Comb Sweet Comb

You may think that I enjoy a certain “princess” status, given that I am indeed a demanding Jewess with discriminating taste. You may think so, even if it is a touch politically incorrect (P.S. political correctness is retarded!) to regard someone as a “JAP”, whether she is Jewish or Japanese. You are free to do what you like and think what you like. After all, isn’t that sort of the point of the holiday that just left us several days ago? Freedom and whatnot? Surely the occasion meant more than an opportunity to gorge your poor self on substandard hot dogs, pyramids of corn on the cob, and stuff like this:

I actually had some of this, despite my general aversion
to things dairy. It was prepared with such genuine
enthusiasm by two adorable little girls that I could not
pass it up. That was a freedom I did not wish to exercise.

So think what you will. (And oh, you will.) But know that if you consider me a princess, you are oh so very wrong. You see, I have come to the shocking conclusion that I am a queen. And no, this is not where I reveal to you that I’ve been masquerading as a woman and am secretly a gay man. Although that was suggested yesterday by my good friend “C”, who is indeed one of them.
I am not content to be a mere drone. I must be queen. Naturally, as such, I demand all the rights, privileges, and honors conferred upon royalty. And when I give the gift of sweetness, honey, you better be prepared to appreciate it. Learn to bee-hive accordingly and you will not suffer the sting!
That is all. You are dismissed.