The Increasing Prevalence of Genetic Sludge

#1
I’ve just spent a rather pleasant few days in Vilamoura. Nice little town, good temperature for the time of year, and reasonable hotel/food prices. The people were generally pleasant, well-behaved and mannered, and all were dressed in a civilised manner – except the Brits that is.

They stood out a mile. Loud and boorish, adorned in t-shirts or football shirts matched with long-shorts/jeans and cheap shoes/expensive trainers, and with table manners to match. The eating experience was marked by excessive swearing and the ringing of mobiles, topped off with long periods of Facebook-type usage. Breakfasts were taken in an alcoholic fug, and civilised food ignored, with the preference being for heaped plates of sausage, bacon and egg, with the imbibers wearing jeans/shorts and flip flops and generally unshaven. During the day they could be seen roaming the streets, either eating on the hoof or hunting down discounted tobacco products.

I believe we could solve this problem by paying to the genetically-flawed elements of our population a sum of money large enough to persuade them to have irreversible sterilisation. Upfront costs high but the savings downstream enormous. Care would have to be taken to ensure we retained sufficient of this type of person to perform low-grade tasks but this should not be an insurmountable problem. I may not see the full benefits of such a programme, as some considerable time would be required to get to the desired end-state, but at least I could enjoy my holidays better knowing that a useful social-engineering project was in motion.
 
#2
Long ago it was considered the British thing to do, invading another country and smashing the fuck out of it with the aid of alcohol. Fucking socialists will take away all our fun.
 
#3
I’ve just spent a rather pleasant few days in Vilamoura. Nice little town, good temperature for the time of year, and reasonable hotel/food prices. The people were generally pleasant, well-behaved and mannered, and all were dressed in a civilised manner – except the Brits that is.

They stood out a mile. Loud and boorish, adorned in t-shirts or football shirts matched with long-shorts/jeans and cheap shoes/expensive trainers, and with table manners to match. The eating experience was marked by excessive swearing and the ringing of mobiles, topped off with long periods of Facebook-type usage. Breakfasts were taken in an alcoholic fug, and civilised food ignored, with the preference being for heaped plates of sausage, bacon and egg, with the imbibers wearing jeans/shorts and flip flops and generally unshaven. During the day they could be seen roaming the streets, either eating on the hoof or hunting down discounted tobacco products.

I believe we could solve this problem by paying to the genetically-flawed elements of our population a sum of money large enough to persuade them to have irreversible sterilisation. Upfront costs high but the savings downstream enormous. Care would have to be taken to ensure we retained sufficient of this type of person to perform low-grade tasks but this should not be an insurmountable problem. I may not see the full benefits of such a programme, as some considerable time would be required to get to the desired end-state, but at least I could enjoy my holidays better knowing that a useful social-engineering project was in motion.
We could tackle the problem one step at a time. For example, we could deal with the unwashed character of said individuals by building special purpose shower blocks and entice them into the blocks with the promise of a barbeque afterwards. I think somebody trialled this a few years back with a reasonable degree of success, but I've forgotten who.
 
#4
If your great great great grandfather was there in 1808-14 he would have found the same sort of Brit there only tooled up. If they had been sterilised we would have had a few problems in ww1 and ww2 and other stops in between.

Scum of the earth, mere scum of the earth.
 
#6
£5 says he is the kind of cunt who trys to read a book in the NAAFI bar.
 
K

Kirkz

Guest
#7
Could have just stayed home and save yourself all the aggravation and a shit load of cash which you could then have spunked on beer and tabs. Oh and even more cash saved on razors and foam by not having to shave!
 
#8
Loud and boorish, adorned in t-shirts or football shirts matched with long-shorts/jeans and cheap shoes/expensive trainers, and with table manners to match. The eating experience was marked by excessive swearing and the ringing of mobiles, topped off with long periods of Facebook-type usage. Breakfasts were taken in an alcoholic fug, and civilised food ignored, with the preference being for heaped plates of sausage, bacon and egg, with the imbibers wearing jeans/shorts and flip flops and generally unshaven. During the day they could be seen roaming the streets, either eating on the hoof or hunting down discounted tobacco products.


Sounds to me like they had a cracking holiday.
 
