Rebels Without a Chin

Every so often my heart is too fragile to stand up to the heroic and –at times- creatively magnificent emotional blackmail of my mother. In a fleeting moment of vulnerability (you have to stay on your toes with my mam in much the same way you’d keep your hand on your wallet in the presence of the Artful Dodger, otherwise before you know it you’re agreeing to go and see Michael Bubble in concert, or donating a fucking kidney) my defences were down and she’d convinced me to accompany her to see a film.

 

Then of course, I find out it’s starring Colin Firth and Nicole Kidman. As if my mother and all the world’s Casting Directors had colluded to most robustly offend me.

 

If there is a less entertaining spectacle than a pouting Nicole Kidman, faking an English accent and trying to make us believe she’s an abused Middle-England housewife, I’ve yet to witness it. And Colin Firth can go fuck himself as well. How was anyone moved by a film about an actual king with a speech impediment? I’ve felt more emotionally attached to STDs. This middle-class reputation he has of being a sex symbol because of that shite Mr Darcy, wearing-jodhpurs-in-the-lake, balls? If you, or anyone you care about is wanking over a posh, curly-haired, middle-aged fella with tits, striding out of a pond attempting to look haughty… well good for you, man. I need something a bit more substantial.

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Anyway, so I’m at the cinema with She Who Must Be Obeyed and three litres of Ben and Jerry’s to fill the emotional gap that will be left after her relentless, insidious criticisms and then it occurs… Not the film, which – as it happens – wasn’t quite as shit as the sum of it’s terrible cast members, but THIS

 

So, what they’ve done here is make a film called The Riot Club which has been adapted from a novel called Posh, which is essentially a fictional account of The Oxford University “Bullingdon Club.”

 

The Bullingdon Club, for those of you unfamiliar, is an exclusive club for some Oxford University students, comprised mostly of all the snivelling little bastard offspring of the very richest who will one day try and tell us all that Benefit Scroungers are satanic, whilst they privately snort ketomine from squirrel’s arseholes etc.

 

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That picture of Boris Johnson, David Cameron and George Osborne where they’re (allegedly) about 19 and stood on some steps somewhere, not dressed that dissimilarly to the aforementioned Colin Firth as Mr Darcy and trying – just as unsuccessfully – to look haughty? That’s the club.

 

Which is why the trailer for this film might confuse you.

 

I appreciate that Hollywood/ Pinewood have to use some artistic licence, but let’s not get fucking daft. These chiselled actor toffs are a totally different breed to the Bullingdon toffs and it’s ethically insane to assert differently.

 

Charlize Theron won an Oscar for essentially putting on three stone and not wearing make-up to play serial killer Aileen Wuornos. Why are these Tory cunts getting the soft-focus of drama school dreamboats with defined abdomens and actual jaw lines?

 

Fair enough, trying to find ten posh young men who, even cumulatively, could not establish enough chin for one would be a tricky task, but surely there are chinless actors that need work?

 

Even if we weren’t morally aggrieved – and I’ll reiterate, we definitely are – by the artistic interpretation of a group of men as Hugo Boss underwear models, when in real life they’re more aesthetically attuned to an Addam’s Family Reunion – who in the name of all that is sacred gives a solitary fuck about the social life of a handful of socialite gobshites?

 

First, someone’s written a fictitious book giving an approximation of what these hairy ballsacks did at eighteen and not only is it published, but enough people have read the fucker to warrant making a film?

 

But wait, I hear you cry, it turns out – and you’ll never believe this – that the obnoxious little turds didn’t appreciate their financial privilege and went around shitting on poor people, by smashing up hotel rooms and restaurants, without care or regard for their fellow man. No, seriously.

 

In this trailer they make these acts of torment seem like heroic, rebellious acts of unbridled hedonism, but the truth is – and we all know it – that the closest a Tory will ever come to an act of bravery is allowing their mistress to suck them off in the same postcode as their sound biting spouse.

 

In this trailer there’s murder and intrigue and the sexy suggestion that anything can happen when in the presence of these James Dean-esque rogues.

 

Spoiler alert: the worst that’s ever happened is Boris Johnson types have had to pay for smashing the windows of establishments that didn’t want them there, while a putrid, sweaty-joweled George Osborne shits into his dormitory sink and promises never to drink again.

 

It’s not a film’s worth. It’s not even an interesting anecdote.

 

I’m holding out for the Leon Brittan missing paedophile dossier film.

 


Funny, how?

It feels like every couple of years, I’ll accidentally encounter a radio phone-in or daytime television debate about whether or not women can be funny. And let’s have it right the statistics don’t look good. The truth is that there aren’t very many successful female comics, and those that exist are either wildly self-deprecating, or hated. Often, both.

