Jolly good, Britain! Well done us.

Richard Halpern, aka The Fake Austin Powers, attends BritWeek's 10th Anniversary VIP Reception & Gala at Fairmont Hotel on May 1, 2016 in Los Angeles, California.
Angela Weiss | BritWeek | Getty Images
Richard Halpern, aka The Fake Austin Powers, attends BritWeek's 10th Anniversary VIP Reception & Gala at Fairmont Hotel on May 1, 2016 in Los Angeles, California.

Today is the first glorious day of liberation from the terrible tyranny of bossy Brussels. We're free!

Free to eat wonky bananas and oddly-shaped cucumbers. (We never appreciated Brussels' obsession with the shape of our fruit.) Free of the vile yoke that oppressed our people for so long, forcing us into having the right to live anywhere we pleased anywhere in Europe. Free of the horrendous oppression that forced our benevolent employers to give us paid holidays, maternity and paternity leave and workplace rights.

Oh, jolly good. Well done us.

Now we no longer have to worry about having the monstrous evil of socialized medical care when we're travelling in Europe. We can pay for private health insurance! Now we no longer have to face the horror of our sons and daughters spending time abroad on ridiculous Erasmus schemes which allow us to study anywhere on this benighted, awful continent and meet, get to know and even fall in love with dreadful foreigners who don't "share our values."

Instead we can be free! We can finally cut ourselves off from this dreadful corrupt, sclerotic sh*thole that produced the Enlightenment, Mozart, Michelangelo, Cervantes, Kafka, the Nobel Prize, Voltaire and the Eurovision Song Contest.

Ahead to our glorious future! One filled with day trips to Dunstable, Spitfires roaring in the sky, Lyons Corner Houses and no bloody immigrants coming over here from Poland, mending our bathrooms and picking the fruit in our fertile British fields.

All hail the heir apparent, Boris Johnson! A man who, more than any politician ever seen, espouses the Marxist axiom, "those are my principles, and well, if you don't like them, I have others." (Groucho, not Karl.) A man whose lust for power and self-aggrandizement led him to valiantly support the leave side against all the odds and triumph as the presumptive new leader of this sceptr'd isle.

And special congratulations must also go to Nigel Farage, without whom this glorious moment of freedom would never have happened.

Farage is a plucky, downtrodden privately-educated former stockbroker, who bravely stood up against the elite; who, according to a former schoolteacher, used to sing Hitler-youth songs in school; and, who formed a pact with Holocaust-deniers in the European Parliament to get funding. He is a man who was happy for us to be told that Brexit would allow our strained public health service hundreds of millions of pounds, yet gleefully disavowed that claim this magnificent morning.

Glorious Nigel, who blames traffic jams on immigrants. Without his threat of violence on the streets if we didn't "take back control of our borders," we would never have achieved this superb moment.

I'm so happy that, from now on until the end of civilization (brought significantly closer by this vote), I will see him on my television and hear his husky, ale-lubricated, Benson-and-Hedges voice proclaiming that we have won our freedom "without a bullet being fired," blissfully ignoring the brutal murder of Jo Cox.

So hurrah! Rule Britannia! Everyone loves us now that we've trashed the one supranational organization that has provided peace and prosperity in Europe for the last 70 years.

Despite what you might've heard from Donald Trump, the perfidious Scots are like, totally out of here, with Scotland's First Minister Nicola Sturgeon calling for a second referendum.

And Pax Ireland! Good luck now that we've trashed important clauses in the Good Friday Agreement in a country where 58 percent voted to remain. I'm sure it'll be just fine.

And dreadful London, where 60 percent voted to stay! Thank Celtic war queen Boudicca that we've liberated our glorious country from these pesky metropolitan elites, that capital of Europe, making all that money that pays for our public services, pensions and defense.

A special thanks must also go to the olds. Without the support of Brexit from those over 50 (the blindly misguided youth voted in droves for remain) we would never have this moment of glorious independence from our nearest neighbors, biggest trading partners and group of liberal, social democracies.

Our wondrous pound has plunged on the foreign-exchange markets, driving up the price of such fripperies as food and clothing.

Rejoice, I say. Rejoice!

Commentary by Garret Cummings, a writer, anthropologist and founder of Lore Communication, a company that brings intercultural understanding to some of the world's biggest brands. Born in Northern Ireland during the worst of The Troubles, he's now a Londoner who has lived in Spain, France and California, and someone who believes unreservedly in kindness, human decency and a peaceful, united Europe and world.

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