Thislondon.co.uk reports,

The principal of an Islamic school has admitted that it uses textbooks which describe Jews as “apes” and Christians as “pigs” and has refused to withdraw them.

Dr Sumaya Alyusuf confirmed that the offending books exist after former teacher Colin Cook, 57, alleged that children as young as five are taught from racist materials at the King Fahd Academy in Acton.

It is interesting that Saudi books call Christians pigs when it is the Saudi Royal Family that has a decidedly porcine appearance. Note that another royal pig, Al-Waleed bin Talal, has been involved in fundraisers for Palestinian suicide bombers. It is unlikely that any of these scum could earn any kind of living if he wasn’t born into possession of enormous oil wealth, all of which must be extracted and processed by Euro-American technology that these primitive desert bandits could have never imagined on their own. (Note to our educated and cultured readers; our use of words like “pigs” and “bandits” is meant as an intentional insult and act of disrespect to the militant “Muslims” in question, to show that we will not defer to or respect political correctness in any manner. We are of course capable of conversing in language suitable for a doctoral thesis or highly-literate book club, but the language of the soccer hooligan is better suited for educating the general public about this menace.) This commentary on the Saudi Royal Pigsty is, however, a mere digression. It is time for us Anglo-Americans to get in touch with our inner soccer hooligans.

It is well known that most English-speaking peoples have an inner soccer hooligan (or droog from “A Clockwork Orange”) that is just waiting to be let out to do the old ultra-violent on anyone who attacks their English liberties (from which our own Constitution and Bill of Rights derive). For many centuries, the old ultra-violent consisted of a fist to the jaw or an English cudgel across the head. The following line from King Henry V illustrates the Inner Soccer Hooligan:

Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not a vouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well.

The “ancient tradition” is the wearing of leeks on Saint David’s Day (now “Daffodil Day”) to commemorate a Welsh victory over Saxons. The Welshman, Captain Fluellen, not only beat up Ensign Pistol but also compelled him to eat a leek for good measure. Then there is this excellent line from King Henry VI: “Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.” English literature and cinema contains several more examples of soccer hooligans and droogs:

(1) In an episode of “Dr. Who,” a young woman from a fish-and-chips shop wipes out an entire alien race (Daleks) that are menacing the Earth, which of course includes Good Old Blighty. Stories are good insights into the cultures that produce them, and the scriptwriter and actors in this series are of course British.

(2) Bernard Cornwell’s hero Richard Sharpe (as portrayed by Sean Bean) usually kicks off a fight by kicking his adversary in the oobligons, and he isn’t above bagging some loot for himself (e.g. the Tippoo Sultan’s jewels). The latter leads to the corollary of the Inner Soccer Hooligan: “Scratch an Englishman and you’ll find a pirate,” e.g. Sir Francis “I’ve got letters of marque” Drake.

(3) In “Return of the King,” Sam Gamgee grabs a sword and slaughters Orcs while yelling, “That’s for Frodo! That’s for the Shire! And that’s for my old gaffer!” Tolkien’s Hobbits are, of course, miniature John Bulls who are quite content to live like peaceful rural Britons until someone attacks them, whereupon they turn into proper droogs and soccer hooligans.

(4) Crocodile Dundee: “That ain’t a knife, mate. THIS is a knife!”

(5) Real British soccer hooligans include Sir Winston Churchill: a heavy drinker who, in his younger days, participated in a cavalry charge at Omdurman (1898). Queen Elizabeth I also was something of a soccer hooligan, as was the Duke of Wellington in his younger days. These are, of course, the people who saved Civilization from Hitler, the Spanish Armada, and Napoleon Bonaparte respectively.

A country’s songs also reflect its character, and here is a famous one from the 19th century:

Let them be warned: old England is brave old England still
We’ve proved our might, we’ve claimed our right, and ever ever will
Should we have to draw the sword our way to victory we’ll forge
With the battle cry of Britons, Old England and Saint George.

We don’t want to fight but by jingo if we do
We’ve got the ships,we’ve got the men
And got the money too
We’ve fought the bear before
And while we’re Britons true
The Russians shall not have Constantinople.

Rudyard Kipling summarizes how a proper Anglo-American soccer hooligan or droog should behave when provoked:

So we loosed a bloomin’ volley,
An’ we made the beggars cut,
An’ when our pouch was emptied out,
We used the bloomin’ butt,

Ho! My!
Don’t yer come anigh,
When Tommy is a playin’ with the baynit an’ the butt.
-Barrack Room Ballad. -

This is a good overview of how Anglo-Americans should treat dirty Islamofascist PIGS (language used is again intentionally disrespectful to said Islamofascists and to political correctness in general) that enter our countries and demand that we change our way of living to accommodate their filthy medieval gutter cultures. Perfectly legal and nonviolent equivalents of the bayonet and the butt are available for situations in which violence is neither justified nor necessary.

Consider, for example, the King Fahd Pigsty, excuse us, Academy that is using racist books to “educate” its students. This may be illegal under the United Kingdom’s anti-hate laws (which would be unconstitutional in the United States). Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that they are free speech over there as they would be over here. Britons have an equal right to denounce Saudi culture and values as savage and barbaric, and Saudis and other “Islamic” immigrants as exactly the kind of people to whom Kipling’s poem about Western Civilization’s burden was meant to apply.

Next we come to British authority figures who have banned the display of the Union Jack because Saint George’s and Saint Andrew’s Crosses are offensive to Islamofascists. We remind our British cousins of Barbara Fritchie who, during the American Civil War, told invading Confederates that they would have to shoot her if they wanted her to throw down her country’s flag. Meanwhile, this is what was said to a cowardly British aristocrat whose incompetence led to the loss of a British flag to armed French soldiers (as opposed to militant Islamic immigrants armed only with piglike squeals) at Talavera, per Sharpe’s Eagle:

You’ve lost the colours, sir. The king’s own colours, touched by his own hand. Take my advice and a pistol, go behind that tent, and blow out what’s left of your brains.

Needless to say, any British mayor, school principal, or headmaster who bans the display of the Union Jack in England should be treated with equal contempt by the society around him. He should be denounced as a coward, traitor to his country, Lord Haw-Haw, Quisling, “not a gentleman” (a mortal insult 200 years ago), and treated with the utmost disrespect and contempt in public. There was a time when such a person’s closest friends would indeed have provided him with a loaded pistol and a bottle of whiskey with which to work up his nerve to use it on himself. Here is our own answer to Islamofascist PIGS who object to the Union Jack and/or the Stars and Stripes.

In summary, King Henry V, “This Star of England,” told us exactly what we must do in times like these: imitate the action of the tiger or, in simpler terms, get in touch with our inner soccer hooligans.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility,
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect:
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height! On, on, you noble English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof,
Fathers that like so many Alexanders
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonor not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you called fathers did beget you!
Be copy [examples] now to men of grosser blood
And teach them how to war! And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture. Let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not,
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot!
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Harry! England and Saint George!’