My Country 'Tis of Thee

Off My Lazy Ass
Look - over to your right. Your other right. See it? I finally put up a link list of my daily reads. Do I get some kind of an award now?

Buy a Country
I guess you've all heard that Sealand, the world's smallest country, is for sale. Here's a little bit about Sealand:

During the 1939-45 War, Great Britain established an artificial island on the High Seas. This island was equipped with radar and heavy armaments and occupied by some two hundred servicemen. In the winter of 1966, a British family took possession and commenced the task of equipping and restoring the island. On 2 September 1967, they hoisted their own flag and declared the existence of a new state - the Principality of Sealand.

Sounds fascinating doesn't it? It'd be pretty awesome to rule your own country, wouldn't it? But before you get all atwitter with grand visions of becoming a dictator, I have to tell you that there is a dark side to Sealand.

A very dark side.

For one thing - the name...I mean...Sealand? That's really the best you could come up with? Why not name it Dinkenflugen or Chigalooloo? Or you could fuck with other countries and name it something like Eyerland, or Phrance. But Sealand? For shame, world's smallest country owners.

Not only does Sealand have an embarrassing name, but to put it in the nicest way possible, it's a shit hole. It's a metal platform on top of two concrete pylons. Here. See for yourself.

Yeah. That's it.

That's Sealand.

Shit hole extraordinaire.

And that picture is taken BEFORE the fire. Last June there was a fire and you can go hereto see what it looks like post-fire. Now it's an even bigger shit hole.

I think Sealand may be a tough sale, and the owners should seriously consider having me write their real estate advertisement. Here's a rough draft.

For sale. World's smallest country. Shangri-la, Nirvana, Sealand. Whatever you call it, this man-made tropical island can be your little slice of heaven. This vast 500 sq meter paradise of lush metal and steel sits atop two pillars of the finest 1940s era concrete. Relax on your back deck and watch the water lap gently againt the sides of the pylons that are possibly on the brink of collapse. Enjoy the occasional boater, and with full sovereignty of your country, you can shoot the bastards if they venture too close. Take long moonlit walks around your Garden of Eden. Around and around in circles. Over and over again with nowhere else to go, while the voices in your head begin as a soft murmur and then crescendo into a full chorus of insanities that tempt you to jump over the railing. But not before taking out the other inhabitants of your island with the semi-automatic you keep tucked under your pillow. Your island estate has a large state room master suite and several guest berths cottages. There's also a kitchen. But here on the high seas, we like to call it a galley. Aarrgh, matey. There's also a toilet. Just a toilet. No shower or bath is necessary as we have Mother Nature to cleanse us and make us whole. The estate is currently being remodeled and that charred aroma should dissipate in 5 years or so. Make an offer now, because this sweet piece of shit won't last long.

For clarity's sake, Sealand is not officially recognized as a country and therefore cannot be sold, but don't tell that to Sealand's Royal Family. It's a lot more fun having them think they can.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice