Why do we love the British?
Hitler wanted to copy the British Empire when he initiated the Holocaust.
It's a fact.
Hitler's favorite movie was The Lives of the Bengal Lancer
, which portrayed a mere handful of superior Englishmen ruling millions of sub-humans (English called them wogs) in India, even though India had a much older culture, even though Indian princes spiced their foods at a time when the British were living in caves painting themselves blue and eating raw boar entrails.
Hitler wanted to rule over Slavic sub-humans in Russia the same way the British did in India. He watched Lives of the Bengal Lancer over and over again.
"That's how I want my soldiers to act," Hitler said.
Why do we love the British and their history of enslavement? Once they even enslaved us, here in America. Winston Churchill, who remains a hero to most Americans and the heroic symbol of World War II, fought the independence of India tooth-and-nail to the bitter end until the country's break-away could no longer be avoided.
Churchill was a figurative slave holder.
Oh look! Isn't that precious!
They trot the little queen out onto the balcony at the Olympic Games and she looks stoned, like she ingested a gin tonic. A little prune-like woman with a crown.
"My subjects! My subjects!" she says, genuflecting, bestowing her merciful superiority upon us. "My subjects, I'm descended from heaven."
I guess heaven in this case is a pig of a man named Henry the Eighth, who belched and farted, wiped turkey grease from his mouth with his hand before tossing stripped turkey bones to the packs of dogs running wild in the palace. This is during a break between murdering and torturing people.
In fairness to Henry, who went to all the trouble to start a church so he could score on a chick with less mileage on her than his wife (Anne Boleyn), the Pope in Rome was also torturing and killing people in the name of religion, while wearing robes with jewels.
This is how we honor Jesus, who preached humility.
Why do we love the British, who stole and murdered their way across the globe for over 600 years? They ripped the ancient frieze right off the top of the Parthenon in Athens and shipped it back to London. They looted the treasures of the former Ceylon (now Sri Lanka). Where do you think that ruby or emerald the queen is wearing comes from?
The queen dips her hand in effortless patronization.
"Let the festivities begin," she proclaims. She managed to memorize that.
The queen actually rules over nothing. But she has jewels and lives in a big house, one of a hundred. Paid for at state expense. The queen doesn't pay for it, nor her son with his oddly duck-shaped head, or her grandson, the one who wears Nazi uniforms at parties.
One of her grandsons served in the military in Afghanistan, but not in the front line. He was put up in a luxury motel and given a computer to play games on.
Oh look! There's Paul McCartney, standing with the queen at the games. He's made a better career out of being one of the few living ex-Beatles. The Beatles copied Buddy Holly and the Crickets (Beatles, Crickets), and got all the money. McCartney was the Beatle who was the schemer of the group, taking leadership of it away from founder John Lennon, who was sinking into pills and booze before his murder.
I never said Paul didn't have musical talent, but he is kind of like the queen, on top of the world thanks to a public perception that somehow both are important. How important can you be for singing, "I want to hold your hand?"
If the queen is descended from heaven, I want to inspect her poop after she goes Number Two on the toilet. If it doesn't stink, I will concede she is descended from heaven.
But I haven't answered my own question. Why is it the queen, if she came here, we would all become fawning sycophants trampling ourselves to get a glimpse of her, screaming and drooling with envy and admiration---for what?
A little prune walking around with a crown on her head.
It's because we're less. Maybe with the exception of Mitt Romney, we believe subconsciously we are less. That's why if the queen walked towards us, we would collectively crap our pants.
Conquest, ripping off jewels, ruling over sub-human natives of whatever ethnic substrata, still moves us, still impresses us, still makes us want those things.
If she goes for a ride in her golden coach, instead of laughing, we're impressed. All of us are niggers or village idiot peasants in the presence of the queen. It is nothing less than a continuing miracle, to match that of the success of the Beatles.
The British have, like defying gravity, falling upwards instead of down, been able to do the impossible, convince people that conquest and enslavement are enlightenment.
Even after they lost most of their ill-gotten gains, we still admire them. Why?
The answer lies in how we feel about ourselves. America, despite the fact it rules the world as a colossus successor to England, is still like an ignorant, second-class farmer, a hillbilly, scratching his butt, blowing his nose into his bare hand, raking hay into a bale out in a farm field.