So BritPrince Rufus Castratus and his wife Caring-Slut head off to Africa to do Noble Things, said things including but not limited to hugging Black chilluns, waving their own baby around, and giving inspiring speeches to Third-World Yoot, telling them not to despair but to strive to achieve the kinds of things otherwise only available to people born into noble families, or married into them, or to those of inherited wealth.
The problem, though, is that the African Adventure was supposed to be a giant PR stunt to assuage the storm of opprobrium which burst out when the Royal Ginger addressed a climate-scold conference, telling everyone to lower their carbon footprint, when in fact he’d swanned over to the conference on a series of filthy, polluting private jets.
And the African Adventure certainly started out that way for them; adoring crowds at every stop, lickspittle Press reports and millions of cute baby pics everywhere.
Because of royalty (his) and celebrity (hers), a certain amount of security would be needed because Africa, and (forgive the unconscious racism) there is no such thing as an “armored SUV” anywhere on the Darkie Continent except as owned by various criminal thugs of the Mugabe stripe who (quite sensibly) were not going to hand over their armored vehicles and leave themselves vulnerable to, well, the rest of Africa.
So the BritGov arranged for a few of these rhino-trucks to be flown over to Darkest Africa, creating in their wake a carbon footprint equivalent to the Krakatoa eruption (some slight exaggeration, but that’s the leitmotif of the International Climate Fear Set, isn’t it?). Needless to say, all the Perpetually Indignants are beside themselves with fury.
I kinda feel sorry for His Gingerness. He’s tried so hard to Do The Right Thing (as defined by his Hollywood slutwife): announced that they’re only going to have two children because social responsibility; given up birdshooting, boozing, foxhunting, eating meat, carousing and all the other stuff which made him lovable, and gone pretty much Full Woke (and we all know what perils lie there).
And that’s the problem right there. If you’re going to set yourselves up as the Duke and Duchess of Wokeshire, you’re always going to fuck up disastrously in some way or another no matter what you do, just because of the nature of your job (such as it is) and the minefield that is wokedom.
Stop to eat some local delicacy at a roadside vendor? Don’t you know that the animal which gave up its testicles for you is on the U.N. Endangered Species List?
Attend a tribal dance festival, put on some of the dancers’ duds and join in the dance? OMG that cultural appropriation is SO disrespectful!
Watch your cousin ride in some equestrian competition? Don’t you KNOW how much the horses suffer?
And so on.
There’s a simple solution to all of this for old Harry:
- ditch the slutwife, keep the kid (and I have some support for this)
- start doing again all the things he used to enjoy before the Mulatto Actress Infatuation (boozing, bonking blondes, birdshooting, driving fast cars, doing all four of those things at the same time, etc.)
- tell the whiny wokescolds to fuck off — he’s a Royal, FFS, and he doesn’t need anyone’s approval to do anything
But he’s never going to go there, is he? Because in terms of becoming King of Britishland, his brother (and his expanding brood) has relegated Rufus pretty much to the 2nd XI, inheritance-wise; and without being the Woke Prince, therefore, all he would have left to do is open supermarkets, attend formal balls, go to church with Granny, and hand out the trophies at the Upper Twittering Boys Athletics competition.
Just like all the other minor royals, in other words.
But at least he’d get his balls back.
I think you’re missing the obvious, Kim. He’s setting himself up as the awkward relative. You know, the Mark Thatcher, the Prince Edward. The Prince Philip to Queen Elizabeth. It’s his job to draw media attention from the rest.
The question becomes, is he doing it deliberately or through incompetence?
As regards awkward relatives, Harry has it easy. We here in the (former) Colonies have to struggle by with the odd crazy and/or Fundamentalist aunt.
Is Harry and his harridan more obnoxious than his American counterpart, Robert F Kennedy, Jr.?
When the carbon fanatics come up with a way to eliminate the “problem” without requiring the distribution of large amounts of tax money to their friends and families, I’ll consider listening to them.
I wouldn’t be super harsh on Prince Harry. He at least served honorably in the British Army in combat in Afghanistan (until some twit reporter broke his cover), and later became an Apache helicopter pilot.
I agree he seems to have wimped out since getting married.
On the other hand, he is miles ahead of his snotty little upper class twit of a father.
I would not tell anyone to leave their wife (excepting as a reaction to infidelity, or something like that). This is doubly so with kids in the marriage.
As to his wife’s slight tan, who cares (my wife is a heck of a lot darker). That is not the problem. Of course my wife is very conservative and his is a lefty troll, but that is not the heart of the problem as there are conservative men married to lefty women who make it work.
The problem is that he is not standing up and being a man. She will probably say she does not like it, but actually most women want to be married to a man they respect, and you do not get that by being a doormat.
As for the carbon fanatics, ignore them. They are idiots.
“… telling them not to despair but to strive to achieve…”
Endeavor to persevere?
You beat me to it.
One classic line of many from that movie.
There is an extreme mental disturbance occurring when a person has a chance to continue to shoot upland birds in incredible places following years of family tradition and his wife says no so he says, “Yes Dear!”
You well and truly closed on a positive note.
He never had balls in the first place. His fame and prowess are the manufactured type. Just like his brother. If you didn’t see through this cuck from day one you need to get your eyeballs and brain DX’d pronto.
Hint: You don’t go from he-man to brainless cuck over a “genetic blend with uncertain ends, on a fortune hunt that’s far too fleet” unless that’s what you were to start with. The octaroon kid? Throw the baby out with the bathwater bitch.
You know how this ends, right? She will use him like a rented mule as long as she can.
WRT his never becoming king, I dunno.
Richard III was the youngest son, too. But he still became king.
I know some people hate “anachronistic Shakespeare” but you can’t tell me this isn’t an awesome opening to a movie:
Maybe what Harry lacks is Richard’s, ahem, “Ambition.” 😉
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