Wednesday, 12 June 2019

Boris Johnson’s Diary, June 2019

“Right, so I, I, I went out for a jog this morning (because the cameras were there) and as I ran through the park, I was confronted by two black personages. I thought I might be in trouble but luckily these particular piccanninies greeted me with watermelon smiles instead of knives and asked if I could score some decent Bolivian blow. I said I knew a Papua New Guinean chap round the corner who I could pick up from as long as he didn’t put me in his pot and cannibalise me first. That’s what they all do. Anyway, after furnishing these disreputable Low IQ louches (who probably don’t even realise that Obama is Kenyan) with baggies of icing sugar, I ended up at the adjacent Gurdwara having something of a ding dong with the local Sikhs. Apparently, they didn’t appreciate my drug dealings and took umbrage to my suggestion that they quaff a glass of Armand de Brignac Champagne or two. How is one expected to know that they don’t drink? Luckily, one or two of them were of the Falstaffian fat fuck variety so I told them it was their own fault and rugby tackled the smallest one to the ground. Unfortunately, the kicking off of this cacophonous kerfuffle piqued the curiosity of the Mosque across the road where I’d called the Turkish Imam a goat-fucker the previous evening and suddenly I was surrounded by Muslims disguised as bank robbers dressed as letterboxes, wearing suicide vests. Amid the brouhaha I pleaded with them that I most certainly wasn’t a tank-top wearing bumboy fop but it was sadly a fraction of a second too la..” BOOOOOOOOM!

Tuesday, 8 January 2019

Brexit Britain, 2029 (A Message from the Future) *Courtesy of Mavis who did not wish to reveal her full identity.


"Stop mumbling... What!? I’m deaf you know!? Britain was better in the old days? Pah, no it wasn't! You see that over there? That's raw sewage that stretches for miles around the coast. It didn't used to be like this, there were foreigners with money and things. We didn't approve of that. We've always just prefered swimming about in shit. Pardon!? Of course, the fields used to produce vegetables but they ended up rotting because none of the locals would demean themselves with that type of slog for tuppence so now we just eat Frey Bentos pies and Micro-Chips. I think it's better that way. Hello!? What!? It’s my hearing, it’s not what it was! Yes, there was a time when young people would inexplicably want to broaden their horizons and had ambitions to live and work in the vibrant continent on our doorstep but we didn't think they needed that type of thing. The type of privilege we enjoyed. No, it's better they stay here. That foreign food can give you a dicky tummy and we don't like that. I can't hear you!? And since we forced all Muslims to shave off their beards in case they're concealing a bomb underneath, we've literally had no beard-bomb attacks whatsoever. 'scuse me!? No, there never has been a beard-bomb attack before. I can't hear a thing these days, you’ll have to speak up!? Oh, how's Meryl? Sadly she passed away on a trolley in the street outside the hospital, what with the social care issues following Brexit. It's what she would have wanted. You really will have to speak up!? Times are tough but at least there are no foreigners around to help out. Whaaat!? God Save the King."


The Special Relationship (Which country is going more insane - the UK or the US?)

There’s a real symmetry going on between Britain and the US right now but with one obvious difference. There’s no opposition. We don’t have a Jennifer Wexton or an Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez or a Beto O'Rourke or a Rashida Tlaib. We’ve got Jeremy Corbyn.* The tide is turning over there because they’re heading towards a crisis that is actually hitting workers in the pocket (including the MAGAniacs). So some real life 21st century politicians who use common sense, evidence and logic are making obvious points to ordinary people that are exposing the blatant lies. 

Sound familiar? That sense of urgency is building in the US now. People who thought ‘I hate this politics crap but they are actually fucking with mine and my friends’ lives now, I should probably get involved’ are getting involved. The tax-cuts for the rich, while federal workers who live pay check to pay check aren’t being paid are starting to question whether this is right. The b/millionaires in charge - men (and the odd woman) who claimed to speak for ‘the people’ are beginning to look self-serving and, er, elitey(?). They’re about to get some hefty pay rises too. The hypocrisy is not going unnoticed by those who usually aren’t interested or just have better things to do. The US and British governments are supposed to govern for all of course, not just sections of society. 

