Those fuckin' Brits

There’s this thing with British people. They are ugly. Tremendously ugly. And they speak with a funny fucked-up accent. I was blessed with such incredible wisdom while I was on a two hour correspondence at the airport of London Heathrow.

It struck me at the very moment I exited the plane. There were a few samples already at the gate's doors, and I thought “Uh, that’s tough” but as I progressed through the terminal, the occurrence of bad looking people didn’t decrease – at all. Brits are cheesy white people who turn bloody red under the sun. They have crooked or fat noses, small lips, and frog eyes. Female examples of that peculiar people dress like hookers and walk like prisoners. Their really, really fat bodies are squeezed into tiny skirts and too short tops – very much like German blood sausages.
But who could possibly blame them? They live on an island with nothing of interest whatsoever. Their queen is old and stubborn, their food is disgusting, fried to the limit and wrapped into newspaper, their humor is ordinary. They have truly, truly shitty weather. And, once more, they remain the ugliest people I have seen so far.
So why, for God’s sake, would anyone want to live on that fucked-up island? I have to admit, though, that I didn’t exactly cross the British border. The airport is as far as I went into the UK. But who could possibly blame me? After what I’ve seen at the airport, it would take an entire battalion to drag me outta there.