Demolished by the Argies little neighbour, no less (or should that be no 'more', ha!!!)
This is indicative of the gradual crumbling of this has-been superpower, like a faded actress pathetically binge-drinking every weekend to relive past glories when all bowed at her feet, and as if to get into the spirit, every weekend millions of her grand-daughters across this neither green nor pleasant land end up sprawled on concrete, vomiting, trying to wipe out the memories of awful childhoods, making collective English womanhood even uglier than its bloated face is already.
We've bred a generation of over-regulated wimps whose only claim to manhood is a birth cert alleging entry into this world before Euro 96, and possession of a cock (and judging by some of the crap that gets posted on this forum, I think a lot of 'men' are falling short of either/both). Nothing waiting except a packed tube carriage full of the other working stiffs competing in who can buy the blandest Berghaus jacket.
The once feared English lion is nothing more than a stray alley-cat trying to avoid the occasional Gemma or Nicola who uses its home to pull down her knickers, squat, and piss out that last 5 WKD's. I think we should rename it, "Grated Britain". When the parent is too old, sick and demented to even bathe properly, the kids need to take over.
I say we turn over sovereignty to the Americans, and petition for entry as the 51st state to restore dignity to this sh1thole island. Forget Soccer, at least our national team to play REAL Football could have a fresh start. Actually, fck that, let the Indians run us. They're the next hyperpower, and will doubtless take some smug satisfaction in nursing us, their former conquerors, by intravenously running some much needed non-alcoholic fluids through our pickled systems, and imbuing some nobility where we expected revenge.
Or better yet, commit suicide by de-EU, cut off all trade with the Continent until Pound is worth less than a Zimbabwe penny.
Rest in Pieces, Britain. You won't be missed.
This is indicative of the gradual crumbling of this has-been superpower, like a faded actress pathetically binge-drinking every weekend to relive past glories when all bowed at her feet, and as if to get into the spirit, every weekend millions of her grand-daughters across this neither green nor pleasant land end up sprawled on concrete, vomiting, trying to wipe out the memories of awful childhoods, making collective English womanhood even uglier than its bloated face is already.
We've bred a generation of over-regulated wimps whose only claim to manhood is a birth cert alleging entry into this world before Euro 96, and possession of a cock (and judging by some of the crap that gets posted on this forum, I think a lot of 'men' are falling short of either/both). Nothing waiting except a packed tube carriage full of the other working stiffs competing in who can buy the blandest Berghaus jacket.
The once feared English lion is nothing more than a stray alley-cat trying to avoid the occasional Gemma or Nicola who uses its home to pull down her knickers, squat, and piss out that last 5 WKD's. I think we should rename it, "Grated Britain". When the parent is too old, sick and demented to even bathe properly, the kids need to take over.
I say we turn over sovereignty to the Americans, and petition for entry as the 51st state to restore dignity to this sh1thole island. Forget Soccer, at least our national team to play REAL Football could have a fresh start. Actually, fck that, let the Indians run us. They're the next hyperpower, and will doubtless take some smug satisfaction in nursing us, their former conquerors, by intravenously running some much needed non-alcoholic fluids through our pickled systems, and imbuing some nobility where we expected revenge.
Or better yet, commit suicide by de-EU, cut off all trade with the Continent until Pound is worth less than a Zimbabwe penny.
Rest in Pieces, Britain. You won't be missed.
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