The Leave campaign got 17,410,742 votes - now that is a staggering number it has to be said. That’s a fine victory over the Remain campaign’s 16,141,241. If (and I said ‘if’) people start getting laid off in huge numbers, or falling behind on mortgage payments or start getting delayed at borders for hours, blah - all that Project Fear stuff we hear about with a No Deal and because obviously we don’t believe in experts anymore (pah!) then things might get tricky. No one wants that to happen so, you know, we’ll be fine I would’ve thought. But what if by some slim chance that van driver who was on James O’Brien’s LBC show (YouTube) who was explaining exactly how the whole process works and how disastrous it could be is right? I’m sure he doesn’t understand all the logistics of it having only made the journey a zillion times. Obviously Davis Davids, Dominic Raaaaab and (who’s the new one? Dexter Fletcher I think) will understand all of this better than that van driver dude. We do all hope it doesn’t go tits-up. But it might. The Tories will extend Article 50 because surely even they won’t take risks so crazy that we might need to rely on the ship company that Chris Grayling invested millions in that don’t have any ships. If May doesn’t extend Article 50, which could only happen if all EU 27 agree, then I’ll happily eat the entire Withdrawal Agreement page by page without water to wash it down with. The thing is, they’ll only extend it if a 2nd Referendum is part of the deal. Then I guess the brave warriors (of Keyboard Land) will start threatening civil war and violence when in reality most of them are over 60 and the only people that will actually want to cause real trouble will be the Yaxley-Lennon mob who, despite being utter morons, will surely realise they’ll struggle against the might of the British Army following a perfectly legal and sovereign act requested by Parliament. The army have got drones you know? Tick..tock..tick..tock..tick..tock...

*I vowed never to vote for Labour again after Bliar’s mass slaughter in Iraq but when Corbyn became leader I thought, okay, I will vote for them again because this is a principled man who is taking the party exactly where it needs to go with the rise of far-right idiotologies everywhere. I am hugely supportive of most things he stands for. But I’m a fickle sort when it comes to things such as everyone’s future. If he won’t offer genuine opposition to this despicable Tory Party and stand with the 16-odd million (thinking about it, that’s a whopping number too isn’t it?) of us that voted Remain and make it policy to oppose Brexit then I guess it’s thank you very much Jez for where you’ve got us to but we need to move quickly now. If confidence in this nonsense saps as it is in the US (where that orange thing in charge is gonna be lucky to last the next two years) and we reach a similar crisis point (but we’re looking at more like two decades) then we need our own stifled rising stars (Beccy, Dawn, Angela, Jess (not that stifled obvs), Emily etc to have the freedom to speak out and condemn in plain ‘real-people’ English that this is a terrible direction for the country to be heading in for demonstrably obvious reasons. We have those driven politicians, like the ones exciting those in the US, in the Labour Party but they can’t fight the damage being done by the opposition by offering a lesser damage. There’s nothing to work with there. There are a trillion reasons why half the country don’t want this. They’re the easiest arguments to win for politicians because you’re on the right side of progress, the side that moves forwards. Because that’s the only direction we’re heading in. 


Monday, 25 February 2013

Jan Moir and her Strange, Lonely and Troubling Voodoo Curses

50 sHaDeS oF iDiOcY: pArT 5

Not so long back, as part of the Metropolitan police’s investigation into the corruption of public officials, five senior journalists from The Sun were arrested. The detainees included the newspaper’s deputy editor Geoff Webster, former chief reporter John Kay and the current leading foreign correspondent, John Edwards (not to be confused with the TV illusionist and deluder of the same name who pretends to talk to dead people while his guests’ grief diminishes amid the miracles).

Naturally, following the demise of the News of the World for being a vile, blue-waffled malfeasance, there were rumours that the nation’s favourite red top could also be flushed down the same hole, douched beyond the U-bend, never to return.

If I’m totally honest, I would miss it.

You can't deny that sometimes it is a glory to behold. The complex and purely speculative, illustrated reconstructions of military operations are like the graphic novel battles I've always delighted in. 

Then there are the puntasmagorical headlines such as: ‘Super Caley Go Ballistic, Celtic Are Atrocious,’ following Caledonian Thistle’s shock 3-1 giant-larruping of the Pacers-clad (80s sweets) Glaswegian giants in the Scottish Cup. 

As for the Page 3 models’ insightful ponderings with regard to abstract socio-economic issues, well, they're unparalleled:

Recently, amid the quagmire of our bleak economic landscape, Page 3 lovely Sam (25, from Manchester) quoted from Victorian fiction writer Charles Dickens’ Micawber Principle:

"Annual income £20, annual expenditure £19/19/6d, result happiness. Annual income £20, annual expenditure £20/0/6d, result misery."

As both you and I know, Sam was alluding to Dickens’ novel David Copperfield (not to be confused with the TV illusionist and deceit monkey of the same name who pretends to float over random Wonders of the World, diminishing their majesty into near insignificance beneath his miracles).

So yeah, I would definitely miss The Sun if it self-destructed like the News of the World.

Phone-hacking and corruption scandals aside however, there is one humourless rag that I’d love to see have their offices confiscated and converted into theme parks for transgender Azerbaijani economic migrants. This newspaper goes by the name of…

Don’t bother with the drumroll. Oh fuck it, go on then... Brrrr-rrrrr-rrrr-urgh -

It's The Daily Mail. Obviously. 

And it’s actually fucking despicable.

