No doubt we all saw the nude photos of Prince Harry in Las Vegas a couple of weeks back. Some of us probably still have the cataracts to prove it. Really, he wasn’t that amazing. I think I’ve pulled hotter things out of my nose.*
Naked royalty doesn’t really do much for me (having said that, I’m certainly grateful it was Prince Harry starkers and not Prince Philip). I couldn’t care less about His Royal Nudeness, which is one of the many qualities separating me from Rupert Murdoch (others include the fact that I have all my own teeth and would not do well in a Montgomery Burns lookalike contest).
Murdoch, who is on Twitter despite the fact that many people his age have trouble remembering their PIN at the ATM, weighed in on the Prince being photographed starkers by tweeting “Prince Harry. Give him a break.” No, Rupert. GIVE HIM A TOWEL.
Nevertheless, the business world has jumped on Prince Harry’s nudity (not literally) with a few companies trying their darndest to turn a profit from his romp in the raw. The Vegas tourism board busted out print ads proclaiming “Keep Calm And Carry On Harry” which, judging from the Prince’s poor excuse for chest hair, would have been better off advising “Keep Calm And Carry On Waxing Harry”. I’ll say it: even I’ve got a better pectoral rug. No, really.
Lynx fragrance for men released print ads displaying a pair of Union Jack briefs with the tagline “One has unleashed the chaos”. My jury’s still out on the appropriateness of describing what is contained by a guy’s jocks as chaotic. Having a chaotic downstairs department tends to imply there’s stuff everywhere. And by “stuff” I mean…never mind.
Also having a crack at Harry’s… well, crack are the Chippendales, those shy and retiring blokes who get around getting their gear off for the benefit of equally demure and restrained women (not). So impressed was a spokesman for the all-male revue with the prince’s public foray into the altogether that they issued him a job offer: “We figured that since he seems to enjoy taking his clothes off in Las Vegas, why not do it on stage at the #1 male revue in the world?” Great idea, but he’s missing one important point: royals don’t actually work. Plus, the carrot-coloured fake tan usually sported by Chippendales would clash with Harry’s hair.
Not to be outdone, Playgirl magazine also offered Harry up to a million dollars to bare all on its pages. Yeah, because those royals really need the cash. I’ve lost count of how often I’ve seen members of the monarchy hanging round the steps of Flinders Street station, asking passers-by for a couple of bucks for a train ticket to Frankston. I’m sick of turning on my telly and seeing blue-bloods trying to win the big money from Big Brother. And if there’s one thing I really hate, it’s being beaten to the cash prize for completing the crossword known as Mr Wisdom’s Whopper by a sovereign with an accumulated HECS debt.
Come to think of it, maybe I should try nuding up for extra cash – this hairy chest has got to be worth something.
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