Where the hell is this world going to?

Take her baby away, smack her teeth in, problem solved...

who really cares, scum of the earth.



they aint going to get anywhere unlike the hardworking polish or "non-english"

At least the foreigners work and contribute to society.

What's wrong with voting BNP?

Does this video count as a reason for retrieving that child from an unfortunate circumstance

She's being a total ass indeed, but she's right to some extent. I'd eventually rage as much as she did if I had to deal with fucking muslim bullshit like frenchies or brits do.
I'm glad I live in Poland, which is all about white power (exaggerating here a little) and smelly, brown-skinned scum is too scared to come here for a longer period than a day or two.

I don't like racism, but for example in the Netherlands, I believe 70% of the crimes are commited by foreigners. If you then compare to how many foreigners there actually are then that's alot.

This might be true, but the only problem with country's like Holland and England are that people don't see the good sides of foreigners ... i mean we all just put them in a corner and tell them they are useless and stuff ... like i get always followed 24/7 in the shops by security cus they don't trust me while i never stolen a single thing out a shop ... And when u put people in a corner ofc they cant get a single job or make something out of there life of course they will start stealing and shit where shud they get money from anyways >?

Winston Churchill wanted a Britain to be for the British. If he was allowed to think and say it, then she can. Everyone has their own views, you cant speak for other people.

This isnt a racist attack, whites are now the minority in most places in England. England is a christian white race country. Take for instance 50% of the people that were involved with the riots in London where black, 20% were from other countries. Then 30% were actually English. The country is ruined, absolute shit hole full of scum.

But you're saying that now but if you took the piss out of someone and then they had a racist remark about your skin colour you'd label them racist and think they were in the wrong.

50% of the people where i work are polish and they're all sound as fuck :D

And i'm quarter polish :(

makes me ashamed to be from england.

She's right though, just look at the tram. That's the middle of the day and they're all on a tram doing fuck all with their lives, whilst that woman is bringing up that kid in the best way possible!

People like you shud be locked in a room and the key melted.