For a starter, it’s never made me laugh (intentionally) - not once, ever and that's a heinous crime in itself.

In the 1930s, friend of Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler, Lord Rothermere directed the Mail's editorial stance and praised the Nazi regime's accomplishments. He stated: "The minor misdeeds of individual Nazis would be submerged by the immense benefits the new regime is already bestowing on Germany." Either he was referring to the violence against Jews and anyone else that didn't fit the Aryan master race ideology or he was a fucking blithering bumblespanner. Either way he was a bottom-drawer prophesier.

But fast-forward to the 21st century and it turns out that the newspaper has a genuine clairvoyant on their hands. A fortune-teller who is so accurate that it can only be rationally explained by the assumption that she dabbles in the ancient witchcraft of voodoo.

From now on, I'm only going to refer to the paper anagrammatically in an attempt to be annoying and provoke temporary confusion.

Here's yet another topic that DIY Himla Tale recently tackled:

The untimely death of Stephen Gately from Boyzone, or Boys Aloud or Banally Blathering Buggernuts - I can't remember the particular band but you know the one I mean?

Vodouist practitioner and My Ideal Hitla columnist Jan Moir scrawled a scandalous assault on Boyzone's openly-gay jigger-abouter Stephen Gately's untimely demise before the poor lad had even been patted into the ground. I definitely wouldn't call it a tribute. It was entitled:

'A Strange, Lonely and Troubling Death...'

Moir opens by warning fans to expect the unexpected from their heroes:

"Particularly if these idols live a life shadowed by dark appetites fractured by private vice."

I don't think she's talking about midnight lemonade slurping sojourns huddled in the glow of the fridge light. But I'm not entirely sure I understand what she means at all? Wasn't Gately's history as a clean-cut idol of hundreds of thousands of 13 year old girls. And my mate Gary.

Then, somewhat suspiciously she writes:

"Robbie, Amy, Kate, Whitney, Britney... We are not being ghoulish to anticipate their bad end."

Well she is being a bit ghoulish, let's be honest. It should be pointed out that when she wrote this article they were all still alive. No doubt when Amy and Whitney died she was rubbing her hands with glee. Either that, or hang on a minute...

Now I'm no Columbo, but if Robbie rolls a 7 in the next few months then Moir should be taken in for questioning, that's all I'm saying. The detectives should probably scour her attic with a fine-toothed comb. I'd be looking for some kind of padlocked antique chest which I guarantee, once prized open with a crowbar, will reveal a plethora of pin-pierced Hoodoo-Voodoo Cabbage Patch celebrity dolls. 

Trust me, I've seen Kill List.

I'm still struggling to see the connection between these celebrities and Stephen Gately. What is the common connection between these 'dark appetites'?

Williams: Bolivian marching powder and pork and pickle pies; Winehouse: smack, crack and booze; Moss: nose candy and looking scrumdiddlyumptious; Houston crack and Brown (not of the heroin variety); Spears: hair-clippers? Gately: Er..?

Stephen had been on holiday in Port d'Andratx, Mallorca with his partner Andrew Cowles when he died suddenly in his sleep. His death was later determined to have been caused by a pulmonary edema resulting from an undiagnosed heart condition according to the coroner. Essentially, he died as a result of a congenital heart defect. 

This however does not satisfy Ms Moir:

"All the official reports point to a natural death with no suspicious circumstances." 

Then the Miss Marple in her bursts forth:

"But hang on a minute. Something is terribly wrong with the way the incident has been shaped and spun into nothing more than an unfortunate mishap, like a broken teacup in the rented cottage."

I'm not sure the Gately family saw their son's congenital heart defect in the same way as Jan Moir's metaphor of a fumbled tumbler in a quaint countryside retreat somehow.

A pathology report stated that Gately suffered from atheromatosis, an undiagnosed heart condition. The report said that the star had died from an acute pulmonary oedema – a build up of fluid on the lungs caused by the condition. The report made it clear that he had not been killed by alcohol or drugs.

Good enough for most people but sometimes it takes a maverick to solve these things:

“Whatever the cause of death is, it is not, by any yardstick, a natural one. Let us be absolutely clear about this. All that has been established so far is that Stephen Gately was not murdered.”

Post-mortem examinations don’t always go far enough for some people apparently. I always like to get a second opinion from a mouthy hack with no medical training whatsoever, dunno about you?

Jan Moir’s article was published the day before Stephen Gately’s funeral. 

The day before.

She's a bit like the Westboro Baptist Church members in Kansas - the religious zealots who picket funerals and waved banners such as 'Matt is in Hell' and 'Thank god for AIDS' during the funeral of Matthew Shephard, a man murdered for being homosexual. 

Jan Moir's like them but more impatient. Why wait for the service to take place before pissing all over the memory of a family's cherished love one?

I'll let Britney Spears have the final word:

"Don’t you know that you’re toxic?"

