This is what's going to happen on Prince Harry's stag do
FIRE UP THE WHATSAPP GROUP WE'RE GOING TO VEGAS BABY
So it’s finally happened: he’s taken a look at his older brother’s rapidly receding hairline and - despite the above-average chance that he did not, in fact inherit 23 chromosomes from his ‘dad’ - has decided not to risk it. He’s cashing in his chips while his stock is still high. A trip to see ma and pa Markle, who - obviously - were immediately thinking ‘thank God we don’t have to pay for the wedding’ so immediately gave it their blessing. Then the big speech:
“Um, Meghan: will you, um, marry me?”
Obviously, as you all know by now, Meg said yes (who knows, perhaps she asked him) so he’s fired off a message to the lads’ WhatsApp group and it’s on: the social event of the decade.
No, not the bloody wedding you idiots.
The lads cannot contain their excitement! Top shagger Ginger is finally hanging up his pulling boots! Oi oi oi it’s stag time and it’s gonna be the biggest one of all!
But yet, unspoken, the dawning realisation: the mightiest oak has fallen. No more smooth moves on the dancefloor. No more tales of late night debauchery with his latest conquest. They thought this day would never come, they never thought there’d be a good woman out there who would tame him. What are we gonna do without big Hazza leading us into battle in Liquid and Envy on a Saturday night?
Thankfully, the uneasy feelings don’t last. Because two more words appear in Banter Squadron:
Suddenly, Harry then remembers that his best man is supposed to organise this. Of course, it’s going to be Big Willy Style who’s going to do the honours on the big day out but come on, let’s face it, the last party he organised was just before the Ark set sail. Wills; great brother, lovely guy, about as big a party animal as ‘dad’.
Harry’s already thought it through: UK? No bloody chance, not with the paparazzi in tow and besides, it’s too bloody cold. Prague? Solid shout but getting beers for 20p a pint is probably not the biggest priority. No, it’s got to be Vegas hasn’t it? Wills is informed and he’s not overly happy about it.
“Remember what happened last time Harry old mate?” he pleads.
Wills’ doubts are swept away: “I’m a changed man now bro! I promise nothing bad will happen. You trust me right? Mate? Bro?”
Wills furrows his brow and thinks of the growing maturity his little brother has shown. The Invictus Games. The widely-acclaimed interviews they did talking about mental health. Maybe he has grown up. Maybe he should learn to stop worrying and lighten up a little. Hey, it’ll be nice to have a weekend away with Harry and his nice friends and he might finally catch up on all that sleep he’s been missing since the little tykes were born!
Yes, there’s absolutely no reason why this stag do won’t be a lovely nice weekend away.
“OK Harry. OK, let’s do Las Vegas, but I’m organising everything. Deal?”
“Yep. Sure. You know it makes sense bro. It’s gonna be great. Really cultural. We’ll do all the tours yeah? Promise. OK gotta split, catch you later!”
The line goes dead. Wills chuckles. That little scamp, finally growing up and embracing the responsibility of the Monarchy.
He looks down at his phone again. There’s a new message on Banter Squadron.
“Oh God” thinks Wills.
Stag day #1
The Stag WhatsApp group is firing on all cylinders - the names were all added a couple of weeks ago and the legends - Choppy, The Captain, Bumfluff, Shagger, Lanky, Shorty, Fuckface and Badger - have been bantering back and forth in anticipation of the big day.
William’s urging for them to get to the gate three hours ahead of take off, in case the security checks are particularly vigilant, has been summarily ignored and instead the meeting place has been decreed to be Gatwick Wetherspoons. Begrudgingly Wills joins them and despite ordering a bitter shandy is presented with a reverse Jagerbomb to down which, following extensive peer pressure - and the threat of actual physical violence from Fuckface - he does, before instantly running to the gents to throw the whole thing up.
Meanwhile, Harry is being dressed up as his grandma for the 10 hour flight and has just completed his third Ladyboy chaser in a row to the shouts of ‘down it down it down it’ from the entire clientele of Spoons. It is 6am.
On they pop to the flight, Harry being carried through the gate check by Choppy and Bumfluff as they declare that he doesn’t need to show his passport, or be conscious because he’s a prince. Which, to be fair, he probably doesn’t.
