“Variety!?” I shrieked, “A woman in a garbage bag is walking into the ocean!” I was reminded of the New York Times article “True Londoners Are Extinct” that glibly claimed, “London…is…much less beholden to sepia-tinged notions of what it used to be and much more a product of its new arrivals.”
During this year’s trip we headed into West London for a sepia-toned evening in the park. When we got there my mouth involuntarily said aloud, “What the fuck?” West London is so hardcore Muslim, it made everywhere else we had visited look like something out of Coronation Street. This wasn’t merely a high contingent of Muslims. It was an occupation. The book Londonistan is not an exaggeration; not even close. Kensington Gardens feels so much like Dubai, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Diana Memorial Playground changes its name to the Dodi Fayed’s Girlfriend Memorial Playground. Virtually everyone we saw was wearing a chador, and that included dozens who only had their eyes showing. When you’re the only non-Muslim family at the playground, your kids start to wonder why you brought them to Fat Ninja Park. (I took this photograph while I was there. Note the background.)
It got to the point where if I saw a wog, I’d catch myself saying, “Finally, an Englishman.” I used to be confused by the number of blacks and Indians in the English Defence League. Now it makes perfect sense. They came from a time of assimilation. The children of the “Yardies” who came to England in the 1970s are in the soccer stadiums today wrapped in English flags and singing “God Save the Queen.” Today’s Muslim immigrants have only one allegiance, and that’s to Allah. They’re not just unpatriotic. They actually despise England.
We escaped the park and headed to the world-famous department store Harrods, where my infidel wife wanted to indulge her love of material objects. The nearly 200-year-old institution has long been owned by Arabs and was bought a couple of years ago by Qatar Holdings. Virtually everyone—no, wait, EVERYONE—was Arabic in the store. There were women in chadors carrying Louis Vuitton bags and the few who showed their faces were covered in bizarre clown makeup that looked like something out of Cirque du Soleil. The men appeared to be spoiled mama’s boys who were dressed like mentally ill gays that had just won the lottery. I later asked a local if the high Arab population in that area has anything to do with Harrods and the fact that Fayed’s father used to own it and he said, “Maybe a bit. The real reason they dominate the West End is it’s the most expensive part of London and they’re the only ones who can afford it.”
Letting a foreign culture replace your own may seem like a cute idea to the world-traveled media class, but it can be quite sinister for the ones left holding the scrotum. In May of this year, police finally prosecuted a gang of pedophiles who had molested five teenage girls. When asked what took them so long, the police admitted they were scared of being seen as racist.
What Brits don’t seem to understand about all this capitulation is that it encourages more violations. Muslims don’t respect people who lie prostrate before them. They stab them. When Theo Van Gogh was impaled for making a film that questioned Islam his last words were, “Can we talk about this?” The answer was clearly, “Oh HELL no.”
At the end of this year’s three-day stay, we took a taxi to the airport and after a few questions about religion, I learned our driver was yet another Muslim from Lahore. He changed the subject by asking me about the weather in New York and I told him we had one of the hottest summers on record. “Every day you wake up and pray for some kind of relief,” I told him, “but it never came.”
This seemed to make him quite pensive and he said, “You see? You say pray. I pray, too. We are quite similar in that sense.”
I’d heard this a million times before and went to my go-to response: “True,” I said, “but you can often judge a religion by how it reacts to mockery [link NSFW]. In New York we had Jesus frozen in piss and our Virgin Mary partially painted with elephant dung. We weren’t bananas about it, but nobody was killed.” He was mortified by my two examples and could only say, “That’s horrible,” like when Woody Allen found out someone defecated on his sister in Crimes and Misdemeanors. We didn’t speak after that.
I was reminded of the boiling frog when Londoners there told me I was blowing all of this out of proportion. They said I had come at the Muslim peak and most of them head back to the desert when the weather cools down.
At Heathrow, I decided to pick up the paper and count how many stories were Muslim-related. Here’s what happens in the first 30 pages of the September 4th edition of the Daily Mail, which I read cover-to-cover on the plane:
Page 6 depicts Iranian parathlete Mehrdad Karam refusing to shake the Duchess of Cambridge’s hand because she’s a woman.
Page 12 has a story about two Christians who were “refused the legal right to wear a cross at work.” Below that is an article from the former Archbishop of Canterbury asking, “How can it be a hate crime to show your faith in Christ?” They wouldn’t dare treat Muslims this way.
Page 14 features a letter criticizing David Cameron for feigning sympathy for the aforementioned Christians while permitting their persecution. The same page features a story about John Tulloch’s plight.
Page 17 has a tiny article about a Muslim pharmacist who was cleared of sexual-harassment charges despite asking female coworkers about their favorite sexual position, pushing his crotch against their ass, asking about boyfriends while grabbing their hands and putting them on his stomach, and putting his arms around female coworkers’ waists. The Pharmaceutical Council “accepted his explanation that he came from a strict religious community and because of this background he lacked the appropriate social skills in his contacts with women.”
Page 19 discusses the crackdown on foreign students in the UK. The liberal elite sees this as blind racism and neglects to notice the some 50,000 illegal workers who came there as students.
Page 26 had a story about a white electrician named Paul Smith who makes bombs for a hobby and had his house raided despite the fact that he is so open about it, his birthday cake was shaped like a bomb and said, “Hope it goes off with a bang.” Authorities did not first consult the local church to see if the raid would be considered offensive to Paul’s religion as they often do before Muslim raids.
After I put down the paper, a Muslim steward with a hybrid Arabic/British accent asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I asked him if he had any bourbon and he said, “What’s bourbon?” He then opened the alcohol tray of sin and had me rifle around myself until I found a small bottle of Woodford Reserve. As I poured it in my tiny plastic terrorist-proof cup, I thanked God I was heading back to the country that came up with “Don’t Tread on Me.” Britain’s values have succumbed to Islam’s. The only bright side is that it now serves as an example of what happens when you let “fear and nervousness” run the show.
Here’s hoping America’s values outlast Britain’s. Cheers.
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