Friday, 22 February 2013

Melanie Phillips, the Gay Agenda and her penchant for Cahooning great Whoppers

50 sHaDeS oF iDiOcY: pArT 4

It may have come to your attention that I seem to be thwomping on endlessly about Daily Mail writers at the moment. You probably think they're an easy target for liberal lefties such as myself but you'd be wrong. 

They're even an easy target for barely sentient unicellular organisms such as the amoeba. It's just that these infinitesimal, shapeless protists have yet to muster their collective brains to create a subaquatic, microscopic Water Wide Web where they can vent their anger towards the likes of the Mail's Melanie Phillips and her attitude regarding sexuality. They've yet to achieve this because they don't actually have brains but I know that they're fed up with their binary fission (or cell division) reproduction methods, that don't adhere to heterosexual ideology, being demeaned by the likes of Ms Phillips. They informed me of this through the medium of dreams, the cheeky little tinkers.

Melanie Phillips recently penned an article entitled:

'Yes, gays have often been the victims of prejudice. But they now risk becoming the new McCarthyites.'

Now, if you're like me, you're probably enraged by this 'McCarthyites' reference and over-griddling with disbelief like a sizzling, smoking kielbasa:

Just what the fuck does
 McCarthyites mean?

It's really irritating to not be clever. It's even worse 
when the Daily Mail write a headline that you don't understand. I put it down to stupid state school education. Surely the unceasingly hubble-bubble of copious marijuana bongs at the time had nothing to do with my lack of attentiveness in lessons.

Anyway, apparently McCarthyites aren't hippies who regularly indulge in textured vegetable protein Cumberland bangers with sun-dried tomatoes, which, by the way are simply delightful. Especially if you're hungry enough to eat a scabby horse. I doubt Black Beauty would have been anywhere near as delectable.

Essentially McCarthyism is defined as the practice of publicising accusations of disloyalty or subversion with insufficient regard to evidence. It is a term derived from Joseph Raymond "Joe" McCarthy, an American politician who served as a U.S. Senator for the state of Wisconsin from 1947 until his death in 1957. His main drive was to state that there were innumerable dangerous Communists, Soviet spies and sympathisers inside the United States federal government that had managed to overcome the obvious cover-blown ruse of trilby-clad agents sitting on park benches with eye-holes bored through broadsheet newspapers as they tried to glean nuclear secrets from passing squirrels.

But still I'm confused. 

How does this equate with the 'Gay Agenda' that Phillips is rallying against? 

She begins:

"Here’s a question ­shortly coming to an examination ­paper near you. What have mathematics, geography or science to do with homosexuality? Nothing at all, you say? Zero marks for you, then. Schoolchildren are to be bombarded with homosexual references in maths, geography and ­science lessons as part of a Government-backed drive to promote the gay agenda."

I wasn't aware that examination papers were coming near me again, shortly. I thought I was done with all that malarkey when I left uni. I'm not sure which subject's exam paper this question will appear on because it covers Maths, Geography and Science - maybe all of them. I reckon it probably incorporates Humanities, Religious Education, History, Art and Country Dance too.

I'm a bit miffed that Melanie Phillips answers the question for us without at least giving anyone a chance to try and offer some kind of elucidation. So, after deciding that her lack of patience or Quizmastering adeptness should be discounted, I'm going to try and answer the questions, posed mainly by myself. Under exam conditions:

Shush, this is serious and there isn't even anyone sitting next to me that I can copy the answers from. Not like the old days - 

Simon, where are you now? Your muffled 'pssts' and passive, sleight of hand pencil throwing stunts are the only reason I achieved GCSE English grades at all, I'm certain! 

Okay, competition time:


1) A gay man decided to purchase three bottles of Amyl Nitrate (or Poppers) on-line because he felt a particular website's offer would work out cheaper than a singular purchase. Plus his sphincter had been tighter than the grip of  a giant squid's tendrils of late. He elected for a 10ml bottle of TNT for $27.00, a 10ml phial of Buzz for $32.00 and a 15ml vial of Jungle Juice Gold LARGE for $42.00 and paid the jam price of $100.00. 

Did he get a bargain..?  


