The Eurosceptic From Atlantis

How do we reposition ourselves in Europe? 

We're in the wrong position: 
Too off piste; 
Too oft pissed; 
Too pissed off. 

Too pissed off - 
And especially when pissed - 
And especially when pissed off - 
And especially when pissed. 

Sceptical about Europe? 

Like? 
Is it there? 

Not sceptical about Euroscepticism. 
Because? Well, that is definitely there. 
In fact, it's so there, it's here! 
And, if what is there is here, 
Then what is here really doesn't need to be there. 
Hmmm..so there! 

And, so it follows.. 
As Europe mightn't be there at all, 
Euroscepticism can only thrive..here, 
(For where else could it? or should it?: 
Only until such a point that it's.. there?) 

Uh oh! 
Now wait a minute! 
Would that not mean 
Europe must also be there, for Euroscepticism to be disbelieved there? 
And if Eurosceptics are there disbelieving.. 
Well, that sort of begs the question.., 
Though a hypothetical one of crucial unimportance -  
Crucial unimportance. 
So unimportant it's both critically and crucially unimportant. 
And, as you know, 
A question that is both critically and crucially unimportant, 
Is of an unimportance of the deepest and most significant kind. 
Verily, and very. 
Almost like: 
If a tree fell in the middle of a forest, 
And no one was there to hear it, 
Would global warming sceptics 
make the sound.. 
Crrraaaasshhh!! in one of their cute and adorable funny voices? 

Personally, I'm all for repositioning ourselves (disbelieving), 
By Italy. 

By Italy. 
With hot air balloons. 

Wha..? With hot air balloons? 

Yeah, man,  
With hot air balloons. 
You heard right. 
Can you think of a better way? 

We could all lift off with this land, 
Throwing over our essential ballast of horsebeefburgers (one word), 
Casino bankers and frustrated fox hunters; 
Misogynistic fundamentalists and insensitive commuters breakfasting on egg burgers on trains. 

(Misandristic fundamentalists can stay on board - for now..). 

And thus, 
These irrefrangible islands shall rise tethered to millions of massive hot air balloons, arising, 
And land, aloft, loftily, 
And sort of softly, 
Mooring by (but by no means on,(as that would be plain rude)), 
The land of: 
Italian women, 
And tomatoes - tinned. 
Please kindly note, only the tomatoes should be tinned, though. 

Then all the millions of hot air balloons, 
We shall release to glide floating to the moon,  
Like we're all in a classic late-nineties tampon ad. 
They certainly don't make them like that anymore. 
Or the tampon ads.. 

I'm a man, and even I used to buy that brand of tampons, 
Only to justify to myself similarly running through a cornfield before cheerfully emancipating a bunch of balloons from a cliff top. 
Never once regretted it. 
And although my more radical feminist student friends at the time were somewhat equivocal, 
They accommodated this zephyrian avidity. 
One of them even allowing me use of  her helium balloon inflator with variable nozzle attachments. 
She even refused my offer of a Pot Noodle as a thank you. 

And, lo! 
No: there are no Moonsceptics: 
Well, the moon (that's in the sky) can be seen from here. 

Now, 
Have we ever seen Europe (in the sky), 
From here? 

Says it all really. 

And have you ever, ever once, witnessed Europhiles (in the sky) from here? 
We are the silvery seamed anti-matter to their dark matter dream..