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  • The Guys In The Kitchen

“Rosbief Tommie il est merde!

Shit food, shit fashion, shit sex. The English are the turds in le EU swimming pool.

In a two-part debate, guest contributors comment on the differences between the UK and the rest of Europe. Last time, we heard from Britain’s Major Wilbur Smythe-Caldicott (retired). Today we get a response from Monsieur Pierre Bussy-Butes (flirty) of France.

Bussy-Butes, typical Frog.

The Crème Anglais? Hah, I think not. They are the smelly odour that drifts across Europe and stinks up the roses.


The Englishman believes ‘is damp little country to be the greatest in the universe, when it is nothing more than a third rate, geriatric colony of Les États-Unis d'Amérique. If Trump is un arseole unique, that makes Great Britain the great black back-hole of the world.

Eels in jellified chat pisse.

Chat jaune

I once tried to eat dejeuner at a British pie and mash magasin in Londres. I ordered something with ‘Fruits of the Thames’. It was disgusting. Large worms chopped up and set in a turgid pool of what tasted like jellified chat pisse. I threw up on the floor. It improved the décor. Only le Rosbief would think such filth was food.


Then of course, there is le famous British culture – their ‘Bobbies’, their ‘Beefeaters’ and their ‘Corrie’. It is all rubbish pining for the days when Grande Bretagne was great, or so the English ‘istory books say. Visitors to their little nation are told to ‘do the Grand Tour’ – London, Oxford, Stratford and Edinburgh. But what is that? Is it like a trip to Rome, Venice and Vienna? Non! It is nothing but a stabbing in the capital, no parking in Oxford, a play in gibberish in Stratford and ‘itting a little blanc ball around a windy field at St. Andrews. The Grand Tour is un grand bore. I would sooner eat my own foreskin.

English fashion at its best.

Theresa Mayday

In fashion, what ‘ave the British given the world of pret a porter since ‘le visage de punk’ of 1976? There ‘as been nothing but Primark and an un mer de manmade fibres. Coco Chanel must be rolling in ‘er grave when she ‘ears of this travesty. Haute Couture to the English are skinny leggings, a poufy anorak and plastic boots. Revolting. The women look like fat nylon lollipops on two skinny sticks. About as sexy as Theresa May.

For farting out loud!

And it is in sex where the Britisher really reveals what a low-class bottom dropping ‘e really is. 'airy, fat, sweating buckets as he labours to plunge ‘imself into some drunken woman bent over a kitchen table. The whole thing then over in 40 seconds with un grunt and un fart to finish.

Blancmange melange

If there is ever un God, 'e will give the English the Brexshit they deserve. Once we are rid of them, we can stop making the shit wine and cheese we ‘ave been selling them for years. British Tommie. As stupid as 'e 'is proud. Un terrible mélange.

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