 

 

“Ooo, look at me, I’m dead old/ thick/ fat” she says, and the rest of the world either laugh along, or pour scorn on their over reliance on self-hate.

 

Yes, yes there are notable exceptions and – in the US especially – women comics are afforded occasional notable success, but this usually dissipates and is still infused with the idea that they’re working on a “token” ticket. So, is the truth that women aren’t funny?

 

Well, no. Of course, not.

 

Women are very funny. And if the political faux pas of people like Roseanne Barr and Joan Rivers are something you can’t get past; Victoria Wood, Mae West, Lucille Ball and a host of comic female actors could probably sway you.

 

However; in order to make people laugh, an audience has to entrust you with a certain degree of power. You as the comic are the architect of an audience’s response (that they believe is instinctive, but is in actual fact much more about conditioning) and audiences don’t trust women. I don’t just mean male audiences either, although to a certain degree we’re all a male audience.

 

There is an extra dimension to this, too. This idea that a woman cannot fall within the narrow parameters of sexual attractiveness, and be funny, at the same time.

 

We have to put women into various social categories, because the sexually desirable must not be allowed to be more than fuckable, and the less sexually desirable (measured against narrow aesthetic parameters that very few women can attain for very long) must make up for it. If a woman is more than just attractive or funny, then they are too powerful.

 

We can afford the Sarah Millicans, Jo Brands, and Miranda Harts of this world their own television shows and National Treasure titles, as long as they are constantly reminded of how intrinsically unfuckable they are and as long as they don’t get ideas above their station, or hope to make narcissistic, pathos-laden comedic “art” like Bill Hicks, Stewart Lee, or Daniel Kitson.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing Kitson & co. live and to bathe in their comedic majesty, but do I think women aren’t capable of reaching existential conclusions about humanity, enriched with humour and passion? Women eject humans out of their genitals, lads. You don’t know the meaning of nihilism and existential angst.

 

But I digress.

 

The point is that women can either be worth shagging, or funny. Sometimes neither, never both. Either we accept that this is because less attractive women (by ridiculous Western, socially imposed standards) are born funny, and those who adhere to those very narrow aesthetic standards lack wit (but somehow manage to acquire it as they age and begin to edge outside of those aesthetic parameters), or we agree this is about power and not about how funny women are, but how funny we (as an audience/ society) allow them to be.

 

With that in mind, I think about beautiful men.

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Being honest, I needn’t have that in mind, because I’m always thinking about beautiful men.

 

I think about dicks and thighs and wrists and faces and stomachs and I think about all of these things with an intense sexual desire.

 

And here’s something else: so do most other heterosexual women.

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I say this because, along with the compartmentalizing of women, and this unspoken societal understanding that women are either fit or funny, there is this prevailing sense that all women want is someone who will make them laugh or take care of them, or any list of other attributes that aren’t about physical attraction.

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The idea that men – in direct contrast to the fit or funny women model previously outlined – could be purely lusted over for nothing more than their physical attributes is something we don’t entertain.

 

Do we recognize beautiful men, like Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp? Yes, we do.

 

But we allow them the freedom to also be actors, to wear shit clothes, to have tabloid pictures taken of them with guts hanging out over bath towels. We allow them to grow ridiculous facial hair, get old or fuck women decades younger than them without so much as a raised eyebrow. Because – and I reiterate this – there’s this sense that women are much more worthy in their desires.

 

I’m not. I’m not worthy at all.

 

I’ll pretend to laugh at your jokes to fuck you, and if you’re extraordinarily attractive I’ll fuck you, even if you bore me.

 

Something that all men should know is that they’re probably never going to be as beautiful as Elvis Presley or Marlon Brando and that everyone you’ve ever fucked is likely to wish you looked better, at some point. Unless of course you do look like Elvis Presley, or Marlon Brando, in which case – call me.

 

Know that women aren’t less shallow and that sex isn’t less important to us than you. Also know that women do not have a more generous understanding of physical attractiveness.

 

Marlon Brando was a beautiful man, made fitter by a ridiculous talent. A talent he was allowed to explore, because he wasn’t reduced to his frankly perfect physicality. Similarly, Elvis Presley had the sort of face that Michelangelo himself could not have sculpted, but he was also allowed to sing and be a bit of a knob.

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But the most interesting thing about these stunningly handsome men, and similarly spectacularly attractive men like James Dean, Mohammed Ali, Paul Newman – is that their physical beauty is not the legacy they have left or will leave the world. Conversely, Lana Turner, Marilyn Monroe, Lauren Bacall… it’s all about how fit they were and which men they fucked.

