“We are not amused.” – Queen Victoria (allegedly, sometime in the late 19th century)
“We are fucking WASTED!” – Prince Harry (allegedly, sometime last weekend)
On Friday, English newspaper The Sun broke the British media’s self-imposed embargo on publishing those two nude photos of Prince Harry playing ‘strip billiards’ last weekend with one or more equally unclothed women in the $8k/night VIP suite at the Wynn Encore in Las Vegas. The UK’s Press Complaints Commission (PCC) reported receiving 850 angry messages so far, most of them kvetching about being invaded by Harry’s privates, er, this invasion of Harry’s privacy. Previously, much of the hue and cry the incident has provoked was directed at Harry’s minders for not doing the job the British public is paying them to do – keeping the ginger knob’s ginger knob out of sight. Scotland Yard responded by saying the team’s duty is to interpose themselves between their royal charge and, say, a bullet; stepping between Harry and his 14th Jäger-Bomb isn’t in their job description.
The Daily Mail reported that Harry’s $50k Wynn tab was comped by Steve Wynn, who obviously recognized a prime PR coup when he saw one. Frankly, we’d be amazed if Steve hadn’t played some role in the pictures being taken/released. We’d be equally astonished if other Vegas casinos weren’t falling over themselves to woo Harry with promises of even greater latitude. “Listen, if you want to use your royal dong to indicate ‘red’ or ‘black’ on the roulette table, be our guest.”
OFF THEIR HEADS, OR OFF WITH THEIR HEADS?
Harry’s high-jinks have also prompted the usual editorials from progressive Britons about the nation finally growing a pair and abolishing the damn monarchy already. While the cost of paying a couple burly blokes to keep Harry’s head out of the bog won’t break the bank, the royal family makes other, occasionally very significant, demands on the public purse. Lord only knows how much the 2011 wedding of Harry’s brother William cost, and the public parading of Pippa Middleton’s bulbous backside, which, despite its visual splendor, only goes so far in mitigating the expenditure.
Mind you, the tens of millions of pounds spent on royal wedding security were really only necessary because tens of thousands of ‘commoners’ insisted on queuing 12-deep along both sides of any road down which a royal carriage needed to pass to get in and out of the damn church. Simply put, support for abolishing the monarchy has never approached anything near critical mass. For whatever reason, the UK adores the concept of kings, princes, dukes and earls, even though the very idea of a hereditary elite may be the Dumbest. Thing. Ever.
This site’s founder is a keen student of history, in particular that of the Mongol empire and its leading light, Genghis Khan, a man who didn’t recognize ‘titles’ that men had not earned. Genghis Khan didn’t give a fuck what womb brought you into this world; if some lowly peasant showed greater ability than the local clan leader, Genghis would put the peasant in charge. This hardcore meritocracy arguably created the world’s first truly ‘professional’ army, which then proceeded to ride roughshod over the rest of the world’s armies, which were invariably led by the son of the man who owned the largest herd of goats in Krakow or wherever.
Of course, the present-day House of Windsor doesn’t have any real powers beyond the ability to call attention to itself, but that’s the point. What earthly purpose does it serve? Why is it worth an annual 60-70p out of the pockets of every British man, woman and child just to keep one family housed, fed and lousy with Corgis? A cynic would suggest politicians keep the monarchy going because it serves as a useful distraction anytime the government gets in trouble. “Hello, Buckingham Palace? Yes, it’s Cameron again… Listen, the finance minister’s getting a lot of stick over this LIBOR thing. Is there any way we can have Prince Philip call an Asian dignitary ‘slitty eyed’ or have Prince Charles tell his mistress how badly he wants to be reincarnated as her tampon?”
CARRY ON HARRY
For the record, we’re not ragging on Harry. He’s like any other 27-year-old unmarried soldier looking to let off steam in between tours of Afghanistan, except casino execs invite him to trash their facilities without charge and he’s surrounded by lithesome females positively gagging for a real-life Prince Charming notch on their bedpost. Any man who claims he could withstand such temptations not only isn’t a prince, he’s probably a eunuch.
Besides, Harry’s simply playing the hand he was dealt. That’s the thing about monarchy; you don’t choose to be born into it and getting out is almost as hard. His mother tried leaving it all behind, but the British public and their paparazzi middlemen refused to let go, and this fascination/obsession directly led to her untimely demise when Harry was just 12 years old. Harry will always be Diana’s son, and thus will always have a media bullseye on his back. He may just figure that entitles him to cut loose once in a while without the world getting on his tits.
There’s been some talk about how Harry has tried to shed his ‘playboy’ image in recent years, but sod that, we say. Be true to thyself, Harry. If the British people continue to blindly prop up this tottering institution, then an uninhibited Harry is the price they have to pay. The public’s childish conception of the word ‘regal’ needs to be periodically sullied by the glimpse of a drunk 27-year-old dangling his tackle out the window of a stretch limo going down Las Vegas Boulevard.
Thank God, then, that UK public relations man Max Clifford claims to have been approached by a couple other girls who were sufficiently fetching to gain entry into Harry’s VIP sanctum that night and are currently shopping more photos and videos to the tabloids. Bring ‘em on, we say. Publish the Harry ‘goatse’ photos, already. In three more years, Harry will gain access to a trust fund worth about £15m, the interest on which he’s been enjoying since he turned 25 years old. With his ‘fuck you’ money finally in hand, we’re expecting this honorary member of the CalvinAyre.com ‘gamblin’, drinkin’ and carryin’ on’ club to go on a Bacchanalian spree truly worthy of the media’s attention. And if the British public raises a stink, they’ll have only themselves to blame.
