By Dr. Aldous Head – Research Psychologist at the University of Bridgeford
With the ongoing EU referendum kerfuffle, I, Dr. Aldous Head, one of the lead academics at Bridgeford University’s psychology department, have been called to analyse what is going on. One of the most remarkable things that struck me about the whole thing was the seemingly single-minded obsession with immigration.
You see, the EU allows citizens of its member states the opportunity to spread their wings and seek opportunity elsewhere. That means a builder from Poland has just as much right to come to the UK for work as a builder from the UK has to go to Poland. It’s an equal thing, you see.
But the most shocking part is for how many people the discomfort of hearing the two waiters in Zizzi talking to each other in Portuguese outweighs the benefits of EU membership. What is more, if you are that little a fan of Europe, try not eating at a place renowned for Italian food, maybe?
It’s an island, you see, the UK. A hunk of rock isolated somewhere off the coast of mainland Europe, with many pairs of eyes always peering into the distance, to those breaks on the horizons of our seas, and wondering who it is. We are the cul-de-sac of nations. That curtain twitching, nosey, pedantic git who bemoans every shear of your hedge because you are “getting close to my side.” It’s that neighbour who comes around for a cup of sugar and ends up staying for a tea, a chat and possibly a mild snoop at your belongings because they get the feeling you are not quite right somehow.
People come and go from Italy’s borders all the time. People probably jog between France and Germany crossing their borders many times. You can almost definitely stand in Poland and piss into Germany without being bothered. There’s a grey space between nations. There’s Switzerland, where they are so au fait with European visitors they speak basically every language ever known to man there. The UK’s grey area is a saline, soggy mass of dihydrogen monoxide. It’s water. Anyone crossing it to reach our shores is either looking to trade or invade and when you’re a bunch of isolated shut ins who continue to live in a place despite always being unhappy with it, and wrongfully percieve it to be arbitrarily superior, you are bound to have clouded judgement when it comes to telling between the two.
I suspect many people will have confused the issue here. You see, leaving the EU will only allow the UK to control the numbers of well educated, modern, culturally well suited, European individuals seeking to live in this country. That means your Romanian cleaner, your Polish builder, that Spanish fellow who works at the meat counter, those Portuguese in Zizzi, that French bloke who owns a paper shop for some reason – These are the people you are trying to evict from our country. The people who you perceive as scary, the people who flee war and destitution (much of it caused by UK intervention) the people with darker skin tones and strange religions from dusty, far-off lands, those people will still be here. The people you call scroungers, the ‘illegal immigrants’ as you so like to call them. They are human beings, I have met and done research with and on some of them. They eat, drink, urinate, deficate, have families, do good deeds and walk their dogs just like you do.
Please, do not bugger up an entire nation, possibly an entire region, a supranational body of unique benefit to all involved, simply because you are frightened of people who have different coloured skin, different Gods, different names, different languages and different cultures.
That is a good lead in – we get to the matter of culture. What, pray tell, is British ‘culture’?
Is it football? A worldwide appreciated past time, a very successful export, so successful in fact that the rest of the world is now better at it than us.
Is it our military prowess, our ability to sweep across a nation and bring tea, peace and civilisation? A prowess that has not really been successful since the Second World War (an event that the country’s romanticised dwelling thereon is almost of shockingly poor taste) and even then old Blighty would likely have been buggered if not for Hitler’s hubris in thinking he could take on Russia and various allied forces at the same time. Indeed, Russia at all is a big enough challenge, you would have thought Hitler would have known who Napoleon was and what happened to him when he tried it. Then we have all the other remarkable allies who came to Britain’s aid. I wonder how many people currently wishing Polish builders would go back home to Poland – because their granddad didn’t fight in WW2 so we could have Poles swanning about over here – know that there was a reasonable sized Polish contingent in the RAF. Indeed, I believe it was a Polish squadron who claimed the highest number of kills during the Battle of Britain. Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few, until they opened a Polski Sklep down the road and then they can fuck off home. It is utter, disgraceful ignorance, a petty, narrow-minded, ludicrously ignorant and jingoistic daftness.
Maybe it is our ability to desperately cling to a monarchy, despite most of the rest of the world having moved on from that sort of thing. Can British culture be summed up by festivals, picnics and Garden parties draped in the red-white-and-blue and with everyone singing ‘Rule Britannia’ – because as far as I see it, every country has that sort of thing in one way or another. Also, never forget the irony in it, a uniquely British celebration for the uniquely Greco–Danish-German monarchy of proud Albion.
Truth of the matter is British culture is Eastenders, a cup of tea, disappointment and a nearly constant desire to moan about weather, interspersed with sessions of often violent binge drinking. How many of you would be happy to go wave a union flag at the last night of the proms but would never dream of paying a fiver to hear your local philharmonic knock out some Britten or Elgar? For most of you, your idea of classical British music is Baddiel and Skinner and the Lightning Seeds with Three Lions.
You are all buffoons, obsessed with foreigners only out of a narrow-minded conceit that Britain is in some way better than all the other countries of the world for no other reason than you accidentally happened to have been belched from your mother’s orifice on these shores. It’s impossible to try to reason with you because you lack the cognitive capacity for reason, having replaced it instead with an exceptional ability to repeat propagandist newspaper headlines back at me. Some of you seem to believe that one Nigel Farage is, in some way, a political prodigy, a veritable breath of fresh air despite his having come from almost exactly the same background as every politician you do have a problem with. You talk of sticking it to the man when you have no idea who this man is, and thus no ability to know where to stick anything if you possessed anything to stick in in the first place.
I have tried polite discussion, I have tried reasoned debate and I have tried discussing facts, figures and evidence. Truth of the matter is, whether Britain is in the EU or out of the EU, you are buggered anyway because you categorically lost the genetic lottery.
Have you even considered, for a moment, without resorting to falsified urban myths about straightening bananas, have you even remotely considered everything else the EU does besides have foreign people in it who have a right to come to the UK? Have you listened to the spurious figures being spouted and asked “If this much money goes to the EU, what is it spent on, and does this benefit me or people I know?” or do you just smell non-natives and immediately demand the doors be shut and locked?
Now, I am buggering off to do important research into helping people with mental illnesses being funded by an EU grant because the Tories would rather spend their research funds on illegal election campaigning, UKIP would rather spend it on pints of ale for photo opportunities, supporting casual racism and locks on their doors, Labour would rather spend it on better microphones so maybe they could get their opinions heard, the Lib Dems would rather spend it on marijuana and being very, very confused, and the Greens would rather spend it on recyclable tampons and rights for mealworms.
Still, you would rather be exclusively dominated by the UK political spectrum. You would rather ensure every decision made was made by those people who, until the bogeyman of the EU was presented to you, you moaned were all a shower of out-of-touch posh lunatics who don’t know what’s going on. Better than a bunch of Belgians, right? I get it, it is your opinion and I, apparently, have to respect that. Except I don’t, you’re an idiot, fuck off, I’m out. Fuck this stupid country and its stupid fucking people.
Terminal Context would like to apologise for this article, which was supposed to be a balanced and informed discussion on the psychology behind the various positive and negative opinions on the EU, but actually turned into something very weirdly inspiring but fuelled by profanity. Dr. Head would like to add that if you have any comments or complaints you should write him a letter, if you are literate, supply a stamped, addressed envelope and shove it right up your arse, right up there, really damn high, up near the stomach. He says if you do get a reply it will be your body simply confirming what he has just told you, that you are a fucking idiot.