royal pains in the...fingers?

when i jog on a treadmill, i bang my hands against the bar as if i'm poundin' out a brotha ("that's right put it there" type thing, cuz i'm so street, holla). as a result, a thin layer of skin on both pinkies have held a caucus and decided to pursue more worthy occupations as flaps of dead cells. this is the classic case of slowly boiling a frog (aka me). if you're patient and persistent, you can peel yourself like a grape and not feel a thing...that is, until you try to take a shower (and no, i'm not in the habit of peeling my grapes...i make my servants do it). and now, not because i want to, but because some of us can't help but be royal (i hear its a bit of a blood disease), We carry out all deeds with pinky cocked. in keeping with Our newly acquired character, We've grown a longer nose, bought some pince-nezs* (holla), and slept with various distant cousins/horses. julie andrews is Our grandmother.

AND what's up with all the common folk taking their morning constitutionals? could they walk any slower? We will bring up the issue with Our albino.

*pince-nez is totally my new rapper name. pince sounds a lot like prince and nez has a cool Z in it (you know, like h-izz-ouse or izzle). word and bark, oh, i meant WOOF WOOF.