Earlier this week I talked about National Kick a Brit in the Nuts Week and the accessories that people have invented over the years to compliment your celebration. But not every innovation becomes famous, and not every intention is pure. Today, I have a tale for you of an accessory that failed and the story of how it almost became National Shoot a Brit with a Flare Gun Week.

Our story begins shortly after the Civil War. America, once again re-united and under a strong government was treading down the path that would lead to the prosperity and greatness of the early 20th century. Inventions were cropping up left and right, showing off the ingenuity of the American spirit. If you remember, the book The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells even speculated that man would be close to breaking the bonds of time in the near future. Before that however, many lesser things were produced, one of them the flare gun. With the war over and nothing but clear sailing in the apparent future, a purpose for the flare gun had yet to be found. It shot fire yes, but not the type of fire that could be used in battle, more like a warning shot. It was non-lethal but painful to be shot, but had short range. The flare gun’s makers hadn’t really nailed down what they wanted to do with it, just that they wanted a cheap way to shoot something that blew up.

Around this time, National Kick a Brit in the Nuts Week was still in the mainstream. The boot bat was making waves and lots of hair-brained immitators followed afterwards. It wasn’t too long though, before a man named Jeffery Watkins Bernard had an idea that he thought would make him borth rich and famous. The son of a wealthy family, Jeffery took it upon himself to meet with several lawmakers in Washington about his idea, which would require some minor changes to the law. Eventually he was granted audience before the Senate to speak his proposal.

Jeffery’s proposal was this: National Kick a Brit in the Nuts Week is a great holiday and is fun for everyone. It’s true to our heritage and lets us remember how we were victorious in our war for independence. There’s a better way to celebrate, however, and that is by using the flare gun. Much like the line in our national anthem, people will be delighted to see the rocket’s red glare bouncing off their British targets. At the same time, it is a non-lethal weapon, and won’t be viewed in such a humiliating way by the British lobbyists against the holiday that we have now.

Jeffery’s audience was impressed. They were all given a flare gun to test out it’s workings on their own time and they all seemed to really like the ideas that he proposed. They declared recess and began to think what National Shoot a Brit with a Flare Gun Week would be like. Truly, the flare gun was an enjoyable toy, and it produced the red glare Mr. Bernard had mentioned. There was dissent against the idea, though. The senators from Delaware, both republican opposed the idea, and suggested that more thought be given before our heritage changed so drastically. The motion passed and an investigation committee was sent to look into the danger involved with flares and other matters surrounding the change.

What they found out was not what they were looking for. Looking into Jeffery’s past and present dealings, they found that the Bernards were key suppliers of ingredients that produced the flares themselves. Not only that but they were also partial holders in the companies that made the flare guns. Should the guns become popular, the Bernards stood to gain considerable amounts of money and even possibly hold a monopoly on the industry. Investigating further, they found that Jeffery Watkins Bernard himself was one quarter British, falling just shy of the 30% rule (Which states, those who are 30% or more of British descent, may be freely kicked on the week following the third Monday of August each year as part of our beloved holiday). The possibility of a nearly British family controlling all the resources needed to celebrate the season was too much to bear. The Senate voted nearly unanimously against the proposal and kicking brits as we know it was saved.

That July shortly after Independence Day, Jeffery Watkins Bernard married to Elizabeth Cunningham. Ms. Cunningham herself was over 50% British in descent, which would mean that the Bernard family would have eligible Brits in their family when they had children. That August, Jeffery was called before the Senate to discuss his idea. He said he was honored to be called in during the holiday for the discussion, little did he know he was in for a treat. After granting him honorary Brit-hood, each and every member of the Senate gave Jeffery Bernard a holiday kick in the nuts. Now that is a patriotic gesture.

By Prof. Jeff “Dr. Sniffles” Van Horn, Phd.

Freud once said “Probably no male human being is spared the terrifying shock of
threatened castration at the sight of female genitals.” While
certifiably a pervert, a creep and a freebaser of cocaine based
chemicals, Freud had taken a step in the right direction; towards the
truth of Brit Kicking.

In 1121 AD, the land now known as the United Kingdom, was inhabited by a
vast mammallian tribe of Amazons known as the Followers of Asha. This
tribe was ruled by a large animate color. The color was not, however, a
super-intelligent shade of blue. In fact, though distantly related
through marriage, this color was actually a shade of pink, with an IQ of
82. This color, represented in hexadecimal as #39a37f, while very likely
not appearing as pink, seeing as how i went out of my way to make sure
it wasn’t pink for the purpose of this paper, may or may not be related
to the pink streak that my drug damaged brain painted over the screen
just a moment ago. To be honest, I’m not interested in the story of the
Asha tribe and #39a37f. I highly doubt you are, either. I’m kind of
curious about the streak though.

