Things you learn about the English from the BBC
Stars of a 20-yr English mystery show called Silent Witness. Pathologists weakly attempting to deduce cause of death. The girl is one of the famous Fox family of talentless wooden-faced actors. This is the only known photo of her with her mouth closed.
Demographically the English population is 85 percent white, 2.6 percent Indian, 1.8 percent black, (call it 35 percent in BBC math), 10 percent invisible Muslims, 8 percent Russian gangsters, 5 percent Indian Hindus, 5 percent Chinese gangsters, and 0 percent admitted Jewish, though there are fractional communities of crazed Orthodox ‘hassadim,’ who are incurably sexist, violent, and money-obsessed. Any without sidecurls are 100 percent assimilated and count as white Englishmen.
All married Englishwomen are having adulterous relations with black men, because of their looks and charm despite their obsessive philandering. Unless that should be obsessive philately instead, or maybe their most common avenues of employment, obsessive prosecutor, policeman (from beat cop right on up to detective-sergeant), philosopher, Oxford professor, chess player, or PTSD’er.
At any given time 30 percent of English men are suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder brought on by their service in the Afghan and Iraq Wars, where they suffered an appalling, nation-destroying total of 1200 battlefield deaths over ten years because Bush said Jump and Blair asked How High. The PTSD Epidemic has resulted in approximately 6 million murders over the same time period, most of which were initially blamed on Muslim university students, who are uniformly polite and utterly uninvolved with terrorism except for the occasional season-ending two part whodunnit spectacular, where they might actually be involved this time until it turns out that it’s really about sex trafficking instead.
English men are completely uninterested in sex except for talking about it, with the exception of the 40 percent of them who are homosexual and having passionate committed sexual relationships their parents never believe are happening. This unusual apportionment of proclivities is responsible for the high percentage of English women (72 percent) who spend their post-puberty years turning gradually into men. This may account for the fact that the favorite national epithet for Englishmen, applied universally by all the Brit sexes, is ‘twat,’ although ‘cunt’ seems to coming on strong in recent years.
Politically and culturally, the English are infinitely more enlightened than their bastard American progeny. They abhor sexism in all its forms, which accounts for the fact that all English detective squads are (or have recently been) run by female Detective Inspectors, even though the percentage of female police constables is actually in the vicinity of single digits. Fully a third of all barristers are female and, like their police colleagues, regularly demonstrate their deductive acumen by identifying and sleeping with all higher ranking straight men in their workplace. England’s women doctors, like all female MDs in the western world, are generally pathologists, gynecologists, pathologists, pediatricians, psychiatrists, or pathologists. Every once in a while one of them is a famous surgeon until the scandal hits the papers. All English are pro-choice on the subject of abortion and just wish it had been legal in their mother’s day. They are also 100 percent committed to absolute racial equality, which they have heard the Americans have crushingly stupid and ignorant problems with, which is disgusting because the Yanks have lots and lots (and lots) of black people and should have been able to learn how to treat them as equally as the English would if they ever got to meet one in real life. The Americans have hardly any Indians to speak of, except for the kind in westerns, which means England isn’t culpable of anything in that category, and who can say what the American policy on Jews should be since they’ve never turned up in England.
Mostly there are no problems in England. At least no problems that can’t be fixed by the next Labourite government, which is the only growth industry in the country and responsible for 100 percent of the post-WWII architecture in London and Manchester, where everybody moved after Winnie died. English architecture has become the envy of the world with its startlingly beautiful demonstrations of just how much can be accomplished with cubes of every height and length, made out of innovative materials such as concrete, aluminum, plastic, concrete, asphalt, and yellow pine or brick-looking trim. Only Prince Charles hates the giant glass phallus called the Shard. Like the skylines of its two cities, the country’s health service is impeccable, beloved because it is National (if bankrupt and filthy) and full of smart doctors and nurses who work very slowly and thriftily for the government. Like everybody else in England does since Thatcher went tits-up. Bitch.
So everything is pretty ship-shape in England, hotsy-totsy, all buttoned up, right as rain, done and dusted as it were, except... Except for the murder problem, which is and for well over a century and a half has been completely out of control. Foul-mouthed earls and knights and their naked ladyships dead in the library, foul-mouthed oiks by the thousands done in at pubs where nobody knows exactly when they’re open or not, and throughout the length of every village and farm good English people pushing up daisies in the garden or the muck as the case may be, with only a thin blue line of police detectives to get the killers sorted.
One of the government’s strongest initiatives to get the murder rate under control was to outlaw guns. Since that noble effort, everybody in England is well armed but the police. Then they tried CCTV, which is too omnipresent, long-winded, and dull to look at. In furtherance of the crime control objective the government also decided to make law enforcement nicer by a country mile or two. No more death penalty, no more sentences over eight years, no more beating up suspects in the cellars of Scotland Yard, no more impolite interrogations, no more police interviews outside the fence of your own back yard, no more actual prosecutions for the abundantly threatened charge of “Perversion of Justice” by lying to the police, and no more last minute saving of victims because there should always be time for tea first and the Armed Response Units don’t know which end the bullet comes out of anyway. Time enough to jostle the killer a bit as he is being carefully pried from the corpse on the floor.
The sensational, mesmerising result? Long-running BBC police, lawyer, and pathology shows where murderers abound and are very cautiously and more or less politely pursued for an hour and a half or three with an absolute minimum of police violence. Lightly kippered with a side order of deadly hospital shows.
One man’s definition of paradise. Another man’s definition of an empire on which the sun has definitely set.
P.S. I forgot to stipulate that the English do acknowledge the existence of genuine evil in the world. The Catholic Church. And worse than that, the Church of England.
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