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.

And your newfound bachelorhood doesn't call for just plain crazy—we need bat-shit crazy. Britney Spears with her pubic hair shaved and dyed into a Union Jack. A drunk Lindsay Lohan throwing up in the Buckingham Palace loo. Or, if you prefer, someone in your own tax bracket—how about Paris Hilton? She's blonde. She's loaded. And unlike Kate, she's guaranteed to blow you.

"We've seen the type of girl he likes—the kind you can take to a polo match," says Schaefer Del Col. "But somebody like Britney or Paris, not only would it set tongues wagging, but, well, it would be hilarious."

Act now, though. You have seen your dad's ears, haven't you? William, we know you've got the horn-dogging gene in you. We've seen flashes, what with those frankly heroic tabloid photos of you goggle-eyed, a tall frat drink in one hand, a fistful of ripe Brazilian boob in the other.

It's a helluva start, but not nearly drastic enough. So here's what we need you to do. Pick up the phone and call Tara Reid. (That's right, the chick from Dr. T and the Women. Don't worry, she's available.) Tell her to wear something revealing. Trust us, when her ta-tas fall into your grandmum's tea, not only will her heart attack bring you one step closer to ascension, but for the first time since the rumors that your mother had shagged Bryan Adams, the royal family will be interesting again.

See, Willy, it's your destiny. It's good to be the king.