We are Forerunners. Guardians of all that exists. The roots of the Galaxy have grown deep under our careful tending. Where there is life, the wisdom of our countless generations has saturated the soil. Our strength is a luminous sun, towards which all intelligence blossoms... And the impervious shelter beneath which it has prospered.
Somewhere in the middle of the northern part of the Atlantic Ocean is a wet, damp, dark, moss-covered, miserably gloomy, perpetually cloudy large hunk of rock called "Britain". Its people are drunken and morose. The food there ranges anywhere from merely offensively boring to inedibly so. Their idea of "beer" involves amber-coloured warm flat liquid with bits of soil floating around on the top which they call "ale"*.
All told, Britain is generally not a terribly appealing place at first glance.
But the Brits do have one rather pleasant tradition that almost makes up for the rest of their deficiencies.
You see, several of the mass-market newspapers have a special page dedicated solely to... how does one put this delicately... gratuitous displays of the lovely naked lady lumps of young, nubile women who clearly struck gold in the genetic lottery.
There, I'm sure that was PC enough.
These pictures of some of the top Page 3 girls in Britain's long and glorious history of epic boobies, on the other hand, are not PC.
They're trashy, they can be truly stupid (see: Katie Price), they can and do make appalling life choices (see: Jodie Marsh), and they are usually not the sorts of girls that you bring home to mum (see: Katie Price, again). But you have to admit, they've got plenty going for them otherwise. Especially in the front-and-centre department.