OMR, a luddite, racist and misogynist?

A reference to OMR from Mr Pardoe on Stav’s blog suggested that I was a luddite, racist & misogynist. Heh Heh. Well I’ve been called many worse things. So here is my response:

A luddite? Oh yeah baby! Mobile phones are the new thalidomide. When all your swimmers have been rendered immobile by your evil phones radiation, the girls will be flocking to old man rich for his potent love juice. And old man rich will point at your miserable radiated genitals and cry ‘told you so’ and laugh….

Seriously, all hail the genius’s. I glory in the new and the exciting. Invention and discovery are wonderful and magical things. Yes, I’m prepared to accept that the earth circles the sun. I use my car and hanker only a little for the days of horse drawn carriages. But a train needs brakes. Things can change for the worse as well as the better. Run blindly forward and eventually its gonna hurt. Just as the house of commons needs the damper that is the house of lords, so you technophiles need us luddites. We are a vital pause for thought in your ill considered charge into the future. And there are precious few of us. Old Man rich is proud to be a luddite. And you should recognise that it is a rare and wonderful thing. Worship me, damn you…

A racist. Hell yes. But only because, and it’s a basic truth, the British ARE superior to everyone else. Now, lets get this clear, I’m not colourist. You can be black British, pink British, brown British, yellow British, purple with green spots British and even, just, have a bad orange fake tan and be British. I am pleased to live in a multi cultural, multi religious mixing pot. I’m grateful and proud that I live in a country that people want to flee to rather than from and welcome immigrants of all creeds who want to become British. But we are British, and British is best. Outside of our wonderful country there are of course other fine people. The commonwealth countries on the whole play cricket. And drink tea. We may refer to them as Indians or Ozzies but deep down, they know and we know, they are British. And our American cousins, well they may celebrate independence day, struggle to speak and spell gods chosen language, play girlie games and call them sport and have a trained monkey as president, but scratch the surface and you will find that British ness is just below the skin. In fact, I have been lucky enough to travel in four continents and many countries and have on the whole, been met with kindness, friendship, honesty & decency. Yup. Despite there strange customs and peculiar habits, most of the world is essentially British. And worthy of the prefix Great.

Except of course France. I was in France just last week. And the French were wonderful. We were welcome, we were befriended, we were spoken to in good English and not mocked for our appalling French. The food was excellent, the restaurants inviting, the supermarkets cheap and stocked with a range of fresh produce that puts ours to shame. There were no ill mannered, badly dressed, obese chav’s thronging in the town centre. In fact, there were no ugly fat people at all. The health system is great and the old are treated with the respect they deserve. If you didn’t know better you might consider them superior to us. But, and this is a fundamental point, they are French. And, therefore, despite all appearances to the contrary, inferior garlic swilling, onion selling ill mannered scum. Remember Agincourt. As Nelson never said but should have “The wogs do indeed begin at Calais, they just end at Marseille”.

Obviously, its not quite as simple as ‘us and them’. Even in these sacred isles there are degrees and differences. For all his marching and bombing, Belfast man is bordering on being Irish. And the Welsh?, well if you need miners, choirs, charlotte church's breasts or outside halves then they excel but as for the rest, hmm, well, they’re Welsh. And let us gloss rapidly over the Scott’s because men in skirts is not really right. Even within mighty England there are clear divisions. Your northerner is invariably dour, ill educated and born for a life of poverty, being incapable of either achieving or enjoying success. And in the midlands where I currently reside, the people are friendly and intelligent, but the years of inbreeding have resulted in a certain coarseness, and dare I say it, inherent ugliness, not found in their southern neighbours. And even in the glorious south, the sons and daughters of Essex shine like gods amongst men. And that finest child of Essex, that most glorious of the glorious, that pinnacle for which millions of years of evolution and selection have strived, is me. Racist? Yes. There’s me, and there’s everyone else. Worship me damn you…

Misogynist? Ok, I’ll admit I had to look it up. A person who hates or dislikes women? Me? No way. I love women. Hell, they are beautiful. They are sexy. They are even more intriguing and frightening than beetles. Now, understand women? No way. Not a clue. A completely alien species to me. They are apparently bereft of all normal logic and work on some sort of random instinctive thought process that is completely beyond me. Intimidated, nay, scared by women? Quite possibly. Lets face it, its normal to fear what you don’t understand. Besides, most of the girls I have been out with could take me in a fair fight, and seldom fought fair. But OMR, a person who hates or dislikes women? No. I worship them. I even, reluctantly, accept that they should be allowed in the Crown. They are even better than cuttlefish. I deny the charge of misogyny and have 80 gig of porn to back up my case….