To cut to the point; a bunch of stuff happened, and after over three
million years and two time travel portals, the planet entered a dark
age. During this time period, there was a stifling of creativity and
intellectual pursuits. Heading this Luddite brigade of scarfling napets [wtf?],
was a man named Sigmund Freud.

Having spent his childhood as a young black-boy living in the depths of
New York City, and his teenage years reppin’ 1-7-1-8, he moved to Europe
to take up practicing dentistry, law, and psychology. While the
psychology and the law businesses folded within weeks of being opened,
his dentistry practice flourished, and soon after he was root canalling
the crowns of Europe.

One of his favorite patients, the King of England, had an interest in
Freud’s psychology research. After an extensive yearly check-up, the
King asked to read a few of the texts Freud had written.

The King didn’t like it, and called Freud a ‘pervert’ (which he was), a
‘pedophile’ (which he also was), a ‘heathen’ (purely a matter of
personal opinion) and, a ‘god-slaying asshole’ (which he, arguably,
was not). Not dealing with negative feedback particularly well, Freud proved that he was ahead of his time by delivering a swift kick to the king, right in his British nuts.

Since everyone knows that Freud was the best thing to ever happen to
number theory, we must take offense at the loutish suggestions of the
English. LET THEM LIVE IN TYRANNY FOREVER.

In response to his newfound distaste for the king, Freud once again delved deeply into his psychology work. And because of this became famous for his works (and of course hated by many). One could say that Freud’s success comes down to the fateful afternoon where he linked himself to the holiday we all hold so dear.

Prof. Jeff Van Horn Phd. is currently teaching philosophy and cosmetology at HK UNniversity in Gainesville, Florida. And while he is a doctor of both fields, he proves here that if you don’t sleep for 3 days prior to writing your article, you come off soundinga little like a crackpot.

An article by Ben Harnett

The historical origins of this singular American holiday are murky at best. Various official documents trace it back to the time just before the War of Independence, when merchants, angry at increasing British control over trade hoped to stir up opposition to colonial rule. With America’s shabby performance during the disastrous War of 1812, the holiday became far more vehement, and much less jolly. Sometime in the middle part of the 19th century, with the advent of that most American of sports, Baseball, a bat equipped with a boot was introduced as the preferred method of delivery of kicks to nuts.

In the American continent, this sporting holiday greatly waned through the early part of the 20th century, as Britons were viewed as increasingly irrelevant. But, the celebration was popularized throughout England’s colonial possessions. In India, despite Ghandi’s protestations, the boot batting craze struck thousands.

The academic study of this holiday is routinely seen by the general public as dull and misdirected. But I am sure you will agree with me, there is no more fascinating subject. My own, albeit small, contribution to the literature follows. I only cursorily relate my discovery of the text, in a musty locked trunk of Victorian era Chicago, and the subsequent hard labor of piecing together the fragmentary pieces with ingenuity and scholarly derring-do.

This poem, nearly complete but lacking its title, might represent a common call to action, recited at the start, generally early afternoon, of the Friday revels. Composed by an unknown hand, the work displays the true meaning of our hallowed holiday in all its glory. Without further ado, I reproduce for you the scholarly reconstructed ode to kicking Brits.

Unknown Title, Unknown Author (A 19th century poem for NKaBitNW)

[There] were no British [...] once,
no twinkly [-] toed ones dashing insults
one and all with cries of “dunce!”
[Ima]gine our blessd holiday
devoid of jolly sporting
stuck again [...] ol’ work-a-day
alack, alas, no cavorting.
No Nigels to toss to booted bat;
no tea-sippers snorting.
But we [may thank the] reigning Queen*
and God and mercy alike
that long over the land ha’ been
the jolly Limeys traversing, with
names like Molesworth**
and Chutney and Smythe.
So boys, when [...] Friday night
comes finally fair
and you ha’ taken sigh[t]
of a bloke with a British air[,]
then [...] sling your bat
and cock that hat
and hope your aim is clear!

*Victoria
**Perhaps referring to the daring British explorer of Persia, Sir Percy Molesworth Sykes

Ben is a longtime scapegoat of usian.org, and although he loves ‘The English Patient’, he insists he’s not British