By LARRY WOODY
The world continues to give a big "Awwwwwwwwwww!" over the recent arrival of another Royal Rug Rat.
The "Great Kate Wait" is over: Prince William and Duchess Kate had their second Buckingham bambino, a girl, to go with little bro George, a real prince of a fellow.
Don't misunderstand -- I'm happy for the Fertile First Family. It's just I don't get the fawning fascination with British royalty, especially over here in the colonies. One of my ancestors, Paul Revere, took a midnight ride to help get the Brits off our backs.
(In retrospect, perhaps we were a bit hasty with that Revolution business -- King George taxed us at a lower rate in 1776 than our own government taxes us now. But that's another rant for another time.)
Back to the Royal Family: At least the Beatles could sing. Churchill could orate. All Kate and Willie can do is wave and grin. Methinks they are like the Kardashians -- famous simply for being famous...only classier, and with crumpets.
Frankly, I don't get the royal flush in England either. Do they really like to be called "commoners" and "subjects?"
"Commoner" sounds so well, common. And why do they have subjects but no predicates?
I don't know Kate and Willie personally -- we're in different bowling leagues -- but they seem like a nice couple...totally clueless in terms of life outside the royal bubble, of course, but nice in a vapid Ken & Barbie kind of way.
Trust me: Willie and Kate won't be getting up in the middle of the night for the ceremonial Changing of the Royal Diaper. A nanny will handle the poop-duty and other such toddler-related unpleasantries.
How, exactly, do they pay for their Pampers? If Kate works the night shift at Ye Olde Waffle House or Willie installs aluminum siding on the side, seems like we'd have heard something about it.
Truth is, they're on the royal dole, like great-granny Queen Elizabeth and all other heirs to the throne.
(Joke: Why isn't the Royal Family good at basketball? They keep shooting heir-balls.)
Back in the good, olde days a Queen might colonize a country, hassle the peasants about poaching her pheasants, and lop off an occasional noggin. Nowadays about all her Royal Highness does is ride her royal hiney around in a carriage wearing a funny hat and draped in enough bling to sink the Titanic.
Not a bad gig, considering that it pays about $10 million year plus subsidized public housing and a good dental plan. To paraphrase Mel Brooks, it's good to be the Queen.
I read that Queen Liz has 25 personal servants. Twenty-five servants; what on earth do they do? Take turns brushing her teeth and clipping her toenails? Peel her grapes? Chew her food?
Someday the Little Princess might inherit the throne from great-granny if things go her way. (Like for instance, little bro George abdicates and joins a punk-rock band called the Royal Pains.)
But even if she doesn't become queen, she's destined for a fairy-tail life of pampered privilege. No worries about student loans, no summer jobs at the Dairy Queen.
She won't have to go to Disneyland to visit the Magic Kingdom...she has her own; all on the taxpayers' dime of course.
Never mind a pony for her birthday, the Little Princess gets a unicorn.