Not All British People Despise Us. Or Are Sane.

This is a touching diatribe I found in my e-mail this morning from my British friend, Taz. He is a learned man, a scholar, who also resembles a maniacal scientist. When he’s not re-animating dead human tissue, he’s usually locked in a political debate with myself and a group of our other friends – liberals and conservatives alike. Yes – Taz’s view of the world is similar to my own. But that’s not why I’m posting this colorful snippet this morning. It’s quite simply some funny shit, and I want to share.

“Universities are nothing but rabid festering hubs of Marxist subversion and bogus revolutionary propoganda… a fifth column, the enemy within, the source of poncy half-baked leftist theory, political correctness and pandering to Johnny Foreigner. They’ve made all the clever people soft as shite in the head, I tell you! I say burn them down along with their libraries full of odious liberal manifestos and filth! Smash up the data centers, throw the servers out of the window, kill C++, unix and Java, hang anyone wearing glasses and behead Michael Moore a with pair of rusty nailscissors on national TV… Year Zero… Zilch AD… back to the fields, people, back to the fields! Those green fragrant fields…As a Pink Floyd remarked so prophetically: we dan’t need nah ejoocayshin…

I spent 6 years being systematically brainwashed at these sinister institutions and emerged a big girls blouse pinko dilettante reading The Guardian newspaper fervently, supporting the miners strike, Greenpeace and Amnesty International, wearing black denim 501 and suede brogue Doc Martens and boring the tits off people about the repression of the working classes, the evils of colonialism and ‘sticking it to The Man’ etc…The worst part was dating a string of chicks who were more passionate about vegetarianism than they were about shagging…”put your unfeasibly large and impressive knob away, Taz, can’t you see I’m cooking couscous with Soya bean mush, woodchippings and chick pea sludge tonight, yummy!”



The truth is I’m still not cured… I still read the bloody Guardian even though most of it is bollocks, still occasionally listen to my Style Council records, vote Labour and still partial to the odd falafal tucked into a pita. A sushi socialist my mates call me. How I wish sometimes I’d been born in Pigs-Rectum, Mississippi and got my simple innocent kicks by dining on grits with deep fried squirral, boning my 6-year-old handicapped sister, dressing up in mama’s piss-stained bed sheets, wearing a pointy hat made out of soiled underpants and torching wooden crucifixes in the backyards of those…”

I’m gonna stop you right there Taz. Some of us have work to do today. But a welcome and entertaining Thursday rant, nonetheless. And please, do not use the brain in the jar marked “Abby Normal”.