#9
I understand one of the early German experiments for the 'final solution' was to rig vans so that the exhaust fed CO into the passenger compartment. I'm sure we could arrange something similar with EasyJet.

It's not like they care what condition they deliver their passengers in anyway.
 
#10
I understand one of the early German experiments for the 'final solution' was to rig vans so that the exhaust fed CO into the passenger compartment. I'm sure we could arrange something similar with EasyJet.

It's not like they care what condition they deliver their passengers in anyway.
That might work with humans but I thought plant life could recover when exposed to UV? In which case, either disembarking at Malaga or heading straight for their sunbeds upon return would see us back where we started ... OTOH, the exhaust temperature is quite high. :twisted:
 
#12
Well having grown up in Blackpool all I can say is thank fuck for Easyjet.

And yeah, fuck off somewhere expensive if you don't like it or hire a villa.

What would you consider a civilized breakfast, cheese cooked meat and croissants?
 
#13
I’ve just spent a rather pleasant few days in Vilamoura. Nice little town, good temperature for the time of year, and reasonable hotel/food prices. The people were generally pleasant, well-behaved and mannered, and all were dressed in a civilised manner – except the Brits that is.

They stood out a mile. Loud and boorish, adorned in t-shirts or football shirts matched with long-shorts/jeans and cheap shoes/expensive trainers, and with table manners to match. The eating experience was marked by excessive swearing and the ringing of mobiles, topped off with long periods of Facebook-type usage. Breakfasts were taken in an alcoholic fug, and civilised food ignored, with the preference being for heaped plates of sausage, bacon and egg, with the imbibers wearing jeans/shorts and flip flops and generally unshaven. During the day they could be seen roaming the streets, either eating on the hoof or hunting down discounted tobacco products.

I believe we could solve this problem by paying to the genetically-flawed elements of our population a sum of money large enough to persuade them to have irreversible sterilisation. Upfront costs high but the savings downstream enormous. Care would have to be taken to ensure we retained sufficient of this type of person to perform low-grade tasks but this should not be an insurmountable problem. I may not see the full benefits of such a programme, as some considerable time would be required to get to the desired end-state, but at least I could enjoy my holidays better knowing that a useful social-engineering project was in motion.
Don't come on here with your smug Daily Heil style assertions about assisted Darwinism and then try and apply insidious political correctness to the English abroad. The English have a right to stroll through the world and upset Johnny foreignor as much as they like. As for dress, the 5000 or so disenteric bowmen who went on their hols with Henry V were all bare arsed and had no money for flip flops, so things have improved.
 
#14
As for dress, the 5000 or so disenteric bowmen who went on their hols with Henry V were all bare arsed and had no money for flip flops, so things have improved.
Well, I suppose it depends upon your definition of "improved". From Wiki ...
The French suffered heavily. Three dukes, at least eight counts, a viscount and an archbishop died, along with numerous other nobles. Of the great royal office holders, France lost her Constable, Admiral, Master of the Crossbowmen and prévôt of the marshals.[SUP][53][/SUP] The baillis of nine major northern towns were killed, often along with their sons, relatives and supporters. In the words of Juliet Barker, the battle "cut a great swath through the natural leaders of French society in Artois, Ponthieu, Normandy, Picardy."
... and that's not counting the thousands of other frogs who croaked through being at the butt end of our archery jokes. When was the last time a lost Club 18-30 party managed really give the locals a good shoeing on that scale? Dress sense be damned if we could still leave the local cities ablaze and such citizens as we left alive in mortal fear for their lives. And if we're not going to kill them, we should use our sartorial superiority, charm and wit to remind them that they are just foreigners, even if they do live there. But we don't. Pass me another macaroon, if you would?
 
#15
I don't see the residents of Villamoura complaining. They probably enjoy the income from the tourism and the benefits it has brought them, I mean rolling in money and hiring sunbeds to fat northern europeans beats carrying your donkey up a mountain every day to watch the cork oaks grow.

