A Pint, the Loo, and My Aunt Fanny

I would like to say a few words on behalf of British accents. I support British accents. I can't get enough of them. I'd like a presidental candidate to promise me more, like jobs or tax breaks for llama ranchers. They have a practical value: how else would we be able to tell Brits from just your run of the mill Canadian?

To say that a British accent is sexy understates the true attractive power of the phrases “bloody ‘ell” or “Pub” or “flat.” British men can get away with an unprecedented level of scrawniness thanks to the accent. Sadly, the majority of opportunities to listen to a British accent come via old BBC sit-coms that PBS shows late at night: Chef, Coupling, or the one with the Irish priests. But to hear those Irish digging around in their mouths to produce each word—it sounds like it takes a great deal of effort for them to talk, but it reaches right down my ear into sensitive physiological centers of arousal.

One mustn’t neglect to mention that one draw back of a British accent is the inability to distinguish strait from gay. Plus there’s the fact that a Brit saying caddish things, things that say, a Brooklyn accent would render scummy, nay, instantly dismissible, but in the Brit’s mouth are charming. Phrases like, "Care for a shag?" or "You're a beastly slapper." Mmm.

Yes, British accents are wonderful things.