Tuesday, October 26, 2004

The Brits

Now that the London “newspaper” (and I use the term loosely) has given up on its plan to influence the American election, because it backfired in their faces big time, perhaps it’s time to revisit P.J. O’Rourke’s timeless tirade from “Holidays in Hell.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the British Isles. About 99 percent of my ancestry hails from there. I’m deeply grateful to Tony Blair for his unwavering support. Having said that, though, every country in the world (my own included) has its share of barking moonbats, and now and then we just need to bark back! And nobody barks better than P.J.

Warning: Strong language ahead, which has NOT been sissified! Read at your own risk!

Back in London, I was having dinner in the Groucho Club – the week’s in-spot for what’s left of Britain’s lit glitz and nouveau rock riche – when one more person started in on the Stars and Stripes. Eventually he got, as the Europeans always do, to the part about “Your country’s never been invaded.” (This fellow had been two during the Blitz, you see.) “You don’t know the horror, the suffering. You think war is…”

I snapped.

“A John Wayne movie,” I said. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? We think war is a John Wayne movie. We think life is a John Wayne movie – with good guys and bad guys, as simple as that. Well, you know something, Mister Limey Poofter? You’re right. And let me tell you who those bad guys are. They’re us. WE BE BAD.

“We’re the baddest-assed sons of bitches that ever jogged in Reeboks. We’re three-quarters grizzly bear and two-thirds car wreck and descended from a stock market crash on our mother’s side. You take your Germany, France and Spain, roll them all together and it wouldn’t give us room to park our cars. We’re the big boys, Jack, the original, giant, economy-sized, new and improved butt kickers of all time. When we snort coke in Houston, people lose their hats in Cap d’Antibes. And we’ve got a American Express card credit limit higher than your piss-ant metric numbers go.

“You say our country’s never been invaded? You’re right, little buddy. Because I’d like to see the needle-dicked foreigners who’d have the guts to try. We drink napalm to get our hearts started in the morning. A rape and a mugging is our way of saying ‘Cheerio.’ Hell can’t hold our sock-hops. We walk taller, talk louder, spit further, fuck longer and buy more things than you know the names of. I’d rather be a junkie in a New York City jail than king, queen and jack of all you Europeans. We eat little countries like this for breakfast and shit them out before lunch.”


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