By Roy Hobbs
IMAGINE fleeing your home in terror, not knowing if you’ll see your loved ones again. But also imagine a load of foreigners living next door, speaking funny and cooking smelly food.
This is my dilemma. Afghanistan is a humanitarian crisis, but Britain is full and I don’t want a load of Muslims screaming about Allah day and night when my wife and I are trying to watch Masterchef.
They shouldn’t come here, but that’s only because I’ve got their best interests at heart. Look how much it’s been raining recently. Compared to the nice sunny weather in Afghanistan, they’d get really depressed.
They won’t be able to adapt to English culture either. We like fish and chips and a bit of lighthearted banter over a pint of bitter, but they like eating goats and blowing each other up.
I’ve seen Afghanistan on the news, and it looks a bit backward. If a gang of 20 burly, oversexed Afghan men moved into Patricia and Ken’s house next door they’d probably think the toilet was a dishwasher and someone would try to sleep in the chest freezer, resulting in tragedy.
So I feel we are right to feel sorry for them, but also ruthlessly keep them out with instant deportations back to Afghanistan and by sinking their dinghies with machine gun fire if necessary.
I’m not a racist and actually very tolerant of other cultures. I had a Tandoori mixed grill just the other week. But for God’s sake make these Arab bastards go somewhere else or they’ll be stealing our Jack Russell and turning him into kebabs.