as a (once was) blond-headed blue-eyed white-skinned honkie Brit I’ve evolved philosophically into a non-racist.
JUST AS WELL
for me and all resembling me by accident of ancestry. Apparently, by being true-blue thoroughbred Brits we’re actually the very epitome of mongrel—so just see if I care. Honestly—I really don’t give a BRA*. Colour, degree of tilt to the eyes, size, ancestry; all inconsiderations and non-starters.
“…The earliest Britons were black-skinned, with dark curly hair and possibly blue eyes, new analysis of a 10,000-year-old skeleton has revealed.
Scientists at the Natural History Museum have used pioneering genetic sequencing and facial reconstruction techniques to prove that the first hunter-gatherers to inhabit Britain successfully were far darker in complexion than previously thought…”
Well now. “Judge not,” says the Good Book, “lest thou be judged.” Whoops, hold on … “Judge like fury,”sayeth the Argus, “and judge thy fiends and foes by thine very own personal standards only.” As for being judged, if the critic’s standards don’t meet or exceed my own … pfffffft to his or her opinion.
So long, of course, as those standards have value—you know, they are based on Reality. And Reality to me is behaviour—what a man does, judgement based on principles that I hold dear. (Not what the bugger says, or claims.)
But if his behaviours are based on ‘values’ I despise, I despise him**.
I don’t care if he is white, black, yellow, red or polka dotted with purple patches and sepia stripes—if his behaviour is contemptible (to me) then he is contemptible; and I do not give a BRA if Daddy is a Congressman, millionaire, a queen, the Pope, or ark-angle Gabriel himself.
SO PLEASE EXCUSE ME NOW
I have to go look through my Book of Common Epithets (to use against any white honkie bast— racist who doesn’t like us
Back soon …
* Big Rat’s …
** And proud to admit it, loud and clear.