Ladies and potentially gentlemen keen on a challenge, your extraordinarily narrow window of opportunity is now ever-so-slightly ajar.
Prince Harry arrived in Australia on a commercial British Airways flight at a bout 5:00am this morning, utilising that magic mystery pill that only celebrities are told about that allows them to walk off of long-haul flights not looking like bleary-eyed, dishevelled garbage humans like the rest of us. He then immediately boarded an RAAF plane to Canberra, where his only official appearances for his month-long military sojourn took place.
Harry visited the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the nearby Australian War Memorial, being escorted around by officials whilst in full military regalia.
From here, he scoots off to join SAS forces in Perth, and indigenous NORFORCE soldiers in the Northern Territory, before eventually joining the 6th Aviation Regiment in Sydney, where – pending military testing – he will be flying helicopters.
For the duration of his time in the Australian military ranks, he’ll be known as Captain Wales which, come on, is absolutely a superhero name and can’t actually be a real thing. I mean, seriously. What were the rejected names on that list? Prince Pain? He-Man Harry? The Buckingham Badass? If someone isn’t writing the comic book for that persona as we speak, then a terrible travesty is unfolding.
But all that aside, there’s no actual word on when – or even if – Harry will emerge into any form of Australian public life next. Which makes the task for those of you with a great thirst extremely problematic, but not impossible.
As the highest ranking member of the Order of the Ginger Empire, Harry’s mere presence also elevates the plight of his fellow civilian Daywalkers whilst in the country. Nation-wide, pasty people have been covering up to the gills in order to take to the streets and celebrate the arrival of their Grand Exalted Leader.
Cue, this one little legend, who so proudly affirmed his commitment to the Firecrotch Shield.
From a fellow Tanorexic to another, you go, son. You own that tinge of the ginge and you own it with pride, damn it.
For it is together, my Fanta Pantsy brothers and sisters, that we shall rise and overcome.
Sic transit gloria caput rubrum.
Photo: Stefan Postles via Getty Images.
via ABC News.
