Hi, my name’s Prince Halbert. Yes, you heard me right. I’m a prince. I know what you must be thinking. That I’m privileged and out of touch with your peasant reality. But you couldn’t be further from the truth. You see, my parents may be the king and queen of a small country, but I’m not the least bit privileged. I’m not that different from you.

People tell me I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but that’s not true at all. It was bronze. I wasn’t born in a castle either. I was born in a private hospital and raised in a mansion. That’s totally different. My parents didn’t even become king and queen until I was already an adult. In the meantime they taught me the value of hard work by putting my siblings and me to work on their plan for getting rid of—I mean, doing chores around the house instead of making the servants do everything for us. This valuable part of my upbringing affects me to this day. Just last week I had to fire my chief bowel movement inspector because I spent too much of the taxpayers’ money on a yacht with a garage for my smaller yachts and I felt a little bad about it. That yacht is really cool though so I don’t anymore.

When I was nineteen, my parents cut my allowance to a measly 200,000 Wealthlandian Pounds a month because I “spent too much on cocaine.” Once I was done crying, I made some sensible money decisions like firing my foot-washing servant, selling seven of my horses, canceling the gold plating on my toilet, and yes spending less on cocaine. And guess what? I made it work. If I can do it, you can cut coffee out of your life enough to buy a house.

If anything all the money I have makes my life harder, not easier. I have to hire people just to help me manage it. I have 200 horses that I have to delegate the work to take care of. I have to pay for and manage a servant staff of 500. I have to know exactly what I want at all times because they’ll give me exactly what I ask for.

Even when I’m not managing my household, I don’t just sit around either. Do you have any idea how hard it is to go to all those galas, ribbon cuttings, and other fancy goings-on? I have to get a suit tailored, read a speech someone else wrote for me and, worst of all, be nice to people who are beneath me. No, I don’t want to take a selfie with your teenage son, Lord Douglethorpe! But my dad keeps telling me that if the public isn’t convinced that I could be their personal friend in the right circumstances, the rabble will overthrow the monarchy and try to rule themselves. I keep telling him to relax though. People need kings. All countries that are doing well for themselves have one, right?

And all that money doesn’t come with any power whatsoever. I don’t even get to be king until my dad dies. He’s weirdly healthy for his age. Going vegan and doing water aerobics are doing wonders for him. So without, um, intervention he’s probably staying alive for a long time.

If you want privileged and out of touch with reality, talk to Prince William. You think I’m privileged just because I was told from the day I was born that I’m better than everyone else in my country simply because I exist, but this asshole was told that he’s better than everyone else in the world. Because his ancestors colonized most of it! Don’t let that good guy front he puts up fool you. He’s a sniveling prick! I know what he has planned for his grandma and dad! I would never kill my dad. I just want to go on record saying that in case anything happens to him so people won’t suspect me.

Anyway, now that you’ve heard my story I hope you’ll think next time you criticize a prince of a small country for their wealth and power. I’m not privileged at all. I’m just like you: a self-important asshole.

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