GACKED from John Cleese:
To the citizens of the United States of America, in light of your failure
to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we
hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today.
Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II resumes monarchical duties over
all states, commonwealths and other territories. Except Utah, which she does not fancy.
Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable Tony Blair, MP for the 97.8% of you who have, until now, been unaware there's a world outside your borders) will appoint a Minister for America. Congress and the Senate are disbanded. A questionnaire circulated next year will determine whether any of you noticed.
To aid your transition to a British Crown Dependency, following rules are
introduced with immediate effect:
1. Look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary. Check "aluminium"
in the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you pronounce it. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and 'neighbour'. Likewise you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters. Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up "vocabulary." Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. Look up "interspersed."
2. There will be no more 'bleeps' in the Jerry Springer show. If you're not old enough to cope with bad language then you should not have chat shows.
3. There is no such thing as "US English." We'll let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u'.
4. You should learn to distinguish English and Australian accents. It really isn't that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier). Scottish dramas such as 'Taggart' will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. You must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is "Devon." If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American States will become "shires" e.g. Texasshire Floridashire, Louisianashire.
5. You should relearn your original national anthem, "God Save The Queen", but only after fully carrying out task 1.
6. You should stop playing American "football." There's only one kind of football. What you call American "football" is not a very good game. The 2.1% of you aware there is a world outside your borders may have noticed no one else plays "American" football. You should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best If you played with the girls. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American "football", but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies). You should stop playing baseball. It's not reasonable to host an event called the 'World Series' for a game which is not played outside of America. Instead of
baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls' game called "rounders," which
is baseball without fancy team stripe, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.
7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns, or anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because you are not sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you need a permit to carry a vegetable peeler.
8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new national holiday. It will be called "Indecisive Day."
9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will startdriving on the left. At the same time, you will go metric without the benefit of conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
10. Learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips. Fries aren't French, they're Belgian though 97.8% of you(including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Potato chips are properly called "crisps." Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat.
11. The cold tasteless stuff you call beer is actually lager. Only proper British Bitter will be referred to as "beer." Substances once known as "American Beer" will henceforth be referred to as "Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine," except for the product of the American Budweiser company which will be called "Weak Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine." This will allow true Budweiser(as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen, Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.
12. The UK will harmonise petrol prices (or "Gasoline," as you will be permitted to keep calling it) for those of the former USA, adopting UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon, get used to it).
13. Learn to resolve personal issues without guns, lawyers or therapists. That you need many lawyers and therapists shows you're not adult enough to be independent. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist, you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.
14. Please tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us crazy.
15. Tax collectors from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).
Thank you for your co-operation.
* John Cleese[Basil Fawlty, Fawlty Towers, Torquay, Devon, England]
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
And now for something completely pretentious…
The perfume of Earl Gray washed over me like a tsunami in the late evening fog. My fashionably metrosexual butler – Sven – lurched gracefully across the room with a delicate china mug balanced on a heavily engraved silver tray. Beside the streaming tea lay an plain envelope. White, with a return address stamped on it half-heartedly in an ink the colour of which put me in mind of dried blood.
“A missive, Madam,” he intoned whilst deftly setting down the tray and scooping the Corgies from my lap.
“McClelland and Stewart.” I picked it up and sighed wistfully. “Oh Sven – not another rejection slip! This is so very depressing… and yet so very odd – for I have not sent anything to M&S since my last attempt to submit my unpublished novel (Gripping and Vivid: A Completely Unauthorised Autobiography) back in 1998. Surely one rejection is sufficient.”
I slit the envelope open with a gold-laquered fingernail and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It glowed faintly - illuminated by my dim bulb.
“Are you rejected again, madam?” Sven inquired politely with just a hint of that Norse smugness his pillaging tribe is so renowned for. Viking bastards! I made a mental note to count the silver spoons again in the near future.
“I am not.” I fanned my myself thoughtfully with the radiant page – the faint scent of Eau de Rosedale yet lingered. “Darling Maggie’s just dashed off a little thank you note to me, you see.”
“Maggie, Madam?”
“Margaret Atwood, Sven. She’s such a thoughtful thing. Why I haven’t heard from her in…”
well, to be frank I’d never had a letter of any sort from Margaret Atwood before. I expect because we didn’t actually know each other.
I read the short message again. I marveled at her skillful use of dangling participles. I told myself the scrawled signature was not machine generated. No. Not this time. Bless her.
“Didn’t you find one of her lost bank accounts, Madam?”
I set down the letter carefully on the walnut table and picked up the mug of tea. I took a thoughtful sip and winced prettily. Sven had forgotten to add single malt scotch to my Earl Gray again. Bungling infidel!
“That will be all, Sven.” I waved my shapely manicured hand at him and basked in the aura of Margaret Atwood’s note. Sven lurched away, tray under arm, as I wracked my brain trying to think how to casually mention (in great detail) to my circle of stand-offish semi-acquaintances this momentous occurrence. However, fantasies of the Atwood letter “accidently” dropping out of my Elizabeth Arden purse during a Branksome ‘Let’s Shake Down the Alumuni” Luncheon seemed more than a little contrived… even for me.
The perfume of Earl Gray washed over me like a tsunami in the late evening fog. My fashionably metrosexual butler – Sven – lurched gracefully across the room with a delicate china mug balanced on a heavily engraved silver tray. Beside the streaming tea lay an plain envelope. White, with a return address stamped on it half-heartedly in an ink the colour of which put me in mind of dried blood.
“A missive, Madam,” he intoned whilst deftly setting down the tray and scooping the Corgies from my lap.
“McClelland and Stewart.” I picked it up and sighed wistfully. “Oh Sven – not another rejection slip! This is so very depressing… and yet so very odd – for I have not sent anything to M&S since my last attempt to submit my unpublished novel (Gripping and Vivid: A Completely Unauthorised Autobiography) back in 1998. Surely one rejection is sufficient.”
I slit the envelope open with a gold-laquered fingernail and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It glowed faintly - illuminated by my dim bulb.
“Are you rejected again, madam?” Sven inquired politely with just a hint of that Norse smugness his pillaging tribe is so renowned for. Viking bastards! I made a mental note to count the silver spoons again in the near future.
“I am not.” I fanned my myself thoughtfully with the radiant page – the faint scent of Eau de Rosedale yet lingered. “Darling Maggie’s just dashed off a little thank you note to me, you see.”
“Maggie, Madam?”
“Margaret Atwood, Sven. She’s such a thoughtful thing. Why I haven’t heard from her in…”
well, to be frank I’d never had a letter of any sort from Margaret Atwood before. I expect because we didn’t actually know each other.
I read the short message again. I marveled at her skillful use of dangling participles. I told myself the scrawled signature was not machine generated. No. Not this time. Bless her.
“Didn’t you find one of her lost bank accounts, Madam?”
I set down the letter carefully on the walnut table and picked up the mug of tea. I took a thoughtful sip and winced prettily. Sven had forgotten to add single malt scotch to my Earl Gray again. Bungling infidel!
“That will be all, Sven.” I waved my shapely manicured hand at him and basked in the aura of Margaret Atwood’s note. Sven lurched away, tray under arm, as I wracked my brain trying to think how to casually mention (in great detail) to my circle of stand-offish semi-acquaintances this momentous occurrence. However, fantasies of the Atwood letter “accidently” dropping out of my Elizabeth Arden purse during a Branksome ‘Let’s Shake Down the Alumuni” Luncheon seemed more than a little contrived… even for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)