 

Nowhere is there a better example of how insidious and all-consuming patriarchal objectification is than those very examples. You don’t even need to see coked-up, close-ups of unhappy-looking women in hardcore porn flicks, to see how little society values us.

 

So here’s what the truth is; women can be both, neither or a combination of socially attractive and funny. Some of the funniest people you know are probably women. The reason we don’t allow funny women to be successful is because we (I’m still using the royal we here) don’t trust women with too much power. But, much like women not being funny is a mythical social construct to subjugate and disempower women, also know that women really don’t have a greater capacity to overlook the physical imperfections of men. Contrary to the socially constructed myth (which affords men the freedom to not be constrained by the same aesthetic pressures they impress on women) that we’re working on a higher spiritual plane to men; in actual fact, we lust over the veiny dick of the object of our desire, in much the same way as you think about our cunts.

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Chin up, knobhead. I’ve got some Spanx you can borrow…

NAKED MEN ON THE ROAD TO ATHENS


No-one likes a Rick Tease

We all know lots of people who hate reality television, because they feel it affords them – by the very rejection of it – a certain intellectual gravitas…

 

“Ugh, how can you watch this shit?” they sneer, as you chuck the remote control at their condescending fucking faces.

 

The answer is of course, you watch it because, whilst you appreciate this is a staged and often scripted reality, edited and -in many cases – directed toward a conclusion that ultimately reinforces patriarchal, capitalist hegemony, you really want to see the fragility of humanity reflected back at you so you feel less repulsed by yourself and, ultimately, less alone.

 

Plus you really like watching people twat each other.

 

But while the Anti-Reality TV crowd – much like the Anti-McDonalds crowd – are miserable, obsessive, neo-liberal twats, there’s no denying they do have a bit of a point.

 

X Factor’s become unwatchable.

 

There’s nothing I love more than watching a Fish Factory worker from Dudley have their dreams dashed after a four-minute sob story about how their dead granddad wanted them to make it past boot camp more than he wanted to recover from a terminal illness, but all the fun has been taken out of dream-bashing by having to watch Cheryl Cole try to squeeze a tear out after a particularly sketchy version of “Get Here if You Can.”

 

Last week reached new levels of bore after Simon Cowell (replete with three-day-old-bloated-corpse face) kept making hilarious gags about how a woman was the “twin” of Cheryl Cole, because she’d worn a Cole-esque outfit and was singing Cole’s hit singles (I’m using the word “hit” here very loosely). And Cole had a sort of “I’ll allow Simon to take the piss here, because I’m clearly spectacularly attractive and an all-round superior human to this woman…” expression as we mocked said elder woman who couldn’t sing, but otherwise didn’t really resemble Cole. But let’s not forget we’re only a decade on since Cole was doing Community Service for drunkenly assaulting a nightclub toilet assistant, so let’s not start queuing for our Damehood just yet, cocker.

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And there is something very odd about a load of poor people watching a load of poor people being ridiculed by several decidedly unworthy rich people.

 

Jeremy Kyle, for instance. That’s a rum state of affairs, isn’t it?

 

He hates every woman that he encounters, unless he finds them attractive and when he does his surmising of the domestic dispute is that the fella involved “Cannot believe his luck, landing someone like her…”

 

He stands, surrounded by eighteen stone bodyguards, screaming, “I’m not scared of you, mate!!”as spittle flies out of his angry body, shrouded in an ill-fitting Burton suit.

 

“Get a jobbbb!” screams professional oppressor Kyle, as he’s handed those “all-important DNA test results.” A sentiment that is resolutely echoed by the rest of us as we observe the jumped-up little shit in action.

Jeremy Kyle looking aggressive

This bear-baiting thing has been raised before, I’m adding nothing new. But it’s not the actual bear-baiting that most repulses me. I can read between the lines. I know my own political position. I know that I’ve never hated a single Jeremy Kyle guest with the same ardent fervor that I despise Kyle himself, and nor will I.

 

But, what has really prompted my break up with reality television, more than even X Factor and the insufferable Kyle (I can’t watch Kyle) was the recent series of Celebrity Big Brother.

 

Actually, not the whole series, because I just dipped in and out.

 

But there’s a certain scene that plays out on nearly every reality television show that involves romance and relationships. And that is the concept of the Reality TV Pricktease.

 

The Reality TV Pricktease – much like her better-known cousin, Common or Garden Pricktease – doesn’t actually exist, of course.

