Harry's Safari

Imagine, if you will. A young spoiled brat is riding through safari in Africa. He is there as part of the very smart plan that the Europeans came up with-- take a year off before kids head off to college to see the world. If the kids is rich, he goes somewhere with poor people for a photo op/charity stint. This young brat's mother died in a car accident, maybe due to paparazzi, maybe due to her drunk hired help. Either way, cars make the brat jumpy, especially when in a tunnel. But there are no tunnels in rural Africa so he kicks back, puts on his beloved swastika shirt and assumes no one will be there.
Then the brat hears the roar of something far more dangerous than any jungle creature. Another car is fast approaching the safari jeep. This is not the average Sunday drive through the bush for the brat-- his mother's killers are on his tail. The cry of "Harry! Harry!" tears through the brutally dry air like the cry of a rabid lion. Harry's heartbeat increases, and he begins the very un-princely process of whining. His stiff upper lip is in dire need of some Viagra as he squeals like the hunted prey he is. Flashes start exploding, bringing the wild animals close to the two jeeps. The paparazzi jeep flies closer by the second as Harry threatens his driver in order to make him go faster. "I am the bad son!" Harry cries. "I am not my mother's son! I will take the food I so generously brought here back to England if you don't get me out of this. Am I quite clear?"
Dirt flies up behind the two cars, now nearly side-by-side on the small road. All manner of fast, large cats are following the speeding vehicles, waiting to see if a stray baby should fly out. When the vehicles move slowly and people keep their limbs inside the vehicle animals will ignore them. But the paparazzi and Harry are both hanging out of the jeeps, the paparazzi holding their cameras and leaning out of the top, Harry flashing his middle finger at the jeep. The animals smell an opportunity to gorge.
Suddenly the driver of the media jeep exclaims "Bollocks!" as his jeep hits a large rock, careens out of control, nearly hits Harry's jeep and flips over three times.
"Stop! I insist you stop," Harry demands of his driver, his princely demeanor slowly returning.
"But, your highness, if we stop the animals may find us--"
"I said stop," Harry commands.
The Royal jeep driver stops near the smouldering wreck of the paparazzi jeep. The large swarm of lions, cheetas and jaguars gather around the media jeep, now on its side. Various pieces of the photographers are strewn around on the ground like shrapnel from a bomb. The paparazzi who were fortunate enough to survive the crash have the unpleasant experience of being eaten alive by the feasting beasts.
A thoroughly evil smile spreads across Harry's face as he watches his mother's killers being eaten on the barren land of Africa. He'd imagined photographers being killed by Chinese water torture, plague and being poked by gypsies, but this grisly scene is better than any of his twisted fantasies. While the animals are distracted, Harry reaches down for one of the paparazzi's cameras. He pries the dead hand off the costly equipment, and begins to snap pictures. As he relishes the glory of karma, he wishes there was a way to photograph the smell of the paparazzi's flesh beginning to rot in the hot African sun.