Why I find the English wimpy.

The Earth loves to tease the Brits for being wimpy. Notions of their scattering soldiers at the cock of a gun abound.
Mean Earth. They should not tease. It's an unfair reputation that our friends be subject to such unfunny banter.

But is it really unfair?

I wondered this myself. I was left to ponder it for a good while, when the memory of a certain lad hit me.
Back, in the good old days, I knew a friend who had a friend. This mate of his was half-English. Peculiar lad with curly hair, blond-blue eyes, and a stern brow. He spoke in a posh-meets-cali sort of way.
I would take pleasure in sneaking up behind him, cradling a hair from his head, and then I would deftly pluck it from its root. The boy screamed every time. Those stern brows furrowed, and he would indignantly tell me off. I remember scoffing at his sensitivity. The poor boy, he is naive. I would then remember another thought; he is English.
I suppose at one point in time, these two thoughts merged. And thus my stereotype was born.
I didn't hear it from my friends– it was first-hand experience! Can you disregard such? Not easily.

I do feel sorry for the kid, now I have developed a sense of empathy. Every once in a short often, he would endure as I unabashedly tore his nogginpelt apart, hair-by-hair. Not a nice surprise. I would not be surprised, actually, if he developed an idea that Americans are crass and primitive.
But that's the way it is. That's why the English are wimpy.