unholy Queen!
When the Tories first waded onto colonial shores in Eighteen Hundred and Twelve, it was with bayonets fixed for American hearts. In 1960, the second British invasion arrived in the form of a bunch of long-haired musicians leading our God-fearing youth into a era of mind-numbing drugs, meaningless sex and wild, gypsy fashions. Only a single gunshot on a busy New York street ended their insidious rule. For his actions, Mark Chapman was labeled a diseased, insane murderer, but I name him a true American hero!
Once again, our blessed Land is imperiled by encroaching Tory hordes. In 1776, the midnight ride of Paul Revere warned freedom lovers that the English dogs approached--once if by land, twice if by sea. Such paltry warnings fail us today, for there aren't enough lanterns in American to list the numerous ways the English beast is amassing on our shores. By charter plane and cruise ship, Concorde and yacht, British advance troops assemble in our cities, ports and places of leisure. From Orlando, Florida to Honolulu, Hawaii, crack royal agents posing as middle-class families on "holiday" prowl our cities. British army officers disguised as businessmen map critical power plants and perfect their eerie mastery of the American language.
Well, I for one have had enough. It is time to put an end to this cunning invasion and send Little Lord George back to Britain where he belongs--in boxes!
Fortunately, ridding ourselves of the English is no more difficult that eliminating any bothersome pest or vermin. Employing old-fashioned common sense, I have determined that the first step is to identify our enemy. Begin by searching out their infernal lairs. When in America, the English do not live in trailers or mobile homes like you or I. Instead, they gather together in enormous, hive-like structures called "hotels." Incredibly, the location of hotels near you can be discovered simply by consulting your local phone book. A chill will run down your spine, friend, when you realize the sheer number of hotels in your home town alone. Now do you realize the true extent of our peril?
After identifying the enemy encampment, proceed there immediately (don't forget your sidearm, soldier!). Wait in the lobby until you spot a group of English infiltrators by their distinctive racial characteristics--rotten teeth, pallid skin and belittling manner of address. Confirm your suspicions by asking one of them in a calm, friendly voice, "Excuse me. Are you English?" Taken by surprise, they will often react with uncharacteristic candor, honestly revealing their true nationality.
At this point, killing them is a simple matter of opening fire with a shotgun or similar antipersonnel device. Since they are operating undercover, these so-called "tourists" are usually unarmed and offer little resistance. Aim low--many enemy squadrons employ midgets trained to behave like small children and infants.
Mission accomplished! Time to head home and enjoy the fruits of liberty. Pop open a beer, roast some weenies on the grill, and go to sleep safe in the knowledge that your only master is the King of Kings himself, and no God that saw fit to create the good old U-S-of-A is going to give a hoot about the death of a bunch of ring-kissing limeys.