2) In which of these destinations would you be most likely to stumble across the most flagrant of vagina-decliner or todger-dodger? 

a) Brighton 
b) Heaven 
c) Haringey
d) 'Bell End' street in Wellingborough


3) Alan Turing was a British mathematician, logician, cryptanalyst and computer scientist. He formalised the concepts of algorithms and computation with the Turing Machine which could be adapted to simulate the logic of any computer algorithm and explain the functions of a CPU inside a computer. He is widely considered to be the father of computer science and artificial intelligence. During World War II, Turing was head of the Government Code and Cypher School (GC&CS) at Bletchley Park, codebreaking the Nazi's cryptanalysis and mastering, before dismantling their settings for the Enigma machine like a simple and enjoyable bounce through Peggle Nights. Following his unparalleled contribution to defeating the Nazis, Turing was charged with gross indecency under Section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1885 because he acknowledged having a homosexual relationship with a man called Arnold Murray. On June 7 1954, Alan Turing committed suicide. The question is:

a) Was Turing an absolute bufty who probably stuck the gun up his own batty as he rolled himself a seven, just for that very last thrill?
b) Should Alan Turing be regarded as one of the most important and revered  figures of the 20th Century? 
c) Does the image on the shroud (Alan's duvet) kept in the Cathedral of St John the baptist in Italy really resemble him? The carbon-dating seems to go back way further that the 1950s?


4) Does Melanie Phillips display any of the traits usually attributed to reasonable human beings?

* All answers appear at the bottom of this article.

According to Melanie:

"In geography, for example, they will be told to consider why homosexuals move from the ­countryside to cities." 

It's a bamboozler for sure. I mean, I know why heterosexuals move from the countryside to cities - they're looking for jobs, a bit of life, a slice of action. Maybe even a partner? But as for homosexuals, what on earth could their motivations be? As we all know, the backwater village has always been a pillar of acceptance for the more diverse members of the human race. 

She goes on to state: "In science, they [children] will be directed to ­animal species such as emperor ­penguins and sea horses, where the male takes a lead role in raising its young." All mocking aside, she has a good point here. It's absolutely outrageous to look at nature and watch millions of years of evolution going about its own business with the father nurturing its offspring. I mean who in their right mind could find that acceptable, let alone beautiful?

But apparently, according to Phillips:  "It is an abuse of childhood. And it’s all part of the ruthless campaign by the gay rights lobby to destroy the very ­concept of normal sexual behaviour."

It seems that the gay lobby are somehow communicating with penguins and sea horses. This wasn't something I was aware of but we should definitely be scared. They're obviously some kind of camp amphibious Dr Doolittles with a mysterious 'agenda'. They move into cities and the suchlike or something(?), apparently? Who knows what tactics are being amassed?

"This is but the latest attempt to brainwash children with propaganda under the ­camouflage of ­education. It is an abuse of childhood." It appears that nurturing children accurately as to how nature works is somehow an incongruously devious plot. She follows up with:

"It’s all part of the ruthless campaign by the gay rights lobby to destroy the very ­concept of normal sexual behaviour." 

The sea horses and penguins she mentioned earlier are also apparently not manifesting 'normal sexual behaviour' according to Ms Phillips's ideals.

Are these animals forming lobbies? What could their agenda be? Where are they meeting and why aren't the intelligence services listening in?

Or is it Melanie Phillips's archaic views about certain behaviours that don't constitute 'normality' in her own antiquated, narrow-minded, 1970s Super 8 world in a 21st century digital realm that has clearly left her befuddled?

And she looks like the rustiest of bikes.

 Competition answers:

1) Melanie Phillips is a dipshit dipstick ditzy dingbat
2) Melanie Phillips is a slack-jawed spleenmeisting sausage slurper
3) Melanie Phillips is a nit-witted numb-nutted nicompoop
4) No

All entries to be sent enclosed in the spongy-tissued pouched wall of an impregnated male seahorse to the usual address - roughly about 1,755 feet beneath the Antarctic Ocean. If you've alreay read the answers given above then you will be disqualified from the competition.

If you correctly scored three or more then you're in line for a prize. Entries will be pulled out of a submerged leather policeman's helmet once we've let the penguins loose on him. [We are not responsible for the competition entries that are stolen by amoebas - they're thieving little blobby motherfuckers.] 

Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Giles Coren and his Ra-Ra skirt that swishes about in the breeze.

50 sHaDeS oF iDiOcY: pArT 3

Do you know who I've got a bit of a soft spot for?

That Victoria Coren, off of the telly. You know the one I mean?

She recently married QI favourite and comical clever clogs David Mitchell from Peep Show.

For the purposes of this article however, it would seem improper to refer to her on the basis of the dude she's hooked up with - this is merely the underpinning of a far more interesting personality.

You may have been seduced by Ms Coren's mellifluous tones randomly emanating via your speakers from the studios of Radio 4 hosting the talk show Heresy?

There are also the books she writes, the columns she pens and the TV shows she presents.

She's appeared as a guest on You Have Been Watching, Have I Got News For You and Question Time, among loads of other satirical or 'highbrow' shows and she's really funny.

Okay, I'll admit it, I quite fancy her. There's something about her playful smile, compounded by a razor-sharp wit that gets me going. She apparently has a kind of Usain Bolt Deluxe model brain where the electrical impulses zip along the craggy synapses of her cerebral cortex in a speedier fashion than self-styled 'skyfisherman' Jose Escamilla's Rods from the crazy pseudoscience universe of cryptozoology.

