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Unfiled May 19, 2006
 
Kill that Old Hag!
By Kirill Pankratov Browse author
 
 

ACTON, MASS - A recent Woody Allen movie Match Point, set in and around London, borrows heavily from the Dostoyevskian theme in Crime and Punishment. But of course, in Hollywood tradition it couldn't show the dark gloomy tenements of the 19th century with starving students. Instead of a poor Raskolnikov in shabby clothes, Allen shows a sleek yuppie in a good suit, and a gorgeous babe - an aspiring actress - rather than a vile old wench as a sacrificial beast.

How realistic. Have you seen many pretty blonde chicks in modern England? Not unless they are foreigners (indeed the babe in the movie was American, but that's rare too). And then, of course, there is a tennis theme -exemplifying all that is supposed to be glamorous, fresh and sporty about British lifestyle. Add to that sugary flicks like "Wimbledon," where struggling but righteous British players triumph to the delightful squeals of the spectators. Really, do you remember the last time English tennis won anything? Bwaah! In fact all British tennis fans are reduced to drooling over Russian babes. Just imagine - hordes of those poor jobbers and clerks, with funny faces and accents, slobbering and cumming over Sharapova's overheads.

Forget tennis, do you remember the last time England was good at any sport? How many medals did it win in the Winter Olympics in Turin? One, and not even gold! That's three times less than Estonia, about 20 times less than Russia, and the same result as Bulgaria - a country which is neither large and rich, nor Nordic! That's the pathetic level which Britain sunk to, from the country which allegedly invented many modern sports.

To be perfectly fair, it is still pretty good at soccer. And that illustrates the only part of the old Britain that is worth having around - its lower classes, those riffraff soccer hooligans that terrorize European cities. Remember those wild Manchester United fans in the inane but funny Eurotrip movie? They are pretty cool actually. Way cooler than anything above that - the utterly degenerate middle and upper classes, those ugly walking potatoes still pretending to be great civilizers and sophisticates of the world. The soccer hooligans at least might serve some valuable purpose - as shock troops, the cannon fodder to smash the old order - first of all inside the England itself.

That brings me to the main point. Raskolnikov was actually right. That vile old bitch needed to be dealt with decisively, free the space to give somebody else a chance. And so is another old hag - that withered old Britain: it's long overdue for taking over and dismantling its rotting half-corpse.

The decline was long and tortuous, yet inevitable. After WWII it all went downhill fast. The last "great statesman," the toad-faced Winston Churchill, puffed pompously: "I am not going to preside over the liquidation of the British Empire." But of course he did, that old fart, together with his ineffectual successors.

In the next few years England was shown its proper place in a new world. When Egypt nationalized the Suez Canal in 1956, Israel, France and Britain attacked (the last two simply out to show they are still great powers). What happened then was a remarkable episode that utterly defied the binary logic of the Cold War. The US and the Soviet Union together deployed forces close to the war theater and told the aggressors to get the fuck out of there: the big boys will be talking. The Brits and French promptly did just that. And that's how this pathetic declawed lion should have been treated from that point on.

Post-war England at least had a kind of cultural renaissance. Out of the industrial decay of Liverpool and other cities came the Beatles, the Stones, and later punk. It is a natural thing - great new cultural achievements are born in the times of economic decay and social turmoil. But since then even that has gone to the dogs. What can it offer today - Robbie Williams?

Thatcher's reign provided a blip of economic resurgence, a dead cat bounce, but it's mostly fizzled out since then. In 1982, in a last gasp of fading imperial glory, Maggie "took a cruiser with both hands" to wrestle some god-forsaken islands in the middle of nowhere from a petty third-world dictator, who seized them to prop his failing populist stand. Argentina had just a handful of modern weapons - French-made Exocet missiles, mounted on WWII-era planes - but nevertheless sunk or nearly destroyed half a dozen of the biggest ships in the Royal Navy - the yesteryear's terror of the seas.

Since then, England's proud army is just a sidekick in America's imperial misadventures, chased out of their tanks in Iraq by a few stone-throwers. Its bloated, bloviating "intellectuals" - all those Hitchenses, Amises, Fergussons - are whispering in the American ear how they should be the world rulers, inheriting glorious traditions of the British Empire (really "Victoria's darlings, those brave, sunburnt pederasts in pith helmets who 'explored' Africa via enslavement, expropriation and massacre," the apt description by John Dolan), old impotent morlocks trying to inject their vile fantasies into a more able body.

England was made throughout history by repeated invasions from the continent. Each time the invaders formed the new elite, raping and pillaging the country's treasures and fair maidens, and injecting some new blood into the local plebs. It was a quite useful process; otherwise inbreeding was draining most of its vital force. It's been too long since the last invasion - almost a millennium. And it shows - in the degeneracy of the native populace, those sodden, pasty faces on the streets. This soggy island is long ripe for the new conquest - the rot is far too deep.

When visiting London recently, I was struck by the impression that the wrong babes were hidden in black hijabs and long robes on the streets and in the parks. There were Muslim women everywhere, but underneath the black clothes one could often recognize shapely legs and pretty faces which should be shown openly in a better world. On the other hand there were plenty of those pudgy, misshapen British lasses who really should cover themselves to beautify the surroundings.

For a time it seemed that Middle Eastern oil sheikhs would serve the function of the new conquerors - buying those damp old castles and Harrods and splurging on $5,000-a-bottle champagne in posh restaurants. But soon it became clear that they weren't up for the task, they couldn't graduate from camel-fucking to realigning the English gene pool. One can shove it in the ass of some bulimic royal princess: but it's just not enough. You need something of a greater caliber.

This is where the current wave of invaders - the Russians, comes handy.

That's right, Brits - who will be your future football champion will be determined solely by the whim of some former Russian orphan, just because he could not afford a decent soccer ball in his childhood. Get that?

The first wave of Russian expats in England, immediately after the Soviet collapse, was often a scary and near-sighted bunch, clawing at the few millions they managed to steal and wanting nothing but to lay low in London. The later wave of Russians began to ingratiate itself into London high society, buying its way into the aristocracy. But more and more they question the need for that. Why bother adjusting themselves to those perverted weirdoes, to be poor relations instead of the new masters of the place? And that's what they should really be doing in the upcoming years.

There are still some decent places there - those dank but beautiful fortresses and abbeys, perfectly manicured lawns, some great actors and theater performances. In short, it was like in the last decaying years of Ancient Greece - it supplied the whole Mediterranean world with old sculptures, actors and clowns, philosophers and bookworms.

The problem though is that the American global empire that plays the role of Ancient Rome is now also entering its senile stage.

It is time for a new shift - for the eastern, Byzantine conquest. You need to wipe the whole place clean. Just shut the whole shack and begin anew. By 2066 it should be completely remodeled, so that only a few signs of that odious Victorian buffoonery remain. This is the project of the current century. The world will be a better place when it is over.

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