Theresa May, the Wicked Queen of the not so very United Kingdom, is whining that the European Union is trying to shaft her and the UK in their divorce case. She’s claiming that the EU is trying to undermine Brexit by prioritizing a split that “works for them”.
What do you expect? Of course the EU will try to make the best of this shit situation. This shit situation that the UK put everyone in! The EU didn’t ask you to move out! The EU didn’t suggest it! This is your ill-conceived choice. Don’t hold the EU responsible for bailing you out of the garbage fire of your own making.
Allow me some poetic license to illustrate the situation with an allegory.
Imagine being at the pub with your partner. Your partner is drunk, as usual, and gets very cross because (s)he feels that they didn’t get an equal number of chicken wings as you did. Before you can offer to buy a new batch, your partner flies into a rage. Your partner stands up, throws their arms around and starts shouting at your despicable behaviour and that you don’t respect them as a person. Suddenly, over a couple of undivided chicken wings, your partner is treating you in a manner appropriate only if you had admitted to having given them five counts of previously unknowable shoggoth-grade STDs.
In a spontaneous bid to cull favour with the local denizens, your partner elects to declare an ultimatum. Your partner says that if there’s a majority vote among the drunkards and assholes in the pub, (s)he will walk out on you. Then and there. Without a second thought.
You figure that this seems implausible. Inconceivable. That this outburst will only be worth it’s weight as a fun anecdote to tell your partner in the morning when they’ve sobered up a bit. Or, at least tell to your buddies. Certainly, a bar full of strangers won’t indulge in this stage drama. Surely.
Surely they do. Not all of them. Some ignore the malarkey like the sub-par circus act that it is. But enough of the patrons get engaged. A few think that your partner is stupid. But more decide that this is either a good idea, or that they just want to see if your partner will go through with it. For a giggle, like. So, the gin well in question votes that your partner should leave you. You can only sit and stare in awe at the democratic parody of what you just witnessed. In a flurry of genitalia-related insults, your partner throws your promise-ring in your face, and storms off.
The next week, right as you’ve recovered a semblance of balance in your life after the night in the pub, your ex-partner re-emerges from whatever swamp they have lurked in since. (S)he comes bearing demands. That they be given equal split of the apartment furniture, gets visitation rights with the family gold fish and that you should pay alimony for the divorce. It’s naught but right, right?
See this, Britain? This, this hypothetical “partner”? That’s you right now. You fucked up, and there’s not a feasible reason on this earth as to why the EU should go easy on you. They could, out of the kindness of their heart, but there’re bigger things at stake than your petty exit strategy. Oh, the big bad EU isn’t being fair to you during the divorce procedures? You. Left. You did. It wasn’t an accident. We weren’t cheating. It wasn’t some cosmic force majeure that premeditated the split. The heaven’s didn’t open up and command you to fuck up this problematic relationship we had. It was all you.
Suck it!
/Sebastian Lindberg 2/5-2017
WastedWords 