Brain damaged Brits

Here’s a statistic for you. 9 out of 10 people with learning difficulties report being bullied by members of the public in England.

9 out of 10. They’re not great odds. About on par with not being stabbed to death by a London teenager.

For a few months now, I’ve suspected there may be something quite wrong with English people. I sometimes wonder if the eons of inbreeding this island has supported hasn’t somehow rewired their genetics. It’s as though someone has opened the top of their heads and run a soldering iron through the brain tissue more or less at random.

National Brain damage may explain a few things. The penchant Englanders have for standing in busy doorways and tube gates, oblivious. Talking loudly on a mobile phone in any public space. The spectacle of two twentysomething troglodytes walking shirtless through the city in the middle of the day, emotionally singing soccer anthems (oblivious to the homosexual undertones). And of course the many constipated noises English women make when they tell you an unpleasant story in which they were mildly inconvienenced.

“I was like unghhhh, how could you be so stuuuupid. Oooh. Uuuudiott. I ordered still water. Unghhhh. Onghhh. Arnghhh

Elvis Presley made less noise having a heart attack on the toilet than most English woman do telling you their Spanish waiter story.

And of course, while the English pride their sense of humor, in my experience, noone laughs more at they’re own jokes than the English. They laugh before they tell you a joke. During. Just before the punchline and then afterwards as well. Often times, you’ll find the only person laughing at a joke is the person who’s just told it.

It’s no surprise the English will tell you they’re funny.
They’re the ones laughing.

But we return to the statistic. 9 out of 10 people with learning difficulties are bullied by members of the public. I read this statistic in an advertisement in a movie theatre. And it seemed to make sense. There is something deeply brain damaged about the way English people act toward one another. The awful way older married couples eat dinner while reading paperbacks in restaurants. The racist slurs that are thrown about at ticket inspectors. The disregard for underprivileged families. The open hostility toward Eastern Europeans working in cafes in London. They’re like wasps, the English. Or pigs with sharp teeth, you can choose.

This point was highlighted in it’s extreme during the movie I watched. In the scene where the main character comes home to traumatically find his cat has died, a group of English women in the back of the theatre suddenly burst into laughter.

The Australian girls sitting next to me summed it up best.

“What the fuck is wrong with these people?” she whispered.