Once on board, Harry perks up. They evict the passengers sitting at the back, taking up all of the back rows; Bodger immediately ordering 35 bottles of Moet.
“HEEEEEEEEY, HEY HARRY”
“I WANNA KNOOOO-OOO-OOO-OOO-OOO-OOW”
“WILL YOU BE MY PRINCE.”
Is sung for the entire 10 hour flight while Wills passes out on the toilet.
Safely arrived in Vegas, the boys pile out into waiting limos, which are blaring out 50 Cent’s ‘P.I.M.P.’ while Harry is presented with his pimp coat, cane and top hat. Inside, bootylicious babes drape themselves around him. Wills stares blankly into the middle distance.
Into a casino, where Harry racks up substantial losses and attempts to bet Clarence House on black. Fortunately, Dogger talks him out of it and instead he merely loses 55 acres in Lincolnshire.
Night hits and the gang rolls into the VIP section of Hakkasan. Within ten minutes the lads have invaded the stage, tops are off and Harry is mooning the crowd. Trotters manages to sneak behind the decks while Calvin Harris is distracted and ‘hilariously’ spins the jogwheel into reverse, triggering the airhorn sample for thirteen continuous minutes before security can get past The Captain, who was tight head prop in the school rugger team and defends his stag colleague like Bromhead at Rorke’s Drift.
Eventually they are all chucked out and on they bat to Omnia where, after Choppy writes a cheque for a million quid from his dad’s Cayman Islands bank account, Steve Aoki plays ‘Hey Baby’ ten times in a row while they lead the entire crowd in a conga out of the club, all the way round Caesar’s Palace and back in again.
The boys wake up at midday with no idea how they got there. Immediately, Frogger calls down to room service for more Moet and day 2 begins in earnest. Wills is huddled in a corner, silently quivering.
Stag Day #2
Ignoring Wills’ pre-booked trip to the Las Vegas Natural History museum followed by paintballing (to which Wills’ makes clear that the deposits are non-refundable) they head to the gun range where the lads, many with prior combat experience, stage a full Afghanistan re-enactment. Gnasher accidentally fires an AK-47 into Wills’ foot; he is airlifted to hospital.
Unperturbed, the lads crack on, heading to another casino where Harry loses half of Scotland on Blackjack.
The evening sees the traditional trip to a strip joint where Harry is greeted by half a dozen strippers wearing Nazi fancy dress. Someone in the crowd takes a photo and posts it on Twitter.
On they march to a pool party where Harry is immediately chucked in, his phone falling out of his pocket on the way into the water.
Toffo quickly picks it up, heads to Harry’s Twitter account and discovers he has the login for the Kensington Palace account. Quietly, he composes, and hits send.
During the pool party, Prickbollocks is despatched to break Wills out of hospital and, despite his pleading, he is ‘voluntarily’ discharged from hospital. They reconvene in the next club where someone swaps his saline drip for a vodka and speed mix. Within an hour Wills has cast off the crutches and is twerking with one of the cage dancers.
Meanwhile, Trump has responded to Toffo’s message.
Back in Blighty, an emergency COBRA session has been called while Prince Charles has had a minor stroke and the rest of the immediate Royal Family are playing scissors, paper, stone to decide who should tell the Queen about the Nazi photo, which has now gone viral.
The stag party has moved onto a wedding chapel where Wills is exchanging vows with his new dancer girlfriend. In under ten minutes he is officially a bigamist. The reading, delivered by Harry, is the full lyrics to ‘Hey Baby’.
To round off the night they steal three lions from the sanctuary and ride them down the strip singing ‘I Just Can’t Wait To Be King’ from The Lion King.
Stag day #3
The stag party is awoken by an incoming SWAT team smashing through the windows and doors of the hotel room. The whole stag group is arrested and then, after diplomats manage to intervene, are deported via private jet, despite Frogger’s plea to use the booked flights as he wanted to get the duty free Jäger gift pack.
Once back in London, Wills is transferred to hospital where Kate, incandescent with rage, smashes Wills’ other foot with a brick.
Harry, meanwhile, is forced to make a full and frank televised apology, broadcast simultaneously across the UK, the EU and America, while his grandma sits next to him silently brandishing a cane.
Several hours later, Wills’ phone beeps on the hospital trolley next to him. He gingerly reaches out and unlocks.