From the Vikings to Abba in a mere millenium-what a Waterloo it’s been for these Dancing Queens! Looking back at Scandinavia’s slip in the ratings could make you feel as rotten as a Swede on Christmas morning!
The sad fate of Scandinavia should be a lesson to us all in how dull and stagnant life gets when Europeans try to bottle up their genetic heritage of sheer, crazy, eternal ethnic hatred. It’s not that the Skannies have lost their taste for inter-ethnic bigotry. Hell, no! Pour a beer down a Dane, say “Swede” or “Norwegian” and sit back for a spittle-punctuated rant that won’t stop till the tap runs dry!
But a long course of rancid Lutheranism has made the Norse so shy of letting their wilder village hatreds run free. Only the recent entry of the three lost Baltic tribes has livened things up. And what a find the plucky Baltics were! Any European neighborhood would kill (and kill and kill) for new ethnic targets like the subhuman Latts or downright weird Lithuanians, the Unicorns of European ethnic groups.
Let’s hope the new players loosen up the once-wild Baltic Conference. C’mon, Blondykes, let’s see that old form back! Just hack, Baby! Just hack-n-slash…and let the Finns fall where they may! And now, to get you deepfreeze cases defrosted, is a map of the repressed hatreds you know you want to indulge!
A typically lazy, drunken Irish poet said it best: “Much hatred, little room.” Land is scarce but bigotry is thick as congealed porridge in the “luvverly” British Isles — a little corner of the world that taught us all that fear, terror and genocide can be the building-blocks of a great Empire. The four tribes of this tiny archipelago have managed to colonize the whole world without departing even once from their assigned roles in an ancient abusive-family drama. England does her star turn as the quietly sadistic mum, with Scotland as the overachieving, half-mad “good son” with an unhealthy crush on mum. Ireland can be counted on to steal a few scenes as the comic-relief whipping boy, and Wales is…let’s see…Wales is, er, the slut of a daughter who wandered off to…where did she go, anyway?
Try as we might, we can hardly remember a stereotype to apply to the poor old Welsh — and in the British Isles, that’s a sure sign of extinction. Without your neighbor’s hatred to remind you who you are, you’d expand endlessly, dissipating into the vapors of these wretched tracts of fog.
* Note: the “shitty food” genome should be considered to apply to every square of this graph.
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