Victoria also plays poker. Professionally.

In September 2006, she won the main event of the European Poker Tour in London, scooping a not-to-be-sniffed-at £500,000 after defeating Australian Emad Tahtouh. In November 2011, she finished in second place at the International Federation of Poker's inaugural Table World Championship after losing a heads-up to Spaniard Raul Mestre. For this achievement, she collected $100,000, ($10,000 of which she donated to Age UK).

Somehow she also manages to industriously shoehorn the writing of a weekly column for The Observer and the fronting of BBC Four quiz show Only Connect into her schedule. Damn you Mitchell, she is actually amazing.

I suppose, in some ways, Victoria Coren is something of a femme fatale - a highly intelligent and attractive female. A feminist who can more than hold her own in the daunting intellectual company of the likes of Stephen Fry, Charlie Brooker or David Dimbleby.

She does however harbour something of a dark and most sinister of secrets...

The kind of shocking, shameful, cupboard-dwelling skeleton that occasionally reveals itself to the horror of onlookers. 

And it appears in the shape of a proper boneyfied nitwit.

This closet-creature goes by the name of Giles and it happens to be Ms Coren's big brother.

A stigma-stained sibling of the sort of indescribable entity that H.P. Lovecraft might have dreamt up in one of his 'weird fiction' Gothic horror novels. The kind of impalpable monstrosity that dwells amid the pages, shackled to a beam in the abandoned attic of a dilapidated house.

A gelatin; a slime, yet with shape. A thousand unnameable embodiments of terror. Wretched and beyond all memory or contrivance. With horns. And hooves, cloven.

And, unfortunately, he's also got a laptop.

As it goes, Giles Coren also happens to be a columnist, although his media outlet comes in the far-scarier shape of the MailOnline - a truly hideous manifestation of evil way beyond the imaginings of Victorian horror writers of the like of Lovecraft, Machen or Poe, though his opinions do have something of the 1800s about them.

On the back of the Richard Keys/Andy Gray furore regarding sexism in football, a particularly insightful piece was written by Mr Coren for the Daily Mail entitled:

So why is it all right for women to be sexist about MEN?

It's good that he used those upper-case letters for the word 'men' otherwise I might have overlooked the immediacy of this issue.

You see, according to Giles, the world is all topsy-turvy when it comes to sexism and it's about time we flipped the playing field upside its own stupid head. So, what are his contentions?

Over to Mr Coren:

"You shouldn’t pass unflattering remarks about women behind their backs because it is not a well brought-up thing to do. I would never do it myself. Not because I am a feminist, but because I am a gentleman."

An admirable stance, I think we'd all admit? Apart from the er.. hey, come on, you've got to start an article somewhere so give him the benefit of the doubt:

"To be a man in this country is constantly to have to apologise for oneself and to be ever so careful about every sentence we speak or write which contains any reference at all to members of the opposite sex. At the same time, we ourselves are fair game for women. While sexism from men is the outstanding social crime of the modern world, women can say absolutely whatever they like about us. Make no mistake, sexism is alive and well in this country and applauded in all quarters — as long as it is practised by women. And they are allowed to say the most terrible, terrible things."


Apologies for the pause, I just needed to clamber back onto my chair from the carpet. He sounds like he might cry. I think I might join him.

Buggering arse-barnacles - my blubbing is making the ink blot across the screen. Hope it's not too blurry to read.

With good faith, the only factually incorrect part of Coren's opening paragraph are all of the words that he's written. Apart from that, it's a perfectly typical passage of hyperbole from the Daily Mail's bottomless gorge of guff.

You have to be careful about every sentence spoken or written? 

That's pretty much the same line that Bruce Forsythe frothed in Anton Du Beke's defence after he 'slipped-up' and called dance partner Laila Rouass a Paki on Strictly Come Dancing. It's also much the same line that Jimmy Hill volunteered in defence of Ron Atkinson following his post-match analysis of Marcel Desailley's Champions League performance (broadcast around the world) where he described the then-Chelsea captain as "a fucking lazy, thick nigger."

The thing is, most enlightened members of our 21st century masses don't actually 'have to be careful about what they say' whatsoever because it just wouldn't enter their noodle to burble antiquated, offensive bullshit like a circa '73 'Chubby' Brown with terminal Tourette's. Most people can function perfectly capably without the aid of a political-correctness advisor. 

If you're addressing your Asian dance partner as a Paki (to her bewildered face) or describing a World Cup winning captain (who happens to be black) as a nigger, it's very simple - you're a bigoted cunt. A fucking plum. End of story.

The worrying thing about Giles Coren is that he doesn't need these things pointing out to him. That his comments are offensive and inflammatory is something that he's surely only too aware of. He feels that the rest of us have got it wrong and should accept his reasoning. Either that, or he's just taking the piss.

