The perils of life as a husband seeker
Sunday night in Knightsbridge – At a party in full swing at a trendy restaurant, a Pucci clad woman said to her friend: “I’m just so sexy. I’ve got the all-round package but I’m just not getting the right man”. By that, she did not mean the love of her life. This ambitious sort had another agenda and a simple one at that: She wanted a man with money. She didn’t care if he was fat or thin, old or young. All that mattered was that he had to be stinking rich.
As the Pucci princess smoked with her companion on the pavement, two Indian men got into their Rolls-Royce Ghost – number plate “BO55 HAD” – and wound down the window. After casually chucking out a Glenfiddich 12 year-old whisky bottle casing, they headed off to their next destination.
The Pucci princess turned around as the case fell to the ground in abject horror. She was not shocked by the Indian having littered the pavement with the whisky casing but, in fact, instead, distraught on having missed the chance to get an intro to the plainly wealthy Indians.
“You stuffed up there”, stated the Pucci loving woman’s sidekick. “I did, didn’t I? Why was I wasting my time talking to you when I could have had them?” came the answer. Plainly someone with a financial rather than a moral compass, this gold digger turned on her heels and set off back inside – lockdown on her next target. What a sad and disappointing way to live.
Subscribe to our free once daily email newsletter here:
A cousin of mine Aviva Green married an older man for the sake of his boedel ( wealth) He was very poorly and had late stage obsructive pulmonary disease and a central nervous system deficit. He required full care. Aviva assumed that it was a open and shut case, and that he would not last long. He must have been the devils own, as he lasted another 6 years after the wedding reception. The honeymoon night must have felt like golden showers as he had no bladder control, he had a toilet commode at the bedside, he had to be assisted on the commode several times during the night, he was also incontinent of faeces (dung). There were many nasty accidents in the bed. He insisted that Aviva take care of all his personal hygenic needs. He did eventually pass away, and left her a fair share of his money. But believe me, he made her work for every penny. Her gold digging days were over, as she now lacked the energy.
Why do you continually refer to lavatorial activities constantly? Do you have a problem in that department yourself?
Fiona, there is no need to be so facetious, it is a true story based on real people, although it won’t appeal to popular culture, it is a tear jerker, I cannot guarantee a happy ending to all stories. Gold diggers sometimes snooker themselves. British society is in a lavatorial state.
What a rude and inappropriate article. Typical of someone who attacks Rolf Harris – an innocent man set up by jealous money grabbing sorts. You are a hypocrite in attacking gold diggers yet not defending Rolf.
For God sake, free kangaroo Rolf. He will forfeit his placement at Chris Grayling’s luxurious Spa. The placement can be awarded to the more deserving musical tramp, he would at least find the time to learn to play the saxophone properly.