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Most Americans can’t even find Britain on a map, even despite the fact we have more nukes than Korea, Iran, China and Israel combined. Our friendly little guide shall soon put a change to all that...

We at TwistedEdge are sick and tired of hearing our American readers drone on about our rainy little nation, cluttering their baffled little brains with unfair stereotypes and xenophobic nonsense. The dearly departed Ezra Titus, for example, was convinced we Brits eat nothing but jellied eels. Pat David, owner of BMK, is convinced Austin Powers is the dental cornerstone of our country. And all, it appears, are laughably convinced that Kiefer Sutherland is an American.*

Frankly it’s all a load of old bollocks you Yanks have gotten into your heads during all the baseball and masturbation. It’s a wonder you people know we even exist, quite frankly. So we pissed off, cranky shut-ins at TwistedEdge have kindly put together a cultural guide to our cold and foggy little land. Forget those Lonely Planet guides and the lies your televisions teach you. This is the real deal, a 100% authentic and unquestionable guide to the genocidal, war-mongering state called the United Kingdom.
 
Print, keep and enjoy.


Yes, the mistake is deliberate, you fucking idiots.

Fun Fact #1: British people really do all own massive country estates in the Cotswolds.

The posh accents, eloquent speaking voices and frigid tradition you see oozing from us Brits on television are all real. Despite Dick Van Dyke’s many attempts to rape our language, we all really are as well-spoken, prim and proper as we make out to be. The average IQ is 180, we all possess a biological hunger for quail eggs and caviar, and every Brit knows from birth how to hold a soup knife with distinction. Put our DNA under the microscope and you’ll see the strands all chain together to form the sheet music for Handel’s Messiah. The only bottled mineral water for sale in our country is made from concentrated orphan tears. And yes, we really do manufacture piano keys from the teeth of the poor.

Just like you’ve seen in the movies, all us Brits are tremendously wealthy. This is due to centuries of fucking your country over, stealing your ideas and selling your children to foreigners. We really are all millionaires. And yes, that’s why our currency (a unit of money we call “the Pound”) is worth so much more than yours. It’s nothing to do with economic circumstance. It’s just that we’re better than you.

We have stern rules about raising the pinkie finger while drinking High Tea. Anyone failing to do so is tarred, feathered, tried for witchcraft and chased from their village.
We have stern rules about raising the pinkie finger while drinking High Tea. Anyone failing to do so is tarred, feathered, tried for witchcraft and chased from their village.

We’re so prosperous that yes, we all do have butlers and servants. Heck, even our servants have servants. And their servants have servants, as do their servants. And their servants. The servants of these servants are the lowest of the low, and earn a special label – we call them “Australians”. These are simple but happy creatures, who are content and hard working if beaten regularly enough with a really big stick. And to answer one emailed question, yes they really do rank lower than our horses.

Every Briton is entitled to 10,000 acres of privately owned land for fox hunting, whale punching, vegan burning and tobacco farming – the many pastimes of our glorious nation. Due to our ever-expanding population this requires a great deal of landmass to maintain. This is the reason why we keep turning up in tanks and invading other countries. Like the time we invaded Canada and you Yanks didn’t even notice. We have Delaware too.

Of course, such greatness doesn’t come easily and can be difficult to instill. Our children are taught at an early age to salute the flag, worship The Queen (more on her later) and to throw buckets of shit at anyone who dares get in the way of one's horse-drawn carriage. We have strict rules on the proper etiquette of setting hounds upon foreigners and the foibles of milking tourists. Our buses, telephone booths and letter boxes are red due to them being painted in the blood of those who fail. It serves as a cheerful reminder to the rest of us.

Imperial Greatness is a way of life; standards must be maintained. Anyone falling below our devilishly strict expectations is captured during the night and exported to a forced labour prison colony we call “Ireland”. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Their excrement, sweat and pubic hair is combined, distilled and sold to you Americans as a concoction called “Guinness”. Try some.

Fun Fact #2: We really are all just like Hugh Grant.

The massive grin. The superhuman forehead. The hair that looks like overgrown carpet. The chilling smile of an itchy paedophile. The smug venire of a man with his very own dungeon. Skin crinklier than an old man’s balls. A biologically stupefying lack of chest hair. Fingers thicker than sausages. And teeth that would make Jaws squeal like a stuck pig in an Irish slaughterhouse on St Pat’s.

