Curling One Out

Ah, i see you have 5 minutes to waste and a hunger for primary school level writing, well have i got a treat for you... It's episode this one of the very British blog The Aldershot Woes Again and the title of this hogwash is Curling One Out

If i know one thing about the United Kingdom, and i don't i know blimming loads, it's that we are the greatest country on planet Earth. That's right, sorry to break it to you Johnny Foreigner, but your piece of dirt is not as good as our piece of dirt. Now despite our pieces of dirt only being where they are due to 4.5 billion years of constantly changing terra firma. And us only being on our respective pieces of dirt due to 100,000 years of migration. And even though all 6.9 billion of us can trace our bloodlines back to as little as just 100 African nomads. Great bloody, stiff upper lip, cup of tea and cricket Britain is the fucking best, so put that in your foreign customs and do something strange with it. 

Good old Britain, it's brilliant isn't it, from quaint villages to modern metropolitan centers, it's a Utopian society of bliss, rainbows and smiles and everyone loves everyone and we're all as happy as we can possibly be. I mean why wouldn't we be here in God's garden. I have to literally pinch myself every 10 minutes to convince myself this is real and not just some glorious dream. It's all just so bloody amazing all the titting time, non-stop white knuckle fun, all the time time literally all the time, right now in Britain it is brilliant. Woooooo! 

It is so great here in Great Britain (big clue in the name) that understandably great waves of foreign people want to live here. People are so desperate to get their feet on the golden soils of this blessed land, that they will go to the most extreme methods to get here. Right now entire families of Swedes are securing themselves in flat-packed furniture boxes and attempting to smuggle themselves in to the UK via Ikea lorries. Continental Europe was so desperate to get in to this nation of glory that they dug a tunnel to Dover and ship foreigners here by the train load. And i am not mad at them at all, if I were forced to gaze upon this land of treasures, like a tramp drooling down the window of a restaurant, I too would want a slice of that sweet, sweet pie. 

Great Britain is so good that even though we have a broader history of global atrocities than any other nation in existence today, we can still be really proud about it. When a nation is as good as our's it doesn't matter how many massacres you've committed or how many cultural flames have been permanently extinguished under your boot of oppression. We are so good that we are quite comfortable teaching our children a filtered edit of history painting us as proud global innovators and bringers of freedom. And why shouldn't we be, we're the dog's dick and balls. Britain is so good that we can can have an institute as insulting and backwards as the monarchy and still act as if that's somehow a really good thing. And why shouldn't we, we are the penguins minge. 

I am sad to say though, that sometimes we forget how lucky we are, we've been spoiled. And like a petulant fat toddler throwing a wobbly in a cake shop, we have completely disregarded our fortune and have the audacity to complain. It makes me want to vomit out my liver in disgust, you feckless cunts.Luckily though, we are the Greats of Britain, and we have ways to remind ourselves of our fortune and reunite the nation in it's glory. You see, the inherent greatness of being British lies deep with each us, and it is simply a matter of awakening that sleeping beast to extract the mindless gibbering patriot pseudo-racist in all of us. And just like that we all be scrambling for Union Jacks and waving them frantically, completely content on our island of wonder, united under an irrational sense of national identity. The key to unlocking this tribalistic mental devolution is so simple that it can be routinely used to perpetuate this archaic ethos. It's Sport. And here's the really good part, it doesn't even have to be a good sport. 

Put two cripples in a cage full of stinging nettles and make them wrestle for a dock leaf, it's a social taboo... stick flags on them and we'd lap it up like thirsty dogs in a heat wave. Form a neo-Nazi terrorist cell and declare war on the coloureds, you're one of histories monsters... call yourself Team GB and your as popular as buns at a sausage festival. So ingrained is our patriotic nature that we'd happily watch paint dry, as long as there was a chance the British paint dried quicker and with less streaks than the South Korean paint. In fact, the more obscure a sport is, and the narrower our chances of success are, the more it stirs our inner Brit. The current Winter Olympics are a brilliant example of this, hundreds of sports that none of us play or have the remotest interest in and we're all waving flags around like we've got semaphore Tourettes. Some wintery bint slides down a hill on a plank, picks up bronze by default and everyone is sobbing like their dogs just been hit by a bus. And why shouldn't we, she was born on the same rock formation as us. 

Well, that was the blog for today, and what was I saying with this particular word vomit I just spewed in your face? I don't fucking know. I guess somewhere between the over use of simile and the post-thatcher national shame I was getting at the notion of patriotism and how as a modern world we have really evolved beyond it. Pitting my identity as a free thinking individual liberated from outdated conformities and national identity against the tribal caveman part of me that wants a country i think is pretty shit do well at sports... even the curling. 

Woe.