By Eric Le Roy
When I was a young lad long ago in the bland, faceless, smugly prosperous America of the 1950s, I had an itch to be somewhere else. As I heard the expression put first on the TV series “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, I would indulge myself regularly in a game called “Anywhere but Here.” The Germans have a beautiful word for it: Wanderlust.
But out of the starting blocks, I didn’t know where exactly I had the lust to wander off to. My first romantic impulse centered on New York City, and for years that was true. Dad lived up in Spring Valley, and sometimes I’d go for a visit, and he’d take me into the city. Gotham. The Big Apple. Maris and Mantle. The Village. Today, I wouldn’t go near NYC, but back then it was my dream. And, at the risk of placing my own ‘dreams’ on a pedestal, I have to say that, considering my tendency toward obsession, not only was New York a presumed permanent future destination, it was all-consuming. In other words, I didn’t just think it would be ‘fun’ to go to New York; for me, it was an odyssey of heart and soul. That’s kind of how I am: all or nothing. The ambiance of Manhattan, the pizza smells along Broadway in the center, the hookers standing outside ‘Chock Full’o Nuts.” Above all, the New York accents (I still love them). Get-outta-heah!
I was an Edgar Allan Poe fan back then, and I knew that, even though he was basically a Baltimore guy, he had once lived in New York, near Washington Square. There was a music group called ‘The Village Stompers’ back in the ‘60s who had an instrumental called “Washington Square.” I used to listen to that over and over while imagining myself as the lonely, troubled Poe, stumbling off to write “Annabel Lee.” Yessiree, New York was going to be the place for me.
‘East Side, West Side, all around the town
The tots sang “Ring-a-rosie, London Bridge is falling down.
Boys and girls together, me and Mamie O’Rourke
Tripped the light fantastic on the sidewalks of New York.’
But Dad was also a painter (an artist, not a house painter!), and he took me to the Metropolitan Art Museum. That opened up my life. I didn’t just look at or admire the famous paintings; I walked into them. Amsterdam and Paris, not Charleston, West Virginia – or even NYC itself – became my spiritual homes. Robert Le Roy also had thick, beautifully illustrated books. You know, ‘coffee table’ stuff, absolutely rich in content. My favorite was simply called The Impressionists. As I turned the pages, I felt the obsession again. And I knew, knew with heart and bone, that I didn’t belong anywhere but there.
Such was the beginning of my European dream. It was never about seeing seven countries in five days, like those damned American tourists: Two Americans flying in an airplane over Europe, and Eddie asks Margie, “What time is it?” She answers “3 pm.” And Eddie says, “Ah, well then. That must be Belgium down there.”
I made my first trip – or pilgrimage, I should say – in 1970. I was not disappointed. Of course, some things either didn’t pan out or were unexpected. After landing in Luxembourg City, I went straight to an address in Venice. I’ve written a lot about that, so I won’t do it here. Suffice it to say that the boy from West Virginia, sleepless after his trans-Atlantic flight and all-night train ride, walked outside the station with a Rimbaud-like vision, almost hallucinatory, of what was beyond words. I had arrived in the middle of the Renaissance.
To this day, I recall the soul-gripping ecstasy of that moment. It has never been surpassed in all my 76+ years. Paris was a slight disappointment, alas: pale, spotty people, small, short bridges, and the ennui of drifting afternoons without ever meeting the Brigitte of my fantasies. Well, I was immature. But I hadn’t put all my eggs in one basket, and Italy became my next dream.
That was a long time ago.
It is, therefore, with great pity that I now tell you how much I have grown to despise Europe. Part of that is simply visual; it doesn’t look like Europe anymore. Globalization has franchised the whole continent; it is now nothing but a commercial chain, and, aside from the overpriced, must-see tourist sites, the centers of these cities haven’t got much to choose from. If the sight of a McDonald’s gives you a hard-on, your dick will stay stiff the whole time you are in Europe. If you start to grow flaccid, look around for a KFC.
And if that doesn’t give you an idea, venture out into the suburbs. Madrid, Rome, Paris – they are all the same. If you want to experience suicidal depression, try the ‘burbs’ in the big English cities – including London – on a chilly, rainy Sunday. You won’t need fentanyl to finish you off, I assure you. European metropolises have become like American airports (and I suppose airports everywhere): if you don’t know whether you are in Phoenix, Denver, or Cincinnati, just look for a shop selling caps and T-shirts with that particular city’s sports logo: Broncos or Bengals. But if you don’t know sports, then you’re fucked. Just get on the plane and hope for the best.
