Henry Charles Windsor (AKA Prince Harry)
It is difficult to believe the Brits could have shot themselves in the foot as disastrously as this. Preparing the turd-in-line to the throne for deployment to Iraq, and then changing their minds… it’s like admitting to the ‘enemy’ (whoever they are) that the Brits are losing the war (which they are). It’s handed them a propaganda victory on a plate.
To commemorate this right royal cock-up, FunkyPix2 presents a short photo-essay describing Harry’s life story. It’s entitled “A Wreck to Iraq”, and it all begins when young Harry was but a young lad… [begin harp music, dissolve and fade, etc]…
Harry was given all the toys he ever wanted. But he felt there was something missing in his life.
Harry wanted to spend his pocket-money cheques at War-Mart where he got all clued up about ideologies of mass slaughter. He discovered with ghoulish delight that the British Government ran a massive weapons manufacturing industry, one of the world's largest. He immediately decided that he, too, wanted to maintain the proud tradition and kill people as an honorable career.
In school plays, he always sought heroic dashing roles…
…and he watched Laurence Olivier with envy. “One day when I'm growed up, I too will travel on a glorious Crusade to the Muddle East”, he swore.
When Bigger Harry finally entered real Soldier School, he was given cushy jobs away from danger. Here he pretends to enjoy guard duty next to the officers’ precious coffee machine. He already sensed something was wrong.
However, his trainers recognised his personal need for hero status and virility in the public eye.
During training, Harry made a few mistakes, just like any rookie. Here he checks the handbook to see what he should have done: “Oh yes, here we are – page 26... Stamping on landmines is an ineffective defusing technique. Not recommended”. Hmm, OK.
Harry’s new family wanted to bundle him off to Iraq as quickly as decently possible.
Harry's housemaid harem - plus some cynical bloggers - suspected that Harry had known all along that he would never be allowed to go to Iraq. This Palace cover-up conveniently freed him up to bluster publically about not being afraid to die in Iraq.
Iraq or bust. He knew in his heart that even a stunt like this wouldn’t work.
But Harry was finally discouraged by this love letter from Moqtada al Sadr, plus a gory photo of the bottom half of the face of his best soldier buddy, slipped quietly under the royal bedchamber door one evening by his team of butlers.
His mates all called him a wuss, but his granny stuck up for him. Harry, unlike a lot of other young Brits who went holidaying in Basra, still has arms and legs… and the ears which Mr Moqtada had kindly offered to remove.