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The English Language

I went in to England expecting to learn a  dialect of English. Instead, when it came to the areas near small shops and takeaway restaurants, it ended up being more akin to learning the signals given by primates at the zoo. I learned what a high piercing language-less wail meant in comparison to the lower grunting. I began to learn what the different grunts and series of grunt meant – some were sexual, some referred to drugs, and some were just a reaction to new people entering the environment (the latter is higher pitched and more urgent sounding).
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Education, Class Status, and England

According to statistics, the vast majority of those living around the poverty line will not attend university. Some populated areas will see as few as one (sometimes not even that) poor child move on to attending university within a given year. This is despite the requirement that they all attend school until they are sixteen to eighteen years old, which one would think would naturally lead to university at least for some.

They simply do not attempt to reach to a higher level and assume that where they are born is where they will remain. This becomes an issue when the majority of them are being born into the ever expanding housing projects that litter much of the English landscape. They cherish and are proud of where they are from, even if it is the ghetto. This is how the proud and loud welfare queen crack addict with a love of canned rap music comes to be, and why she is not in a minority. She revels in being a drug addicted scrounger because that is where she comes from. It is pride.

 

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The Family Unit

I have heard every curse word in the world flung at a two year old with what sounds like a combination of rage and psychotic glee. I have heard constant tormenting, screaming and what I can only assume are small bodies slamming against walls just moments after hearing cheerful goodbyes and a car door close.

Sometimes the other person will forget something, get out of the car and come back to hear the abuse. The abuse will immediately stop in their presence and the exaggerated happy voices saying things like “Oh, innit (isn’t it) wonderful that Johnny can see the keys are there?” will come back out again until about five seconds after the visitor leaves. They will even have gotten Johnny involved in the overly loud and artificially cheerful goodbyes as their guest walked out the door. It is almost comical (if it were not so horrific) and can be counted down precisely to the second if one has been observing it for long enough. There were days when England felt like hell on earth. The family is the core of a society. If they abuse each other like that, then what would they be willing to do to someone that isn’t family? It’s barbaric.

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The Prized Welfare State

The natives of England consider welfare payments to be a prized national gem and mistakenly think that everyone else is out to take this treasure from them. They are absolutely convinced that every foreigner, even those from first world countries, have all traveled great distances just to steal their cherished welfare and role around in wondrous poverty and dependence on government along with the British.

The dissimilarity is built in to the language. In America we consider welfare a failure because so many people are on it, and in England they consider it a success because so many people are on it. The British don’t really understand that difference in language – they just understand that their successful welfare and booming teen pregnancy rates are a treasure bestowed upon them for eating and breathing so wonderfully – and that it is indeed a success in their terminology.

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Quaint Row Houses

“People peek out from behind curtains as if frightened to be seen. Rubbish floats down the street, and sad or angry looking people plod down the walkways on occasion.  Grass will often go uncut unless the government housing management (called the council) can be bothered to do it. Young welfare mothers can be seen and heard screaming loudly to each other and pushing multiple prams (strollers) down the street. These type of English are not quiet when amongst themselves. They are loud, brash, and exceedingly rude and demanding in many cases. They feel entitled and they just want more, more, more and will try to force it out of anyone that they can.”
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Child Abuse

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With parenting like that as a role model, the children grow up to be loud, violent creatures that only behave when they feel as if they are in a situation that calls for it. This is referred to as “behavioral issues” and is of course not considered to be due to the parents’ behavior at all. Often the neighborhood is blamed: “Johnny would be a good boy and wouldn’t have started using crack cocaine at age twelve if we had lived in a better neighborhood.” is a common excuse, usually given when the child has turned sixteen or seventeen and is facing criminal charges for murdering their own child “accidentally.”… Do not jeopardize your children by leaving them in the care of these  people. British nannies are not Mary Poppins.
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The Problem of Immigration in Britain

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Their problem is not particularly or solely that outside people make their lives worse, it is that these outside people are witnessing how bad the  British behave in comparison to most other societies. If you remove the observer, you remove the problem, at least from the British perspective. Well, that and it’s always nice to have a dog to blame when you fart or wreck your car.
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Social Darwinism on Crack Cocaine

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Since the chavs are the only voices heard, those are the ones the children chose to style themselves after. I give England two more generations before there is nothing left but the chavs. It is sad and disheartening to watch these empty downtrodden and beaten ghosts as they disappear amongst a sea of brash violence and stupidity.

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So, being in England, I had the police over for a cup of tea in order to get some advice.

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The advice was as follows. I was allowed to fight back, but only with as much force as was being exerted against me.It was a “don’t bring a gun to knife fight” sort of thing, although I had no idea how I was meant to be prepared ahead of time to exactly match whatever psychotic shit Ms. London was going to bring next. Was I meant to get my own pram and fight her with that since a pram was what she was bringing to the fight? Trying to follow that logic, I felt like Alice in the scene where she plays croquet with a bird instead of a mallet.
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Ms. London- a screeching banshee oblivious to the world around her

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Oh, Ms. London. How do I even begin to describe thee?
I call her Ms. London because she claims that city as her
origin and is quite convinced that everyone from there goes
about their day to day business in the same way that she
does – screeching and screaming and making death threats over
everything from her utility bill to her child’s potty training.
I can assure you, even with my dismal perspective of England;
London is not quite that bad. At least when it comes to the business and tourist sections one does not hear loud screeching or see men in business attire regularly breaking out their fists or stabbing each other in order to decide where they should go for lunch.
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