Harry’s arse 'a mirror to the soul'

PRINCE Harry’s naked buttocks are a blank screen onto which Britain will project its hopes and dreams, it has been confirmed.

Reactions to the arse have ranged from virulent republican fervour to furtive middle-aged frotting, as experts said the buttocks have created a shortcut to the national subconscious.

Royal watcher Denys Finch-Hatton said: “Looking deep into those pale cheeks, people will see what they want to see.

“Which in my case is finding a job that does not involve talking about a Sloane’s ringpiece.”

Psychologist Julian Cook said: “For many the arse symbolises the irreversible decadence of modern society;  a snapshot of a lost youth; or a burning desire for a new big-screen telly, like the one in the background.”

Members of the public have projected their deepest feelings on to the arse, with many claiming it is some sort of turning-point, while others said it was the sordid wake-up call Britain needed after the Olympic goody-goody shit-fest.

Helen Archer, from Peterborough said: “He’s just like any other  normal young lad spending five grand a night in Las Vegas and living a life completely free of consequences while the people who pay for his security guards are being gang raped by British Gas, RBS and the Inland Revenue.”

But Bill McKay, from Doncaster, added: “His mum was Princess Diana so he should be allowed fuck whoever he wants. The next time he’s in Doncaster he really should have sex with my wife.”

Historian Tom Logan stressed: “Harry is behaving in a manner typical of young, wealthy pricks since the pharaoh princes raced camels through Luxor at three o’clock in the morning.

“But it’s sad because deep down he just wants to be taken seriously as a man who kills brown people with his toy helicopter.”

Meanwhile the press responded to the Royal Family’s demand to have the photos banned with the four million acres of Jubilee coverage and a note asking if they are fucking kidding.



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Stop worrying and watch Deliverance instead

Dear Holly,

I recently heard a rumour at work that women aren’t supposed to cry inconsolably after sex. This has got me worried that my technique might need minor adjustment. What do you suggest? I’m open to ideas but the SlipKnot mask is non-negotiable.


Dear Simon,

Why don’t you stop worrying and come to my granny’s house for tea instead. While she’s busy finding the pink wafer biscuits we can go into the garden and snigger at her frightening undergarments on the washing line, and maybe have a peek at her dog Bilko’s enormous pink ball sack. He won’t let you touch it but if we keep very quiet he might lick it a bit. Later on, after we’ve eaten 15 Chicago Town mini pizzas and a mint Vienetta, we can convince Granny to let us stay up and watch something inappropriate, like Deliverance. While she fart-slumbers in her chair, we can sit back and flick midget gems at Bilko’s massive testicles, and all will be happy and right with the world.

Hope that helps!