On Prince Harry's Balls

There were two photographs of male genitalia circulating on Twitter last night. One purported to be, but wasn’t Richard Madeley’s cock. The other is Harry Windsor’s Happy Sack. Richard Madeley’s meat and two veg, lovingly carressed by his long suffering wife, Judy don’t appear to be the subject of a prohibition on publishing. Pictures of a potential Head of State’s cockhead are restricted. And rightly so in my opinion.

Prince Harry is a Special Man. His Manhood is therefore Special. Prince Harry could be King one day. His son could one day be King. He could one day hold a small but very important role in our constitution.  My son, on the other hand, despite being the Captain, will never be King, or President. The reason that the son of Prince Harry has an outside chance of being Head of State and mine doesn’t is that Prince Harry has Magic Balls.  His testicles have the potent, near Godly, power of being able to turn an ordinary uterus into the Bearer of Kings. Kings anointed by God and specially and specifically placed over us to be our King. Mine in comparison, are lacking. By definition I am the lesser man, the subject individual, because my balls, although demonstrably full of some of the stuff of life do not have that sacred quality that transforms my son from being a person into a Person chosen by God to be our King.

For this reason it is right and proper that his testicles, but not mine, nor Richard Madeley’s, be protected from the public gaze. They are the Holy of Holies. The Mystical and Majestic Twig and Berries of a King. More properly it is right and proper that we subjects be protected from the Awesome Might and Potency of the Princely Prick lest we be overcome, and despairing of our manhood fail to take our rightful place in society. For it seems that the closeness of a man’s balls to God is an important part of determining our place in our nation. Some have balls that God has anointed, they are Kings and Princes. Some have balls that are anointed by Kings, they are Lords and some of their sons are Lords; because their fathers too had Magic Balls. Balls so Magic that they conferred on their sons and the sons of their sons Wisdom and the Knowledge to Pass Laws. Such Wisdom and Knowledge is not given to lesser men, nor to women, who not having Magic Balls are necessarily somewhat left out of things.

At some point, some honoured virgin will be found, a patriot, who will willing sacrifice herself on the Altar of His Divine Tadger. Her womb will be transformed from humble flesh and blood into the First Throne of our Potential Future King. She will bear us a new Nearly King lest we be unsettled and confused by having to the go to the trouble of selecting our own Head of State, by election, from amongst those of our number honest enough not to be criminals or clever enough not to have been caught yet. For her sacrifice we will give thanks, and allow her a modest stipend for some light public duties. In exchange for opening her legs to Harry’s Holy Helmet we will open our hearts to her and she will open some civic buildings. Some photography, suitably reverent, will be allowed.

For a 21^st century democracy to ban pictures of a particular individual’s testicles from being publish because those testicles are somehow more special than others strikes me as strange. For the owners of those special testicles to be deemed special and  suitable individual to be Head of State, because his father has Magic Balls strikes me as ludicrous. Yet, those are the rules and if you try and change them you might as well admit to treason now and save everyone the bother of a long trial and referendum.

When people tell you that Constitutional Reform is a load of balls, they’re right. Our Constitution is made of and for Magic Balls and the men who worship them.