The commemorative plates have been shattered on the palace steps, the Benson & Hedges have been ground into the steak-and-kidney pudding, and Sir Elton John has had to squash plans to release "Candle in the Wind 2007 (Royal Wedding cha-ching remix)." Prince William—the big HRH, the future Duke of Rothesay, an heir to the thrones of Tuvalu, Belize, Papua New Guinea, and a series of other sun-dappled oceanfront properties—is once again polishing his scepter alone.

And throughout the world everyone's asking the same important question: Are the British familiar with the term poon hound?

No? Well, they totally should be, because that's you, Willy. Or at least it ought to be.

"He's the most eligible bachelor in the world," says US Weekly deputy editor Caroline Schaefer Del Col. "He needs to get out there and sow some wild oats. That used to be Harry's role—but not anymore."

For almost 25 years now you've been the virtuous one: the firstborn son cursed with the twin burdens of responsibility and duty. Meanwhile, your younger brother, Prince Harry, possesses a portfolio that includes lashing out at paparazzi, wearing a swastika to a costume party, and getting his ass shipped off to Iraq with a million-dollar bull's-eye it. And by the way, have you seen his girlfriend? Just a hunch, but based on her looks I'm guessing she's fished her panties out of the sofa and gargled Guinness to prep for the walk of shame on more than one occasion.

Yes, yes, you will—barring disaster—be king someday, the painfully proper figurehead of an island nation of violent drunks and billionaire Russian èmigrès. Your days and nights will be filled with state dinners, baby petting, and oh-so-important briefings with the governor-general of Saint Lucia (one of your other useless commonwealths). So consider yourself lucky that your ex, Kate Middleton, is now probably gnashing her teeth at the prospect of missing out on being married to the future king of England. While the tabloids called her a sweetheart, there's another word they forgot to use: BO-RING. Girlfriend exuded the same type of sexuality as your horsey aunt, Princess Anne.

"She seemed great: poised, confident," says Heather Cocks, style maven and cofounder of the fashion blog Go Fug Yourself. "Plus, she knows how to wear underwear and keep her boobs inside her shirt."

And that's exactly what that narrow stump of a family tree of yours wants for your bride: an uptight Protestant who seems like she's yet to make it to second base.

This, of course, is no fun at all, so take that silver spoon out of your backside, William, and listen up: Start tapping that sweet, sweet serf ass before you, too, end up humping a battle-ax like Camilla.