Saturday, April 30, 2011

Oh, My!

I am an American. As I have often joked, we kicked the Brits' asses twice and saved their asses twice. We owe them absolutely nothing (though, they have been taking a big one for the Anglo Alliance team during this whole "War on Terror" thing).

I am African-American. Sixteen percent of the Revolutionary Army was made up of my people, and we've been fighting ever since. Besides, who took up this whole slavery thing with gusto on our continent in the first place?

I am also of Jamaican descent. Runaway slaves on that island (known as Maroons) fought the British for centuries. While never gaining full independence like their Haitian brethren, the Maroons fought so ferociously, the British ended up suing for peace. The interior mountain region of Jamaica was never officially colonized because of the Maroons.

And one puddle in this muddied gene pool of mine, one can find Scottish ancestry. My peeps have been used and abused by the Brits. Bonnie Prince Charlie almost took it to the redcoats, but what can you do?

As far as I know, there is no part of me (historical or genetic--hell, we even got a touch of French in there) that has not fought the British at one time or another. I don't hate the Brits. London is a great city, and their TV is admittedly better than ours. But damn! Your food sucks! While yall were out raping and pillaging the world to build your empire, stripping the world of its natural resources, you never came across salt? Garlic?! A fucking onion?!

I don't get it. I also don't understand how a highly intelligent nation of tens of millions of people work day and night just so this bunch of overly-pampered, pompous, inbred genetic freaks can go gallivanting around the world being their mistresses' tampons.

And then I saw


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