But the crunching, imagination-obliterating uniformity and sameness isn’t the problem – not entirely and by no means. The problem is that, let’s see if I can put this tactfully and delicately: Europe is a loose collection of morally and financially bankrupt nations, a malignant, phony, false confederacy of uncontrolled immigration, led by a pack of indolent, indecisive, cowardly wankers who are incapable of raising an army and who would rather sit back and watch some transgender win the Eurovision than stand up, grow a set of balls, and defend their turf. Europe is a clusterfuck of weaklings, bureaucrats, ponsy posers, sleazebags, and hypocrites.
There, I’ve said it, and I mean it. I would rather live in Newark, New Jersey, than in Europe. OK, let’s get the breakdown (in much the same modest rhetoric I have been using up to now).
First things first. Frustration about Europe has been building for years. The Americans nursed these countries after the Second World War to keep the Soviet Union from eating them alive. This was back when Eisenhower was President, and the idea was that this support would be temporary. However, it has never ended – at least not until Trump decided to lay down the law. Once considered a global beacon of stability, democratic resilience, and social harmony, Europe now flounders in a morass of timid and cynical lassitude, bureaucratic fog, and an increasingly brittle political culture.
Those are the facts of worldwide perception, even if it sounds very subjective. In short, nobody trusts or admires Europeans anymore. Sure, critics of the European Union or European political elites are often labeled as ‘fascists’ (to the Left Wingers, everyone with a dissenting opinion is a ‘racist fascist’), the reality is that Europe is swarming with unchartered, unsponsored immigrants of all description, while ‘Islamic Nation’ is well on his way to turning its foothold into a ball-and-chain, full of political advantages and thus a turning point in European history. Meanwhile, Vladimir Putin is allowed to do as he damned well pleases because he knows that the Europeans are such a bunch of wankers that they will not stand up to him. This is Neville Chamberlain and the fatal policy of Appeasement all over again, and both the EU and NATO remain in tragic denial.
It has fallen into a tailspinning pattern: a Europe unable or unwilling to confront the pressing challenges shaping the twenty-first century. Across foreign policy, immigration governance, internal cohesion, and the realm of free expression, Europe appears stuck in a cycle of equivocation. Call me reactionary, populist, racist, whatever, but the truth is that Europe is not Europe anymore. It has given away its culture (various cultures, actually, yet historically bound together in both war and peace time) to a clattering round of applause by the globalists and diversity hounds. The demographics are changing, and Trump, Vance, and the others are perfectly aware of this disintegrating process. The question becomes, how much longer will this kaffee klatch collection of tossers even be worth considering as allies?
Europe’s response to Russia’s aggression has become emblematic of its broader strategic weakness. While individual states have taken bold steps—Poland, the Baltic nations, and some Nordic countries foremost among them—the European Union and even NATO have often appeared slow, divided, and overly dependent on U.S. resolve. Russia has cavalierly taken to flying over NATO airspace, sending drones spinning every which way the wind blows, and spitting out, like every playground bully, “So you wanna make somethin’ of it?” And the Europeans silently shit themselves and hand over their weekly allowance and the sandwich that goes with it.
The fundamental problem is structural: Europe wants stability without confrontation, liberal ideals without hard power, and diplomatic unity without accepting the costs of unity. Russia, meanwhile, has pursued a consistently aggressive course for more than a decade. The annexation of Crimea, the war in Donbas, assassinations and poisonings on European soil, and full-scale invasion—all should have forced a strategic awakening. Instead, the EU’s reaction has often felt hesitant and compromised by divergent national interests. Germany’s longstanding energy dependence on Russia exemplified this dissonance: moral condemnation paired with policies that effectively strengthened the very regime being condemned. As a crowning point, Putin is supposedly subject to arrest as a war criminal if he ever shows up in Europe. Let me tell you something: Putin could walk down the streets of Brussels with his stubby little dick hanging out, and the Europeans would do NOTHING but bat their eyes.
