And, as Bastardette always knew deep in her heart, she is of royal blood. A Romanoff, to be exact!
And born in Kenya!
Now that might seem a little far-fetched to those of little imagination, but it’s true.
After I received my original Kenyan birth certificate today, I did a quick Internet search and found this picture of my my aunts, my grandfather, and my father, as a boy, (above) summering at their Lake Victoria palace. Although this picture was taken years before my birth, I now know for a fact that Bastardette was hovering in the clouds looking for an unobtrusive way to channel my way into the Russian royalty. I have yet to learn how and when my father (who I you assure was not murdered by the Commies in 1918 as reported) met and married Sylvia Plath, but my birth certificate says it’s so it must be true!
Don’t believe me? Here’s my obc that proves I am who I say I am. Don’t concern yourself with the “certified fake” seal. That’s just a precaution to stop Internet birth certificate abuse.
Since I know you’d all prefer to stay home cooking or playing with your cats rather than wasting your time banging on the door of your local vital stats office demanding YOUR obc, I’m sharing the secret with you. Go here, fill in a simple form, and VOILA all your problems are solved.
In fact, it’s like being your very own adoption agency.
Then let Bastardette (that’s HIH Bastardette to you) know the family secrets the state has tried to hide from you.