You thought you beat the British hey. The mighty Patriots. You got independence. Started it all. The great and good men of Boston. So wrong. You are so wrong. You lost and you didn’t even see it. Or notice it. The British won. By stealth. And I saw the proof of it all today.

I was just minding my own business. Walking to work from Back Bay Station. Got my Starbucks and taking a slow stroll – enjoying a bit of sun. And then I saw it. But I didn’t know it was the British invasion, or rather the Enlgish culture conquest.

I saw these barriers. You know, the type the police put up to control crowds or keep them behind the “line”. I stared at it for a little while. It was just so odd. I haven’t seen it since the Red Sox won the World Series and paraded through town. But these were different. It had two sets of barriers running paralel to each other – maybe 6 feet apart. As if trying to control the crowd within these barriers. And it went down the street and around the corner and further down to where I couldn’t see anymore. What the hell? This is one heck of a crowd they are expecting.

Is Bush coming to town? It made sense. They had police all over the place. But Bush tend not to pull big crowds over here in Boston. Proud Democrats thanks. Obama? He can pull a crowd. But that was just wishful thinking from my side. No reason for him to be here. He’s over on the other side for a while now. And he lost Massachusetts to Hillary in any case. I was dumbfounded. Who the hell could be coming to town? Must be a big wig.

I started walking again and deep in thought trying to figure out who could this superstar be? And then I saw it. It wasn’t a “who”. It was a “what”.

There were already 15 to 20 people standing in queue. Or rather sitting on their chairs in the artificial corridor created by the baracade. Patiently waiting. Drinking their coffee. Chatting to each other. Stealing a glance in the direction of what they are waiting for. I looked and couldn’t help but burst out laughing. They were all waiting for the new Apple store to open. Suckers. The British won the bloody war. And they didn’t even know it.

You see, the British invented queuing. Or as I call it – standing in a line, wasting time and doing nothing a.k.a. standing like an Englishman. They love their queuing. Nothing makes a Pom happier than standing in a queue. They can do it for hours. And they can do it for nothing. Create a queue from nothing. I’ve seen it happen you know. Someone walks down the road and drops something. They stop and bend down. In that split second that they stopped five people queued up behind them. Just in case it was a queue forming. A true Brit never wants to miss a good queuing. It’s just not British.

They’ll do it for anything. And they’ll do anything to form a nice and orderly queue. Here is a typical scene. A Pom walks into a shop to buy a packet of fags (smokes or as you know it, cigarettes). But there is no one there but the person behind the counter. They look at each other for a split second. They know the drill. The Pom hangs around the magazine rack that is strategically placed close to the counter. He makes as if he is reading something – but he isn’t really reading. He is waiting. The door walks in. Another customer. Aah. Relief. He looks at the new guy and nod his head. The new guy nods back – a knowing nod. And waits. Guy #1 slowly walks to the counter. And waits for the other guy to come and stand behind him. Join the queue. The Poms are happy. They have formed a queue. World order has returned. And life goes on.

See what the proud Bostonians did? They formed a queue. For the opening of a store. Just a bloody store guys. And it was 7:30 am. AM – that’s in the morning. Guess what time the store opened? 6 pm. PM – that’s early evening. Ten and a half hours of waiting. For the opening of a store. No big specials. No free computers. Or free gas. Not even much of a store. Just an Apple store. Selling apples. Sorry, Apples.

The Poms won. Because they exported their most soul destroying tactic. Queues. Nice orderly queues. Just standing around and looking stupid British. Their propoganda worked on you. After all these years of thinking you beat the British and can sit back and enjoy your freedom – they were working all the time. Slowly but surely destroying you. Like a virus you never saw coming. Like Asian flu. That’s what British queuing is – Asian flu. It creeps up and bites you in the… hum… posterieur.

It starts innocently enough. They first make you fall for their accent. They only let you hear the BBC English. The one that sounds intelligent. So… worldly. What you don’t hear is when they switch off the cameras and start going, “Oi mate, pass I uh fag there guv”. It’s not a pretty site. They will smile for the first time as well. Can never do that on camera. You should see their teeth. It’s definitely a “before” photo. You don’t want to see that in broad daylight. It’s as yellow as the sun. And the smell. Hali-bloody-tosis. And you thought the French and garlic don’t mix. Try deep fried pizza (yep, they do that up North), deep fried cheap bottomfeeding fish (the stuff we throw away), deep fried chips (fat fatty fries) with loads of salt and vinegar, bad (really bad) curry they won’t touch in India, and pork pies (the less said the better).

Yes. You don’t see the ugly part where their stomachs hang out from under their vests, fag in the mouth, warm beer in their hand, yellow teeth gleeming, food flying from their mouths as they laugh at how they caught out those suckers in America. Come on people. They sell you Sella Artois and make you believe it is a fancy beer. Over there they call it “A can of divorce”. Bad stuff that. You fell for it and are now being taken over by their clones. Almost like “Invasion of the Body Snatchers“. Of course without the public killing. They just kill the soul.

And you think their humor is so great. So refined. Those funny Brits with ther funny accents. Here’s some inside info on their humor. You think John Cleese is funny right? Just remember what his mother said, “He is not funny”. And you think Fawlty Towers is a comedy right? Have you seen the service in the UK? Try buying something or eating out and see how you are treated. Remember, they all believe they are actors or something important. Not a waitor. So un-French. No. They suck at service. Fawlty Towers isn’t a comedy. It is a hard-hitting documentary.

(I stole that one from Greg Poops).

Come on proud Patriots. Fight the British. Don’t queue. You never what might happen next. Taking up a sport and waiting for almost a 100 years before you win another trophy? Oops. Sorry. Done that. At least you don’t play cricket, rugby or soccer. Oh, you do – just badly. So British. Or start driving badly? Oops? Known for their less friendly driving over here in Boston… Or crap weather. Oops… Have that. Okay, it could be worse. You could have an odd accent, expensive property, drive crap cars, expensive gas, gas – the other type, drink too much beer, have high taxes or… Bloody hell. Why don’t you just surrender and sing “Rule Britannia”.

Sad. Just sad. John Adams won’t be happy. Sam Adams – now that is a totally different story.

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