This is not to deny the sanctions, military aid to Ukraine, or political support Europe has eventually provided. But “eventually” is one of the core frustrations. Europe acts when circumstances leave no other choice, not when strategic foresight demands it. The result is a feeling that Europe has forfeited initiative—reacting to Russia rather than shaping the environment in which Russia acts. For people like me, this blindingly obvious pattern underscores a deeper malaise: a continent that no longer believes enough in its own values to defend them assertively.
As for the monster fuck-up known as immigration, Europe’s crisis is not new, and neither is public dissatisfaction with how political leaders have addressed it. What continues to fuel frustration today is not the mere presence of migration, but the persistent and widening gap between policy, public sentiment, and practical reality.
Many Europeans feel that immigration policy has been driven more by moral rhetoric than by operational competence. The systems for asylum processing remain overwhelmed. The mechanisms for integration are stretched thin. Urban centers increasingly bear the social and economic strain, while political elites frame any concern as bigotry. This emotional blackmail, real or perceived, only deepens civic resentment. And what do European leaders do in response to this call to action and accountability? Only euphemisms and symbolic resolutions rather than structural reform. The public sees the consequences—uneven labor markets, cultural friction, political fragmentation—but sees little evidence of serious long-term planning. This disconnect has become one of the defining legitimacy crises of modern Europe.
But, believe it or not, it doesn’t stop there. Recent legislation has smelled up the shitter even more. Now the government flunkies want to police free speech under the banner of combating extremism, misinformation, or hate. While these goals sound noble, the implementation has grown increasingly heavy-handed.
New legislative measures across Western Europe give governments expanded authority to fine, censor, or criminalize speech deemed harmful or destabilizing. But such terms are dangerously elastic: speech that merely challenges establishment positions or expresses uncomfortable truths can be swept into the same net as genuinely extremist content. Technocratic paternalism: a belief that free citizens cannot be trusted to evaluate information or engage in debate without supervision. When platforms are pressured to remove “disfavored” views, when journalists face legal jeopardy for reporting outside official narratives, or when governments expand surveillance of online discourse, the boundary between democratic protection and ideological management begins to dissolve.
Underlying all these issues is a structural characteristic of the modern European project: bureaucracy as a mode of existence. The EU excels at producing committees, resolutions, frameworks, and roadmaps. But these instruments often obscure a lack of decisive action. The problem, as I see it, is twofold: ideology and inertia. Complacent European ‘leaders’ cannot seemingly accept the sheer fact that, in a small continent like Europe, globalization has been a colossal failure. These cabbage-brained ‘idealists’ apparently thought that if you invited Islam into Europe, to share the countries and the continent, then everything would blend into one big happy family. The ‘guests’ would respect their hosts enough to assimilate, and they would be grateful for the invitation; incidentally, demographers, please take note: it’s all one-way traffic, because it’s as sure as hell that Christians are not piling into the sand and camel cultures to build cathedrals and baptist churches.
Globalization. Diversity. What a load of bollocks those fantasies turned out to be, and it is NOT because the host nations and their citizens have not played the game. It’s that ordinary people have grown sick and tired of looking out their windows and seeing Africa and Afghanistan instead of their fellow (erstwhile) cities of Parisians, Romans, and whatever they call people from Brussels. (Brusselers ? Brusselians? Brussters?). And then being scolded and condemned as Nazis and racists. They are fucking sick of it, and I don’t blame them.
Critics of Europe are frequently accused of bias, alarmism, or nostalgia. But such dismissals miss the point. The frustrations that many articulate are grounded in observable patterns: geopolitical timidity, dysfunctional immigration governance, and a troubling retreat from free-speech principles. Far Left, ‘progressive’ mentality is leading Europe down a primrose path: all about outward virtue signalling, while falling apart in the interior. The early returns are in already; the ultimate consequences will be agonizing. Europe is presently nothing worse than a cultural shit hole; with time, it may well become a cultureless wasteland.
A Europe that avoids hard choices invites harder consequences. A Europe that polices speech in the name of tolerance risks hollowing out the very freedoms it claims to defend. And a Europe that allows bureaucracy to overpower leadership finds itself watching history instead of shaping it.
Until that all changes, Europe deserves all the flak and bad publicity it has been receiving of late. I just feel sorry for Ukraine. The Americans have abandoned them, and the Europeans are such a cavalcade of pussies, pederasts, and pudding-pullers that no help can be expected from them. Au revoir. Auf Wiedersehen. Cheerio Chin-Chin. Ciao.
