Every year Britons the world over celebrate a special day today. “We Don’t Want The Damn Country Anyway” Day. It all started in this day 1776 when a group of colonials threw their rattle out of the cot and decided they no longer wanted to be part of the Glorious and Holy British Empire. It was a culmination of tantrums including throwing cargos of tea into the sea, knocking on doors and running away & getting pizza delivered at 3am in the morning to addresses of people that didn’t want pizza.
King George, in all his mighty, majestic and holy wisdom, decided enough was enough and conceded that the Great and Glorious Holy British Empire did not need mudlarks and such juvenile behaviour within its realm. British ecologists, environmentalists and economists agreed that losing these colonies would not be detrimental to the Empire and if we bided our time and played it cool we could reclaim what was lost at some future date. Also a great deal of the land had a problem with heathen cannibalistic natives, really hot deserts, nasty looking bears and a family which the King did not get on with, the Bushes (King George was upset by Albert Wilberforce Bush using his favourite wash basin as a urinal at a party that George had held in Hampton Court). Thus it was agreed that to prevent spiralling cost and unnecessary disruption of cricket the colonies would be handed over to the people living there.
And so it came to pass that the Great and Glorious British Empire continued through history growing more and more powerful. Similar tactics were employed when other colonies threatened to do the same. We would appear to give the country and land to the people who claimed they wanted “independence” from the Great and Glorious British Empire and really the reason why we relinquished control was because we didn’t want the country anyway. It smelt funny or it was too hot or there weren’t enough red telephone boxes.
This is all but sleight of hand. Really these colonies have remained under British rule for centuries and all are still part of the Great and Glorious British Empire, just that they don’t know it. But there will come a day when our Great and Glorious King William shall rise to the throne in majestic accord and glorious fanfare and the sinister truth will out. The sleeping armies shall awaken and the Third Glorious and Righteous Holy British Empire will rise out of the faux ashes like a mountain in the ocean and once more people the world over will be able to enjoy cricket, drinking cups of tea, moaning about the weather and queuing in an orderly fashion.
This post first appeared on Livejournal in 2007
So mums have Mother’s Day, dads have Father’s Day and grandparents get both the gender specific card selling day AND Grandparent’s Day.
Well done. You’ve bred. You’ve contributed to the gene pool. You’ve created another mouth to feed. Another housing and clothing need.
Congratulations for contributing to the overpopulation of the world. Have a day of adoration. Have special cards, gifts and a shiny new hat.
And what do the rest of us get eh?
When I was younger I asked my parents “When is it Son’s Day?” to which they replied “Everyday is Son’s Day”. Imagine that. A month of Son Days….
Now I am older I see the injustice of it. Those that breed get recognition; those that don’t, don’t. Moreover, there are “FAMILY FUN DAYS”, “FAMILY SIZED PORTIONS”, “FAMILY RESTAURANTS” and “FAMILY TICKETS” and other such discounts. Those that don’t breed get to luxury of having to support the entitled discounts for those that do. Fair? Not very.
But what seems fair is that there should be a day where all those that haven’t bred receive recognition for their act of selflessness and their increased costs for sustaining those that do breed. A day where those that have bred send those that haven’t cards of thanks, gifts and specifically targeted benefits. Reader…I give you
INTERNATIONAL I HAVEN’T BRED DAY
Thanks and recognition at long last.
I propose that this day should be celebrated annually on the last Sunday of July. Which should give those that have bred plenty of time to think of gifts and remember to pop cards into the postbox for their friends that, as yet, have not spawned a new generation of people that will one day require a pension, a house, transport and food.
I suppose you know it’s a bad recession when firework night is quiet. Either that or :
- The weather is shit
- Nobody fancies paying £35 for a rocket (yes £35 for a whiz and a bang, as seen in a local newsagent near me)
- People go to council run displays more now
- People realise the celebration of the murder of a catholic terrorist hell bent on the regicide of a corrupt and suppressive monarch has no place in modern society
- Arsebook and Twatter are more stimulating to Jo Public than watching a lot of money go up in smoke.
When I lived in Liverpool, Bommie Night was such a big event with the local scallies. What with being able to legally get their hands on explosives with ease and that. For weeks leading up and after, the suburban soundscape would be accompanied by a regular beat of bang bang bang all evening.
But here in Yorkshire. Not very much. Apart from a big fire in the field at the top of the field behind the field behind the lane with no name and a couple of pathetic efforts of Netto standard fireworks.
Personally though, I think the time has passed for this festival and it should go the way of bear baiting and gin dens. Besides, it seems absolutely crazy to me that in this day and age of global terrorism, ordinary people are legally allowed to buy gun powder based explosives over the counter. I mean, if I was Johnny Terrorist, all I’d have to do is fork out £35 for a rocket, dismantle it, put the powder in a coffee tin, add a couple of nails, ball bearings and sharp metal things and there you have it….instant bomb…..Course, you might need something to light it with…..