Let's Bomb the Fuck Out of Jolly Ol' England

If civilizations are like organisms, as author Oswald Spengler noted in his Decline of Western Civilization, it would follow that some civilizations are just as irritating as certain organisms. Head lice, for one. England, for another.

Think of the droll, low-budget English sitcoms that clog PBS like a diseased bowel these days. Why do we need to import fat, humorless old people when our own government teems with the bastards?

Speaking of which, aren't there enough cry-baby rock stars in California alone to justify closing the visa gates on the likes of Richard Ashcroft and the Gallagher brothers? It's no great overstatement to say England's sole contribution to Western cultural the past century has been an aping of American pop music generally a repressed, winky-winky detached aping that misses the point entirely of pop music, which should be an expression of strong emotion as well as sex, loads of sex. (In England a wretched-looking skeletor like PJ Harvey passes for sexy. Enough said.) As for the Beatles, Lench Mob had it right when they said, "Get the motherfuckin' raid, Bone, we got roaches." Other English contributions to pop music include Judas Priest, Wham!, Spice Girls, Robert Plant, and the entire sickly genre of prog-rock, pioneered by louts like Kind Crimson and ELP, and currently poisoning world culture with the overrated likes of Radiohead. And thank you, England, for Sting. Thank you for "Sir" Elton John. (God, the country even sees fit to trivialize its own already-goofball traditions by "knighting" the likes of that bulbous, bone-smoking has-been.) And lastly, thank you, England, for the motherfucking Boo Radleys, yet another overhyped "act" from Liverpool (nice city name, by the way).

Everyone knows about English food, filled as it is with heinous culinary atrocities like kidney pie and "bubble and squeak," which aptly describes not only the dish but its effects on the human bowel. You'd think these devils would've learned a thing or two from their short-lived and well-over empire days; I mean, they got around: at the start of last century, almost a quarter of the world's population could be placed in the English colonial empire. And what did they learn from it? Bangers and mash. Peapod soup. Black Pudding -- a pudding made of curdled and boiled pig blood, mixed with chunks of pork fat. Jesus Christ.

It's typical though. The Romans occupied England for 450 years, but is there a trace of their cuisine left? No. And the Romans also built bath-houses, which English barbarians turned to museums promptly upon Roman departure, when sanitation technology reverted to its basest forms, as English Christians equated bathing with Roman debauchery (read: fun) and sinfulness. Bathing was actually considered unhealthy at this point in time, and anyone who's visited a few London pubs knows this attitude still persists.

Speaking of which, about the only thing England does right is beer and that's little wonder. Living on a tiny, dank island filled with pasty-skinned buttplugs named Ian demands heavy alcohol intake.

Yet somehow through all this the country, however woeful its economy, however sharp its decline as a world power, and however absurd its actual culture, remains arrogant. No wonder the Irish lob bombs at the motherfuckers. We should too.

--el rey