23 May American Spring Break with British Flair
“Bro, that was sooo fuckinn epic…”
“What a douche bag…I mean like…like the guy is such a douche that he is a douche”
There were dudes and then bros and then dudes again. But this shouldn’t really be surprising, after all, this is American Spring break in Cancun.
I could write books about the spiral to the bottom tour that America’s youth seems to enthusiastically embrace, but I could equally write about the “epic” glory of a place devoted strictly for one cause and purpose that is so focused it would give Zen masters the chills. The aim? Partying. The direction? South of the border. I could tell the tale, but I won’t. Your imagination can already paint the picture of the “dudeness” and “awesomeness” that America’s youth inspires on this annual march to party Mecca. Instead, I shall discuss what is a more perplexing phenomenon in the world. One that scientists have yet to even scratch the surface of because they are sidetracked with questionable crusades like the cure for AIDS or Climate Change. I am talking about America’s obsession with the English accent. For a long time I have made the case that the best place on Earth for a British guy (or equally aggravating Aussie/Kiwi) to study abroad, live, work, rape & pillage would be America.You could be dumber than sin, babble incoherent nonsense (standard), not have a penny to your name and a have face that looks like it was kicked in by a mule, but you can still send women and men alike into orgasmic delight by saying “bottle”. With only 10% of Americans wielding passports, you are a bright spot of international wonderment with just the right touch of tea. Don’t get me wrong. For me, the accent is about as enchanting as watching gay hyenas giving it a go. I have seen one too many stag parties and football matches to still indulge such a fantasy. But alas, such is the world. So I thought what better way to prove my case then to take out my terrible rendition of the Queen’s English for a spin then on American Spring break in Cancun.
“I am terribly sorry, but can you please point me in the direction of the loo?”
Words cannot really do justice to the eyes that went beaming with utter endearment and intrigue, the complete 180-degree attitude change as I was transformed from another drunk horny asshole to an English James Bond with a charm and debonaire that politicians can only dream to fake. It was only short of witnessing an immaculate conception and even then am I sure Jesus would agree that the fanfare the English accent receives with the Americanos is more miraculous.
“Oh My God…are you from England?”
“Right you are love”
“OMGGGG I lovee your accent”
“Righto, well cheers, my Mum is awfully proud”
As I walked…nay…strode to the bar, I could feel the heat from their stare. It was what a TV televangelist must feel as he “heals” people as they look at him for salvation and hope. At the bar, I faired equally well with the bartender.
“Do you mind topping me up love? Yes that’s the ticket.”
Stiff is a strong drink. Mine was more like gasoline with a touch of tonic stiff. So stiff that instead of saying “God, I could use a stiff drink” I now say “God, I could use an English drink”. Not to split hairs or anything, but for me it was more divine than having water turned into wine – and I don’t even like wine (for breakfast).
I could go on but who wants to hear about sex, drugs and rock n roll?
So am I ready to toss aside the bald eagle and forbear my heritage for the sake of a few more smiles and a poisonously-strong drink? Am I to mold myself into the role and drink tea with my pinky up as I talk about the Tories and the Labour being completely mental? Should I pretend to like the most boring sport in the world and complain mercilessly that the also painfully boring baseball is just a cheap substitute for a gentleman’s game? Should I start peeing on monuments around Eastern Europe and feel indignant when an American forgets that we, the British, colonized the world and “invented” the English language?
I don’t know, but these drinks are mighty tasty and that girl over there is giving me googley eyes.
God Save the Queen.