And once he gets on a roll, the results are spectacular, sinister and staggering:

"The great lie. All men want is sex. Not so. If anything, it is women who think only of having it off. Girls on average lose their virginity much younger than boys and have more sexual partners in youth."

In fairness to Coren, he backs these 'facts' up with absolutely no statistical evidence whatsoever. Well he couldn't - he made them up.

Then brutally, aggressively and possibly with a petty, small minded venality he goes on to state that: "Women are far meaner, more brutal, aggressive, small-minded, jealous, petty and venal than any man." And it's hard to argue with that.  

Without doubt, the funniest proclamation issued forth by Littlejohn's understudy regards our health and well-being, particularly 'man flu':

"It is women who make a big fuss about mild discomfort, not men. I have never had so much as a cold in my life, nor claimed to. I even suspect sometimes that the whole palaver about the pain of childbirth is a conspiracy to ride roughshod over men."

Proscribing to the same factual databank as Mr Coren, I can emphatically state that even Iron Man once suffered from a bout of mild nasopharyngitis - his GP told me. He was mates with my uncle and he ain't no bullshitter. He ain't. Fuck you, he ain't, well ring him then, go on, ring him. RING HIM!


Never once has Giles Coren had a cold. The 'childbirth palaver' is purely fiction. Seeriasss guv. Get a grip blud. Pffft.

His sister is amazing though, no lie - fuck's sake bruv, believe.

Coren finishes his piece by equating the unfair male disposition regarding women with:

"If that's not off-side, I don't know what is." 

And he's right. He doesn't know what off-side is.

According to Sky Sports' Soccer AM's Helen Chamberlain:

"The off-side rule aims to prevent strikers from scoring easy goals by lurking around the opposition's goal post. Players are forbidden from standing between the opposition post and the last opposition defender unless the ball is kicked forward towards the goalposts."

Simples. *Squeak

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Richard Littlejohn and his Interminable Hatred of Women

50 sHaDeS oF iDiOcY: pArT 2

Richard 'Upwards-of-£700,000-a-year’ Littlejohn can afford high class hookers if he so fancies and you'd have thought, for this, he'd be thankful.  

I'm not for a moment suggesting that prostitutes are a luxury that Dicky would want to spaff his filthy lucre on of course, far from it. I mean it's self-evident from his various poisonous prevarications that women from pretty much any background are among the most despicable creatures he's forced to endure, invariably invading his precious consciousness.

Here are a couple of this contemptible crank's jaw-dropping scribbles on the Daily Mail website that are well worth a leisurely perusal. For your delectation, as it were:

Firstly: "Spare us the 'People's Prostitute' routine..." was an article published less than a week before Christmas, 2006 and it outlined Mr Littlejohn's opinions regarding the victims of the Suffolk Strangler (who was still at large at the time). Then in 2011, following justice secretary Ken Clarke's "serious rapes" gaffe, came the execrable: "It’s not only rape victims betrayed by the system." 

The Mail's provocative and intentionally ill-judged editorial decisions to afford this 21st century Julius Streicher a platform to honk his perverse opinions regarding subjects as sensitive as rape or the murder of young women, wrest you to the degree that you wouldn't even bat an eyelid if this deplorable rag published a free pull-out Home Improvements supplement entitled: "The Fred West Guide to Health & Safety on the Building Site."

Littlejohn is a ‘man’ who, during serial killer Steve Wright’s murder spree in Ipswich, felt compelled to snipe:

"In their grubby little existences [the victims]… death by strangulation is an occupational hazard... In the scheme of things the deaths of these five women is no great loss."

Yep, you did read that correctly. Try it again. It has the same impact the second time.

By about halfway through the Ipswich murders column you realise that it would pretty much come down to the flip of a coin to decide who despised the murdered girls the most – psychopathic serial killer Steve Wright or the shank-brained Mail columnist?

Littlejohn lasciviously dribbles: "These five women were on the streets because even the filthiest, most disreputable back-alley "sauna" above a kebab shop wouldn't give them house room. Some men are actually turned on by disgusting, drug-addled street whores." 

For some reason, somewhat uncharitably, he didn't sign the article off with Yuletide Season's Greetings to the victims' friends and families.

Following the gang rape of two British charity workers on the Carribean island of St Lucia in 2011, the Daily Mail again felt that a subject of such sensitivity would be best dealt with by their most obliging, misogynistic, compassion contravener... 

Littlejohn sets the scene for an odious diatribe by detailing the horrific and prolonged sexual assault of the two women before peculiarly stating that:

"No one would dream of suggesting that because they were camping on an isolated beauty spot overnight they were asking to be attacked."

He's right. No one would ever think that. It did cross his mind though, apparently - the sort of thing that no one in their right mind would ever conceive. It's good that he felt compelled to inform us of a truly awful notion that would have never occurred to anyone in the first place without his help.

