Snow!!!!! Death From Above!!!

People of Great Britain, this is a public service announcement. Snow is precipitation in the form of crystallised ice. It isn't very scary and it isn't going to harm you unless you go out of your way to be a muppet. It's common throughout the world, and civilisation has been managing it for a very long time. Why then, do you begin to dribble and lose control of your bodily functions at the thought of the stuff? Why do you empty the shelves at Tesco, bleat to your nearest and dearest about how awful and scary it is? I think I have the answer. It is because you've forgotten what it means to be a true Brit. You've traded your spine for a nice comfy cushion, and now when the slightest challenge comes your way you buckle like a stack of Jenga. These last few days have made me wince. Some of the rubbish I've had to listen to about how we're suffering due to these epic weather conditions has mad me gag. Really people, if something really bad happened how would you cope? Because if this weeks demonstration is anything to go by I fear you'd collapse into a foetal ball and cry out for mummy. People of Great Britain, you are toothless, spineless, and a disgrace to our heritage, a heritage built upon courage and fortitude and, dare I say it, a "Get on with it attitude." We don't send our kids to school because of health and safety concerns, we close airports and public infrastructure, when the rest of the world just rolls back its head and laughs. And so it should, because we've become a laughing stock. We roll over when faced with adversity, demand rights without responsibility, and in so doing sacrifice the very core of what put the "Great" into Britain. I'm ashamed of many of you. I think you are utterly weak and pathetic, and I think many of you need to take a long hard look at what you've become. If this makes you angry then perhaps there's hope; at least you've a little fire in your belly. Please please please, will you just grow a pair and man up (or wench up) if you're a feminist. I'm not interested in how many inches of snow you've got in your garden, or that you spent simply ages defrosting the car, or that your precious children were so upset at the prospect of going to school that you simply couldn't bare to let them. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Fuck right off, and come back when you're mature enough to cope in the real world. God, that's feels so much better. . . .