Forget any reports to the contrary – this is what we all look like, and that’s why you should all fear us. Like Hugh Grant, we all spontaneously combust when exposed to direct sunlight. Like Hugh, we too probably shouldn’t be trusted near children.

Forget Jude Law – he’s French. David Bowie? Just a figment of your imagination. Those butch, lesbian looking women from that Supernanny show on TV? Nothing but a failed chemical experiment.

Forget what you know – Britain is full to the brim of people who talk, look and walk just like Hugh Grant. It’s not cloning, just generation upon generation of intense interbreeding. Unlike you cooky Americans who vary their gene pool with sheep and other livestock, we bring new meaning to ‘keeping it in the family'.

That’s why our teeth are so bad – it’s God’s attempt at stopping us from breeding. There’s no need to come visit us, once you’ve seen one of us you’ve seen us all.** It’s similar to your situation over there in the States, what with you motherfuckers all sounding like John Wayne and so forth.

Don't worry, we all look alike

Fun Fact #3: The Queen is really a murderous cyborg sent from the future to slaughter you all.

Yes, really. And its okay for us to admit this to you because by the time you read this, her psychotic plan will already be set in motion, and it will be too late for you Yankee infidels to do anything about it.

A fun fact about our monarch? All photos you see of her meeting your many Presidents have been Photoshopped. She may appear to you to be a small, frail old lady but she is in fact seven feet tall, muscular and hung like a Tyrannosaurus. The Master Chief from that video game Halo was modelled on her statuesque frame.

Also airbrushed from official state photographs are the gang tattoos on her knuckles, any evidence of her hairy, wolf-like palms or her serpentine tongue. Unlike you and I who blink vertically, The Queen has been known to blink horizontally or even diagonally on occasion, just to prove she can. Her brain has telepathic links with all reptiles.

She has her very own fleet of war ships big as any navy anywhere in the modern world. She is by far the most powerful figurehead anywhere in modern history. She has over $650,000,000 lying in her bank account just for kicks, even though she’s technically unemployed. And if you damage a coin with her face on it, she could legally have you killed.***

Here’s some shit from Wikipedia on the topic:

“The Royal Perogative includes the powers to appoint and dismiss ministers, regulate the civil service, issue passports, declare war, make peace, direct the actions of the military, and negotiate and ratify treaties, alliances, and international agreements ... The monarch is commander in chief of the Armed Forces (the Royal Navy, the British Army, and the Royal Air Force).”

In other words, do not fuck with her.
Hello, my name is The Queen, and I will fuckin cut you.
"Bow to me, or I'll fuckin' cut you!"

Want some fun info about our dear ol’ Queenie that you won’t find on Wiki? She invented AIDS just to fuck with you. She once had Eisenhower mow her lawn. And whenever she likes she can silence the voices of her detractors by shooting magical, high-powered laser beams from her pussy. Rumour has it she was the original 1.0 model prototype for Optimus Prime.

Long story short? Whenever our Queen visits your country, there’s a reason why your Presidents bow to her.

Fun Fact #4: Believe your TV. We Brits really do stop what we’re doing and break in to epic song and dance routines for no good reason.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Mary Poppins? They were documentaries. Whatever the weather, regardless of the circumstance, you can always depend on us Brits to burst into an elaborate musical number right in the middle of the street. Nothing tickles our fancy more than dancing on rooftops, swinging our umbrellas round our heads wildly as we break into melodic chorus, a few of us doing back flips and somersaults, a few of us producing drums and forming a marching band... the depth of our musical scope really knows no limits.
Help us. They have our children.
You can almost smell their tears.

We’ll break into song over anything, we will. Taxes, mud slides, the impact of global warming on Indonesia, Greek property laws, anything. And thanks to centuries of aforementioned interbreeding, we all instinctively know the words too.

Don’t get into believing we enjoy it though. Behind our forced smiles are glassy-eyed, frightened stares of a nation enslaved. We don’t want to sing and dance. We fucking hate it. It’s crap. It’s nonsense. It’s homosexual and girlish and degrading. But there’s snipers on the rooftops who will put bullets in our faces if we refuse. Every day they kill one of us, just to show the rest what happens if we step out of line or refuse to break into song.

We don’t know who is behind this bloody command, and we’re too afraid to ask. So, next time Annie or Oliver come on your TV, pause a moment and shed a tear for the terrified, oppressed masses that dance for your amusement. Please. Say a prayer.

They have our children.

Fun Fact #5: We Brits enjoy archaic sports that you Yanks have no chance of ever understanding nor ever being good at.

