine, Mine, you know, MINE.”
- HRH Princess Caroline of Kennedy, Year One, Day 32 in The Golden Age of Obama
On the Celebrated Royal Occasion of The Opening of the Armani Store, Fifth Avenue, New York (2/20/09)
Don't cry for her, David Paterson. It's official: Princess Caroline no longer interested in Senate seat (because she wasn't going to get it)
BREAKING NEWS: HRH Princess Caroline of Kennedy has issued an official proclamation, expertly drawn on salted parchment in swirling calligraphy and hand delivered to Governor David Paterson in Albany by velvet gloved paiges, informing the Governor Her Royal Highness is no longer interested in being a United States Senator.
Scented with pomegranate and jasmine, tied up in horsehair ribbons and macaroni, the royal proclamation reads:
Dear Governor Paterson,
It won’t be easy. You’ll think it strange, when I try to explain how I feel, that I still need your love after all that I’ve done to embarrass myself.
You won’t believe me.
All you will see is the girl you once knew, her face cracked and covered with lines, remembering ponies and sparkles long faded away.
I had to let it happen, for hope and change. I couldn’t stay all my life down at Bergdorf’s, looking out of the windows, afraid of the sun.
So, I chose boredom.
Running around, trying on all the shoes. But nothing impressed me at all. I never expected it to.
Don’t cry for me Governor Paterson.
The truth is, I embarrassed you. All through my campaign days. My mad existence. I kept no promises. Now keep your distance.
Because, as for fortune, and as for fame, you know I invited them in.
Rightly, it seemed to the world they were all I desired.
I am an illusion.
I have no solutions and promise to drag down your ticket in time.
I love me, and hoped you’d love me too.
Don’t cry for me Governor Paterson.
Have I said too much?
And there’s nothing more I can say to you. But all you have to do is look at me to know that every word is true.
Yours in slothful dilettantism,