Dear Tourist Wankers,

Now, I know that my Ferris Wheel is the largest in the world, my people have 'funny accents,' especially when they cuss, and I know that Big Ben is bigger than you, in literal and rhetorical sense, but can you stop bloody loitering? I can't get to work in the morning because you wankers are blocking traffic with your tour buses and walking around like bloody gits with your bloody jackets tied around your bloody stupid waists! Bloody hell, I couldn't get any coffee yesterday morning because you wankers were taking up the whole bloody building. The line was backed up all the way outside and down the side of Panera on the opposite side of the plaza!

I swear, you're plotting to take over the bloody world or something. Maybe you're just obsessed with me—don't try to deny it, you bloody gits, I see it in your eyes every time you hear me talk. What, did you think every Englishman was bucktoothed with beady eyes and bloody honker noses? Oh, you're surprised that I was at a coffee café and not some bloody tea house, aren't you? Well, Englishmen like coffee, too, you gits!

Also, do you think I have time to pose in your bloody pictures? I'm a country—I've got important things to do, and I don't want your stupid bloody love letters, either! I've got conferences to attend. Do you know what that's like? I have to sit there for sixteen bloody hours and listen to constant bickering—bloody France is always trying to seduce somebody; America is always yelling in my ear; Romano is always yelling at Spain; Romania sighs and daydreams until someone like Prussia jumps up and insults him; Germany does absolutely nothing to keep Italy from eating my food; bloody Belarus is always pestering Russia and Ukraine just sits in the corner and cries; Turkey just sits there and googles at bloody Belgium; Greece and Japan always have all these bloody cats sitting all over them; Egypt sits there with that blank expression—China keeps trying to sell his bloody noodles to every bloody git who passes him; and then everybody else just yells and eats and, occasionally, someone starts a food fight. The other countries are like bloody animals, I tell you—they're all bloody wankers! I don't need your rubbish to add onto that!

And before I forget—please stop sending me all your bloody love letters. I don't know you and I don't bloody plan to, and I am NOT interested in your 'girl scout cookies!'

You are all worthless wankers,

Arthur Kirkland

PS: STOP CALLING ME, I'M NOT INTERESTED!