The international community erupted in renewed fury this week as the 40th anniversary of Prince Albert’s continued confinement inside a 1.5-ounce tobacco can passed without resolution. Diplomats at the United Nations Security Council abandoned formal proceedings to stage a dramatic sit-in outside the headquarters of R.J. Reynolds, demanding immediate access to the cylindrical prison. "This isn't just about one prince," declared Ambassador Greta Thunbergsson of Sweden, waving a miniature replica of the can. "It's about the principle! How many more decades must we ignore the muffled knocking? The Geneva Conventions must cover tin-plated steel containers!"
Reports confirm the heir to the defunct Principality of Albertia has endured 14,600 days without sunlight, fresh air, or even a decent cup of Earl Grey. Whistleblowers within the tobacco industry revealed Prince Albert communicates via Morse code tapped against the can’s interior—recent messages allegedly translate to "RELEASE ME OR I’LL START A CIGARETTE TAX REVOLUTION." Meanwhile, the Tobacco Can Liberation Front (TCLF) staged a protest by gluing 10,000 empty Prince Albert cans to the White House fence, each containing a single raisin as "sustenance for the prince." "He’s been in there since Reagan was president!" shouted TCLF leader Chip Butty. "We demand a can-opener with UN peacekeeper credentials!"
R.J. Reynolds issued a terse statement: "Prince Albert is a fictional character and marketing mascot. The can is vacuum-sealed for freshness. Stop shaking it." This only fueled conspiracy theories. Forensic can analysts (a rapidly growing field) presented "irrefutable evidence" at a press conference: microscopic scratches spelling "HELP" near the seam, and traces of royal-grade snuff detected in 97% of tested cans. "The math is undeniable," insisted Dr. Ima Crackpot of the Institute for Cylindrical Humanities. "If you opened one can per minute since 1984, you’d still need 32 years to free him. We’re running out of time!"
As tensions escalate, Canada announced it will deploy "Can Diplomats"—specialized negotiators trained in non-invasive can-opening techniques—to mediate. Meanwhile, Prince Albert’s great-great-nephew, a Toronto barista named Chad Al, filed a wrongful imprisonment lawsuit seeking $40 billion in compensation and a lifetime supply of mint gum. "He’s been breathing secondhand smoke for four decades," Chad Al sobbed during testimony. "The least they can do is upgrade him to a humidor." At press time, a rogue activist attempted to liberate the prince using a Swiss Army knife, only to be tackled by Reynolds’ "Can Security Force" wearing helmets shaped like tobacco leaves. The can, unopened, remains.