To this very day, I am embarrassed about my first. Not because I came faster than a fat first grader running to the cafeteria for cupcake day. Not because I was self-conscious of the pot-belly thrusting into the meat flesh of a woman. Because of who it was. To this very day, only two other people know who she was, and that’s only because of circumstance, and a drunk confession to a good friend.
Winter had fallen up the lush landscape of Northern California in the same way a friend overstays his welcome, and stains your couch. Not only are you stuck with that friend, you now have a dirty couch to deal with (Which you probably won’t find until a year later, because the fat bastard turned over the couch cushion in a drunk haze that is barely remembered). I was 16 years old, and my Summer and Fall had been spent playing the better part of 90 hours of Xenogears, in between Counter strike, Mountain Dew, and Internet Porn downloaded off of limewire (It was a different time). I liked girls, but I didn’t really know how to talk to them. During my sophomore year of high school in 2000, I developed a fun little relationship with the bottle. The bottle consisted of a $1.00 20oz Coke bottle, 10ozs poured onto the ground, and mixed with the Meyers rum that I siphoned from my Grandmother’s liquor cabinet. Not only did I not share my stash with friends, I would usually start the bottle at about 9am, and have it cleaned out about 11:45, in time for lunch, and a six hour buzz before I came home.
The cold mistress of 55 degrees laid upon us, the bottle was more important than ever. Night fell at the austerely hour of 4:45, in which we would huddle together, thinking of ways to survive. My 7th period radio production class lasted until about 4:00, in which I had about 45 minutes of cloud covered sunshine to enjoy. This time was usually spent in the quad, centered around a stone fountain that had dried out years before. This is how I met dirtfoot.
Dirtfoot was not her real name, but it was what everyone called her behind her back. I feel bad now, but there was truth in it. She was a transfer student from Vermont, the land of hippies and outdoorsies, and while she showed up to school in shoes, they were off by the end of first period. It would be nice to say my high school was clean, but really it was a cesspool in a warehouse, in one of the shittier neighborhoods in the city. So, there was a tossup: She either had the toughest immune system in the planet, or The Stand was getting ready to happen anytime she coughed. You could never really tell.
Like me, dirtfoot liked to hang out after school. I didn’t normally hang around these people, but this one day, I had joined them. They were passing around a bottle of Bacardi, so I easily made friends. I had ditched 7th period that day, so we passed around the Evian bottle of rum for about an hour and a half before getting really schlumbered.
I can’t remember the circumstances in which it happened, but the turning point came when her troll of a friend looked at the two of us and said we’d make a cute couple. Not one to back down to a dare, I hazily flopped my arm around her, and smiled the only way a drunk teenager with crooked teeth could smile: Awkwardly. Somehow, by the grace of god, she was feeling me too, and caressed my skin the only way a hand caked with dirt and hangnails could: Heavenly.
Eventually, the troll and her friend sailed off into Mordor to return the one ring, leaving her and I to sloppily make out in the quad. Channeling my future self, I brazenly asked if dirtfoot wanted to take this elsewhere. She lustily looked me in the eye (As much as a sophomore could), and said “Lets.” So the search was on. We paced towards the entrance of the school, and by a miracle, the doors were open. Every door was attempted, until one was found. After crossing down the next hallway, across from the newspaper lab, we found our cave: The ladie’s restroom.
Being the gentleman that I am, I politely took my jacket off, and laid it down for my prize, so that she wouldn’t be called dirtass later. The experience was what it was, and soon enough, dirtfoot and I finished our congress, and off we were into the night. But before she parted from me into the darkness, she turned around and kissed me, and said “I love you”
Thinking with the peanut sized brain of a 16 year old, I muttered the words that were all too common to me “Uhhh…okay?”
Even as a 16 year old, I knew this was wrong. Respectable women did not tell you they loved you after laying bareassed on a jacket in the women’s restroom. I had my eyes on other girls, I certainly did not want to be in a relationship with dirtfoot. I went home in a haze, nervous as to what Monday was going to bring.
When Monday rolled around, I felt sickness in my stomach. I didn’t want to see her at all. I had been beaten up the previous year for duct taping my shoes. Sleeping with the resident Hobbit wasn’t going to put me in better favor with the cool crowd, or even my own friends. (Of course, if she had showed up at my house with no one around, I would have delievered the salami.) So I avoided her at all costs, working harder than a migrant family crossing the Rio Grande, avoiding la migre at all costs.
I mapped out all the routes from each class, and estimated the current amount of time it took me to get to each class. I knew where two of her classes were during the day, but because my enemy wouldn’t want to give up much information, I estimated the rest. My whole day was planned out. I would pack up my backpack 5 minutes before the end of each period, and once the bell rang, I’d wait until about half the class had left, to join in with the exiting crowd. I was short, so it was easy to blend in with the crowd. From there I’d cut through an atrium that was empty this time of the day, watching behind me, in case Frodo was on my tail. I was cold sweating, and ignoring friends that would say hi to me in the halls. Lunch time was spent sprinting to the lunch line to be first, slamming my money down on the counter, snatching a tray from the lovable lunch lady, and Flo-Joing to the back of the library, where my encampment had been built. The librarian thought I loved to read. I was reading the Art of War merely to survive the horror of people knowing I had sex.
This went on for months. Looking back, I can only imagine how maniacal I looked, wearing the rain coat I wore every day, walking with paranoid conviction and tunnel vision. I’d be surprised if I wasn’t on some sort of watch list. There were a couple of times where dirtfoot would catch a glimpse of me in the hallway. Like an end boss, once I caught her line of sight, I knew the attack was coming, you could smell the rage emanating from her feet from half a mile away. Because I had trained myself in the art of avoidance, most times I was able to sneak into an empty classroom or common area, becoming lost in a sea of awkward teenagers. Until May.
This day in May was normal. I had begun to let my guard down, because I hadn’t seen her in months. The group I hung around with didn’t really know her, so I never heard people making fun of her. I assumed maybe her family moved back to the commune in Burlington, that the dirt in California wasn’t dirty enough for their feet. As I left my fifth period spanish class that afternoon, I didn’t know she had transferred into a class that was three doors down from me. I coolly strolled out of my class, joking with a friend. It was a senior ditch day, so the halls were fairly quiet. As my friend and I walked, I started hearing a slapping sound against the concrete, in rapid succession. Strange, I thought. Not a normal sound you hear at school. The slapping got faster. What is it? I wondered.
I slowly turned my gaze, to see the heels of dirtfoot’s feet slapping against the concrete, ready to destroy my balls and ego. Giving my friend a quick “Hey uhhhh gotta go!” I broke out into a run, and took off. Like a Wide Receiver, I was breaking defense, running toward what I thought would be my last Newspaper class. She was gaining on me, and I had nowhere to go. I started grabbing doors on the side of me, hoping one would be open. Finally, I found the photo lab open, and made a 90 degree turn into the classroom, running towards the darkroom, and slamming a chair in front of the rotating door in the darkroom, so she couldn’t open it. I thought I was good for about 15 seconds until I heard her silently trying to violently open the door. No words were spoken. Remember how scared the kids in Jurassic Park were of the Velociraptors who could open doors? Very similar. After 20 minutes she gave up defeated. The jerk would live out another day. I took the rest of the day off, and ditched school, remembering never to sleep with a woman who doesn’t wear shoes in public.

Yes she is allowed her own views, however they're all absolutely ridiculous, so we can ridicule her all we want. Whites are actually still quite clearly the majority race. ( en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ethnic_groups_in_the_United_Kingdom ). Although that information is now ten years old, there really won't be anymore info until this years census results are available (not sure if they are yet). About the statistics on the riots - I think they're probably correct tbh but they did take place in predominately 'black areas', something which needs to be avoided if this country is ever going to change. We are all equal so why are we living in separate areas. The country is definitely not ruined, it is just full of ignorant buffoons who think riots that only a few thousand people took part in are representative of the whole country/a whole ethnic group. You appear to be one of these.