THE PUSSY WHIPPED PRINCE

(Subtitle: Harry the henpecked husband)

As Hemingway once said, “In the world of sensation there is no going back.”

Prince Harry has described his circumcised penis, and his bottom being smacked whilst losing his virginity in a public place to a lecherous older woman. What can come next to generate mega for their bottomless pockets (pun intended)?

Well, he could always post pictures of his genitals on the internet? And Meghan could give us a guided tour of her collection of handcrafted bottom smacking paddles. And she could maybe reveal that she never wore knickers on formal state occasions to demonstrate her contempt for stuffy royal protocols like curtseying to The Queen? Although maybe there was a touch of envy because Pippa was reckoned to have the cutest bottom in royal circles – and a panty line would certainly detract from Meghan’s figure hugging $20,000 designer dresses.

Piers Morgan got it right when he said that Harry and Meghan’s reality TV specials were like the Kardashians, but not as classy and dignified.

Harry Windsor, to give him the title he craves, should be aware of a quote from another great writer, Walter Moseley: “In my experience beautiful people rarely give as much as they take – and they almost always come back for more.” Harry condemned Meghan from his own mouth when he warned his staff,

“What Meghan wants, Meghan gets.”

He is just another hopelessly infatuated man who cannot control a demanding wife. He should think on about his late grand-uncle, the Duke of Windsor (King Edward VII) who gave up his throne for the love of an American divorcee. He ended his days as a melancholy ghost hovering on the outer fringes of café society. The parallels are spooky. As Karl Marx said,

“History repeats itself. First time tragedy, second time farce.”

Right now, Harry Windsor is revelling in his bolshie adolescent role of “Black sheep of the family” just taking the piss out of his family, and making his millions. Maybe the Royal household are right to ignore it, get on with the job, and let it burn itself out. But what has happened to the British love of irony and satire (and generally taking the piss)?

We are treating the Harry and Meaghan soap opera act far too seriously.

Quite a few years ago I listened to a wonderful satire on American Forces Radio (very unusual because Americans, usually take themselves far too seriously and don’t take the piss). But this was called the HILL ‘n BILL show, supposedly broadcast from the Santa Monica Lewinsky studios. The set up was President Bill Clinton and Hillary sitting in bed on a Sunday night while she berated him for his poor performance the previous week and set his agenda for the coming week. Hillary’s dialogue was up-to-date and whip smart, in the way that only American sitcom writers can do (think CHEERS and FRASIER), and Bill’s only contribution was (in a down home Hillbilly accent), “Aw shucks Hill, do I have to?” while scarfing down 2 Big Macs and a side of ribs, and slurping a giant Coke.

What could those writers do with a show called MEG ‘n MILLIONS broadcast from the over the top Knightsbridge Arab throne room in their Montecito mansion? Throne Room being UK slang for lavatory.

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