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Roland doesn't know anything
Jimmy Montague, whose opinionated and fascinating blog of a life well lived can be found here, had this to say about my opinions of American politics: I read what you say here and I understand you know nothing of American politics. If you knew more, you might never come here again.
Jimmy's found me out - I really don't know anything about American politics. My ignorance is staggering. I'm just a verbose and enthusiastic amateur (like most people who have vaguely political blogs.) But I disagree with the "you might never want to come here again" comment. I'm getting that more and more from people, who seemed horrified at the 'state of the nation' in America.
But I still say she rocks.
And I know, I know, I'm obsessed. I'm just completely doolaly about the place and the people. I think it's a lovely country. I'm under no illusions that it's perfect, but it is perfect for me. I take one deep breath of that cinnamon scented air and I'm in heaven.
England is a country in which ambition is stamped on. Prince Charles recently told people that they should 'know their place.' In America nobody knows their place. They're all clamoring for a piece of that American Pie. To some people, the racket they make would be deafening. I find it exhilarating.
In England my daft schemes are just that - daft schemes. In America, my daft schemes are, in the great scheme of things, pretty sensible.
I mean look at the place. Only in America could a two seater sports car come with eight beverage cup holders. Only in America would somebody celebrate the worlds largest ball of twine. Only in America could you make your fortune clipping two frying pans together and calling it "The Perfect Pancake Maker."
It's a wonderful, inspiring country full of wonderful, inspiring people. Almost three hundred million of them. And that makes almost 300,000 exciting new friends to make for every 1 corrupt member of government.
To truly appreciate the American nation, you have to look beyond the government to the people and the places themselves. And they're brilliant.
Some of the things that make me SO excited about living in America:
2 comments:
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Hey, rolski! Try this:
Jimmy's Ferocious Cornbread.
Pre-heat your oven to 350 degrees farenheit. In a large bowl, mix:
1 1/2 cups corn meal
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons baking powder
3 large eggs
3/8 cup of good vegetable oil
3 tablespoons honey
Add whole milk to the mixture in the bowl while stirring to make batter. Use enough milk to make a batter that pours readily but is NOT "runny."
Grease a 9x13 inch cake pan.
Add the batter to the cake pan and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a toothpick poked into the middle of the loaf comes out dry.
Cut your cornbread into squares and serve it with lots of REAL BUTTER and HONEY and a glass of ice-cold MILK. Your girlfriend will give you blowjobs for a plate of this stuff, buddy.
Now send me a recipe for some sort of Brit chow that you REALLY like. If it doesn't sound toxic, I'll try it. 8-)
Jimmy
What? Me? Opinionated?
Tell the truth, rolski. I also said that if you knew more about our politics, you'd probably laugh us all to death. And you would, too.
I've never had the money to get overseas, myself. Today I'm glad that I don't. I'd hate to go to the UK or to France, say, and have to admit I'm from the States.
I mean look at us! Our president is a corrupt, warmongering moron who, when he's in cameo with other world leaders, FARTS, mind you, to try and freak them out. You gotta wonder what Vladimir Putin thought when Bush ripped one off just to see what he'd do -- don't you? And how about the time the little cretin tried to feel up Germany's Angelina Merkel? The new socialist leader from France worries me in particular, because she is clearly HOT. I mean if Bush can't keep his paws off dumpy old Angelina Merkel, how is he going to act when he's closeted in a private conference with that leggy French babe? And she looks mean, too. We might end up having to shoot it out with the Foreign Legion just because Bushboy can't keep his hands off of other bushes. And I'd have to explain this twerp to people I met in my travels?
No, thanks. I'll stay here by the river, in Iowa, and eat corn and talk to the carp. It's less expensive, more rewarding, and not nearly so embarrassing. I mean if that leggy French broad drove past my fishing hole and saw me talking to a carp, she'd just laugh and say "Looky there that dumb ass talking to a fish," (in French, of course). And I wouldn't have to respond because I wouldn't hear her. But if I went walking around France, French people would ask me to my face to explain why my leader is George W. Bush, the retarded groper, and NOT some hot, leggy babe like they got. They might even ask me to fart for them, just to prove I'm really from the States.
Should I put myself through that? I think not.