America as we know it today first really got going around 1775, when the so-called “War of Independence” started kicking off. This is when, as far as we’re concerned, you guys became a real country rather than just a massive strip of land full of pale, skinny people being mean to the natives. That was but a heartbeat ago, and as a result your slick, shiny new nation hasn’t had time to develop a proper culture of its own. That’s why your sports are all, frankly, shit.

Our sports aren’t any better. And to make matters worse, we’re shit at all of them too. To over-compensate for this we instead focus on the rich heritages and traditions involved with our nation’s pastimes. This makes us feel better about ourselves and takes our mind off the fact that the only games we’re actually any good at are Looking Down On People and Laughing At The Poor. We used to be rather good at the ancient sport of Kicking The Elderly Down The Stairs, but sadly the Russians have far surpassed us in this field.

However, there is one sport we Brits ‘compete’ in, which you Yanks will no doubt find quaint and mysterious. Despite the fact that this sport seems to make little sense and contains no fun whatsoever, we Brits still insist on wasting countless hours on these whacky games, and so it’s only right we share with you...

The Suicide Inducing Art Of Cricket.

Holy fuck what a fucking stupid, boring, horrible, fucking pointless little game. Basically the jist of this is as follows – two teams of guys get up really early in the morning, dress up in silly white clothes and stand around in a giant circular field. One team bats. The other fields. It’s a bit like Baseball but without the any of the action, fun, tension or cheerleaders.

There are 3 sticks of wood stuck in the ground in the middle of the field. The fielding team have one of their people throw a ball at these. The batting team have their guy protect these ‘wickets’ by hitting the ball away from them. If the ball hits the wickets, the batter is out and the batting team have to send up another poor sap to get bored to death.

There is no action. There is no movement. What you have is basically a bunch of twats in silly hats, cooking in the sun, standing around for no good reason, scratching their bollocks. Thanks to HD television you can actually watch the grass growing around their feet. Sometimes a ball will be thrown, and sometimes the batter may even hit it. There might be some nice birds flying overhead. Maybe something really exciting might happen like a woman in a large, fancy hat turning up, or someone in the crowd committing sepuku through sheer boredom. Holy crap on a crap cracker, the sport’s so boring I’m losing the will to live just writing about it. To get the point across, here’s some dramatic high-action shots from recent games:



Exciting stuff, huh?

The only remotely interesting thing about this sport came when we invited to play the various nations we’d enslaved down the years. Shitty little countries that nobody’s heard of like Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, etc. Countries that we thought would take the noble sport of cricket and crumble under the weight of its intricacies, tradition and mind-numbing rulebook.

We thought we’d look good by comparison on the field. But no; in the short time they’ve had the sport, these nations have become towering behemoths of the game. We should’ve expected as much - their citizens find it much more interesting than their previous pastimes of shooting dissidents, beating wild dogs with sticks, throwing horse shit at each other and firing rifles at the moon. They embraced the sport to such an extent that every time they play us, we Brits are subjected to the kind of humiliation usually reserved for gimps living in Hugh Grant's dungeon.

Christ only knows why millions of us Brits tune in to watch this shit festival on TV. Christ only knows why tens of thousands of us show up to watch this humiliating piss circus live. Maybe it’s all just some cosmic sick joke. Maybe it's some kind of masochistic ritual, the natural alternative to smashing one's balls with a mallet. Or maybe it’s because we’re all too drunk to know any better. Fucked if I know.

Fun Fact #6: Brits love nothing more than burning American flags. This isn’t an insult to you or your nation. We’re just really, really cold.

Need we say more?

* Kiefer is British. Yes, really. Born in England, December 1966. Google it. You hotdog bashers have Obama. We have Bauer. We win.

** The only exception to this rule is legendary former world heavyweight boxing champion Lennox Lewis. However, decades of being punched really hard in the face have damaged his brain so badly he’s now convinced he’s Canadian. That’s fine by us.

*** Though obviously we’re taking the piss in most of this article, everything written in that paragraph really is 100% true. She also has the power to overthrow the British government should she ever choose to do so, and could therefore nuke Spain on a whim. Cool huh?

It's not all Yank-bashing and flag-burning here at TwistedEdge. Despite us poking fun at our American cousins, we're more than happy to point out some of the truly great things the ol' U.S.A has given civilization.

America Is Fucking Awesome is a comprehensive list of all the wonderful shit that only a nation so zany and calorie-filled could provide. Explore the greatness, here.

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