I suspect that if the locals didn't want tourists there they wouldn't have built all those hotels and golf courses. What this thread is really about is: Boo Hoo Hoo, they're all common as muck, Boo Hoo Hoo, holiday price dumping, Boo Hoo Hoo, working class, Boo Hoo Hoo, package tourists, Boo Hoo Hoo, why don't they all wear Panama hats like me, Boo Hoo Hoo, how dare they spend all their hard earned cash to come on holiday where I am, Boo Hoo Hoo, property prices are slumping, Boo Hoo Hoo, I'm a ponce me, Boo Hoo Hoo!
 
#16
How fucking dare they??!!

Go on holiday somewhere more up-market next time, you cheap skate

PS. And add whinging fucking toffs to your extermination list too!
real "toffs" don't whinge, it's the upwardly mobile middle classes who do, largely because they think that being high maintenance, demanding twats makes them appear more upper class. Sadly they are cancerous beings who should also be exterminated in the most painful manner possible for not realising that social graces cannot be bought.
 
S

Screw_The_Nut

Guest
#17
By the way, don't ever go to the middle east! They don't shave, wear football shirts and wear sandals! But then again they don't have bacon and sausages for breakfast...
 
#18
real "toffs" don't whinge, it's the upwardly mobile middle classes who do, largely because they think that being high maintenance, demanding twats makes them appear more upper class. Sadly they are cancerous beings who should also be exterminated in the most painful manner possible for not realising that social graces cannot be bought.
It's only chippy cunts who whinge about toffs, the rest of us try to get along without blaming others for our laziness
 
#19
I've just returned from the Algarve, what a cracking laugh. There was me, Daz, Baz, Gaz and Jaz. (Waz was arrested when the plane landed, over a misunderstanding regarding the air hostess and the Portuguese for. "Is that a bomb in yer knickers darlin?"

We managed to get to Vilamoura without too much trouble, although when the taxi stopped, Jaz shouted. "Fucking leg it lads." So we did. Fuck him the caaaant.

Gaz has got a couple of them O levels, so it was decided that he would book the room on our behalf, and we'd meet him in the boozer later, and square him away with some cash. Yeah right. Wankerrrrr.

We'd only had about 8 bottles of that Sagres shite, when some poncy looking twat in tweed suit started giving us the eye, and muttering under his breath. Fuckkkk himmm.

Anyways, Gaz turns up with the room key and some local slag he's pulled, so it's farkin party time. WOOO! Get yer fucking tits out sweetheart...you're fuckin on next!

Fuck knows how we made it back to our room the first night, we were all wankered, and although it was a twin room, five of us managed to crash out and get a half decent kip.

Breakfast was fucking gash. Loads of dry brown bread, manky looking cheese and some sort of fish paste. Well we weren't having any of that bollox, so we trooped into the kitchen and grabbed the first fucking cook we saw.

"Hey Manuel, you lazy dago, can you rustle up some proper fucking grub?"

Fair play to the cunt, he sorted us out good and fucking proper. Eggs, bacon, beans and bangers, proper fucking nosh. And it went down a fucking treat I'll tell you. Bollox to that conti-fucking-nental shite.

We noticed that old cunty bollox with the tweeds was staying at the same gaff. Same beady eyes, and muttering under his breath, pretending to read the Daily Telegraph, the poncy cunt. And what's he wearing a fucking tie for? It was fucking roasting outside, we made do with some right tasty knock off gear from Sports Direct.

It took us thirty seconds to plan our day. On the fucking lash obviously, and another twenty minutes trying to upload some pics onto Facebook. I had some crackers taken with my phone, including some up-skirts I secured in the lift, of the bird who sitting with Mr Tweedy. Corking fucking Norks on her as well.

We were supposed to visit Waz in the local nick at some point in the proceedings, but never actually got round to it, far too busy soaking up the culture and ramming booze down our fat necks as we zig zagged our way around town scoffing on the hoof.

We were pretty sure that Mr Tweedy complained about us, to the Hotel Manager, but fuck all came of it, probably because Daz was giving his daughter the good news.

As I said the weather was fucking lovely, the locals fucking loved us and we are going again next year.

Toodle pip. Ya cunts.
 
G

goatrutar

Guest
#20
Just Googled a pic of Vilamoura. It looks like the fucking Gold Coast. Fuck it, send all your chavs there we'll send all our bogans.
 

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