"Let’s imagine for a moment that one of these unfortunate women had met a man in a Tiki Bar, got off her head on rum punch and invited him back to her hotel room for a drunken tumble..."

Yes, why not? That seems reasonable. Let’s equate ‘drunken tumbles’ with vicious sexual attacks. And while we're at it, rather than imagining a hypothetical woman, he wants to specifically imagine one of the traumatised rape victims for this disturbing fantasy scenario...

I presume she drunkenly stumbles into said Tiki Bar, hair tousled and matted with deep scratches and weeping gouges -

Apologies Richard, I’m getting ahead of you here. It's your fantasy:  

"The following morning, through her hungover haze, she was consumed by self-loathing. Would she be entitled to cry ‘rape’?"

Jesus Christ impatiently standing in a queue in Halfords clutching a puncture repair kit!

I've just realised that Mr Littlejohn doesn’t understand the literal meaning of the word rape. The contemptuous inverted commas adorning the word in his conjecture speak volumes. To help our Mailman out, here's the Oxford English Dictionary's definition of the word rape:

  • noun

    [mass noun]
    • 1the crime, typically committed by a man, of forcing another person to have sexual intercourse with the offender against their will.

Unhelpfully, Dicky goes on to inform us: "There’s a world of difference between a violent sexual assault at the hands of a complete stranger and a subsequently regretted alcohol-induced one night stand."

And d'ya know what? He’s not wrong. The main difference between a violent sexual assault at the hands of a complete stranger and a subsequently regretted alcohol-induced one night stand is that one is a violent sexual assault at the hands of a complete stranger and the other is a subsequently regretted alcohol-induced one night stand. Littlejohn seems to be so confused with the meaning of these very different phrases that I'd be surprised if he doesn't pepper those fucking Go-Compare-The-Meerkat-furry-fuckwits with repeated befuddled telephone calls all day long.

There is also a ‘world of difference’ between a violent sexual assault at the hands of a complete stranger and a violent sexual assault at the hands of a vaguely familiar face that an inebriated girl may have been dancing with at a party throughout the night. Either way, if she decided that she needed to go home because the room had started spinning and her bed was calling, regardless of whether Mr Familiar Face had accompanied her for the trek back and regardless of whether she'd invited him in for coffee and regardless of whether she'd snogged his face off on the sofa for half an hour, it's still her call to say: "Night night" or "Fuck off" if that's how she feels. 

It's her call.   

If said girl is physically overpowered and violated by a sex offender of any subdivision against her will then the consequences are undoubtedly going to be devastating. The perpetrator is a dangerous predator who should be clinked-up and forced to join the Government Facebook register. For good.

Twathead's reprehensible stream of misogynistic gobshitery putrefies, unceasingly:

"To the Boadiceas of feminism ‘rape is rape’, regardless of the circumstances, even if the woman was so sloshed she can’t remember whether or not she consented. These vengeful viragos insist that ‘rape is a life sentence’ in every case. No, it isn’t. In many instances, it isn’t even rape."

Well, it is. In this particular paragraph, the word rape must maintain its actual meaning as it was Mr Littlejohn who constructed the notion in the first place and we are obliged to prescribe to the laws of language in a newspaper article. By conceiving the 'Boadiceas’ ‘rape is rape’' lie, the word rape has to retain its literal definition otherwise the whole paragraph makes precisely as much sense as if he'd typed:

"Each morning, without fail, I ride to work on my bicycle. However, some mornings, it’s not actually a bike because it’s a knitted, turkeymonkey tea-cosy. And I haven’t got a job because I am in fact a slug languishing under a heap of salt, dying obtusely in a thick, gooey puddle of my own disgusting internal biology."

It just wouldn’t make any logical sense despite being a far preferable imagining.

So here’s a scenario that might help Richard Littlejohn to begin to understand the concept of rape a little more unambiguously.

I think it’s predominantly down to the logistics of the deed that he’s struggling with. I reckon a good way for him to begin to comprehend the damage caused by such a violation would be some kind of a switcheroo-type situation into the victim’s position. It matters not that Littlejohn is a heterosexual male for this to work.

Here’s the scenario…

'Let’s imagine for a moment that an intoxicated Richard Littlejohn got chatting with three muscular rugby lads after stumbling into a sweaty Tiki Bar alone. Out of his tiny squiff-faced noggin on rum punch, he’d invited the trio back to his hotel room for a sozzled scrum down when, without warning, one of the burly brutes seized him by the throat, thumbs crushing his larynx, as the other two violently wrenched his arms behind his back…'

I’ll spare you the horrific details of what ensued and skip to the end:

'…covered in blood in what was a veritable, knuckle-duster-clad, triple-fisting.

The following morning, through his hungover haze, Mr Littlejohn was consumed by self-loathing.'

Would he be entitled to cry ‘rape’?