Harry Harry Harry.
What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas if you are Suzy Housecoat or Joe Lunchbox from Duluth, but (whether it’s right or wrong, fair or unfair) Royal Highnesses – and those third in line to the throne of England – are a different matter.
Now I am hardly one to point fingers…
Your Humble Blogger was playing strip pool before you were born (along with strip poker, strip Yahtzee, strip chess… even strip solitaire – which is pretty sad, actually – and did I mention I was once in the top ten of “RateMyShlong.com” a few years back? But I digress).
But back in those days it was possible to have a one off moment of youthful nudeful abandon without someone taking a photo on the sly.
Alas, my dear Prince, those days are gone.
Today someone can snap a photo on their iPhone and have your bare ass on the Internet before you’ve even had a chance to put on your underwear.
Now though you should have learned your lesson when someone snapped that photo of you dressed as a Nazi a few Halloween’s back, I think it’s time that you make a conscious decision to keep your clothes on mixed company. Not that we don’t appreciate how you look naked, Harry.
In fact, may I say “Bravo!”
And though I know that being a Prince pretty much means you can get all the – what’s the classy word for it – “attention of ladies”? One must be diligent to ensure that evidence of said… um… “attention” is destroyed or (better yet) never exist in the first place.
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom