Let’s talk for a moment about Britain. The “green and pleasant land” they call it and for the most part it is. But between the noble dignity of the England and the fetid squalor of Ireland lies a land rooted in the bloodcurdling horror of pure evil.
I refer of course to the Isle of Man.
This is their flag. It seems an innocent enough motif, but no. The three legs are not a metaphor but a celebration of the incestuous inbreeding that takes place on this dark spit of land. The woman (for there is only one woman) is kept enshrined deep in the bowels of the catacombs beneath Castle Rushen. There she pumps out baby after baby like some Eldritch queen Ant, her uterus flooded with constant supply of sperm collected during the august “Festival of the Wank” in which many a heathen shakes milky coconuts from their veiny love tree in the name of the nameless one. All and any female babies are wrapped in a tarp and thrown into the sea to be eaten by the many Mock Turtles that gather.
No toilets exist here, for the Men of the Isle of Man are overt Coprophages and it is this scat (not only human, but animal too) that is the bulk of their diet. Their days are filled with debaucher and their nights with sacrifice.
There is a combat ritual known as “Boymangling” often performed. This where two men will arm themselves with Unripe Marrows on the end of a shovel and will attempt to force feed it to a teenage boy without killing him with a shovel. The first to do so gets to keep the boy for personal usage.
And this is just the tip of the iceberg. I would write more but my hands shake and my stomach turns at the thought of their degeneracy.
Their land is cursed.
However they have some nice pubs and beaches, so maybe consider for a holiday?