 

The idea that attractive young women (they tend to be young and attractive) spend their days constructing a situation in which they want a man to feel he is definitely going to have penetrative intercourse with them, in order to willfully and deliberately refrain from said intercourse in a bid to… what? …Humiliate? …Subjugate? …Irritate said man? is as mythical as it is ridiculous.

 

The reason it serves us in wider society is because we all want to fuck the person we want to fuck, and society is weighted in favour of men. We live in a world in which men are more willing to say, “This woman doesn’t want to fuck me because SHE has a problem” (in this case a frankly laughable strategy to want him to fuck her, so she can cruelly refute his advances), than, “This woman doesn’t want to fuck me because I might not be particularly fuckable to her.”

 

Variations of this “Pricktease” problem occur on every Reality TV show (Geordie Shore, TOWIE, Big Brother, Real Housewives of Barrow-in- Furness etc) in nearly every possible permeation at some point, but this recent Big Brother thing just tipped the scales for me.

 

In this series, it was about some mid-twenties girl from TOWIE who had snogged some mid-twenties lad from Geordie Shore who apparently “really liked her.”

 

This resulted in loads of conversations, some of which were initiated by older FEMALE members of the house saying, “It could look a bit like you were leading him on…”

 

Leading him on for WHAT?!

 

What the girl involved tried to assert, but was slightly too thick to do properly, was that she fancied him at one point so she had a flirt, but then she stopped fancying him.

 

AND THAT’S THE FUCKING NATURE OF SEXUAL AGENCY.

 

On a more serious point, this is what people miss about some instances of rape (cue outraged responses that i likened Celebrity Big Brother to rape and that I want to chop dicks off and ‘why do these feminists want equal wages but they still want flowers?’ shite.)

 

We should be teaching women that if you fancy someone and then stop fancying them – for WHATEVER FUCKING REASON WHATSOEVER – that’s perfectly legitimate.

 

Further, flirt with who the fuck you want to for as long as you want to, and your future intentions – romantic or sexual – are completely legitimate and entirely up to you and flirting is not a precursor to ANYTHING.

 

I was genuinely watching women over 30 tell a woman under 30 on British Television in 2014 that she “wasn’t being fair” on some absolute half-wit, because “he really liked her.”

 

I heard the words, “Poor Ricky…” (Ricky is the half-wit’s name).

 

Poor Ricky got to have a snog with someone he really fancied, but she doesn’t want to snog him again.

 

Let’s do a charity gig.

 

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The implication being that it’s unfair to kiss someone if they fancy you, unless the kissing is a precursor to intercourse or a relationship, or unless the kiss signified a mutual attraction.

 

2014.

 

I don’t know the reasons why one woman would even come to the conclusion that another woman is a Pricktease, because a Pricktease is a less convincing concept than The Loch Ness Monster.

 

What could one possibly gain from being a Pricktease? Perhaps we’re buying into this idea that because society has commodified women and reduces them to their aesthetic sexual worth that when women flirt with a man they may gain certain financial or emotional privileges from said man. But what this does is suggest that the man in the situation has either a) gained pleasure from the flirtation – in which case, everyone’s a winner, or he has b) assumed the flirtation releases the woman from her own sexual agency, which is pretty sinister.

 

So why, instead of sitting him down and saying, “She’s using you mate…” or sitting her down and saying, “Stop flirting with half-wit because he fancies you and you’re leading him on”, weren’t the conversations with him saying, “Wayhey you fancied her and she snogged you, you gormless dickhead! Don’t think she wants to shag you though, so stop moping and acting like she is obliged to because it’s 2014, she can do what the fuck she wants with her face and body, and let’s face it mate, you’re fairly unfuckable’?

 

I’m going to teach my male progeny that if a girl straddles your dick and then decides she wants to get off, be pleased about the dick straddle and look forward to an era where a woman’s fanny is her own.

 

And while I do appreciate Reality TV is a staged and often scripted reality, edited and -in many cases – directed toward a conclusion that ultimately reinforces patriarchal, capitalist hegemony and I really want to see the fragility of humanity reflected back at me so I feel less repulsed by myself and, ultimately, less alone; it actually made me feel more repulsed with myself for watching, and I felt infinitely more alone.

 

 


No Gray Area

In a bid to strengthen relations with beIN Sports (formerly Al Jazeera Sports) who currently employ Andy Gray, BT Sport have made the decision to hire him to co-commentate on the FA Cup fourth-round tie today between Stevenage and Everton -on a guest basis- with the possibility of further appearances.

This marks Andy Grays’ return to British television commentary after a three year hiatus, during which time he has been a regular on TalkSport radio and taken part in multiple corporate events, alongside fellow sexist Richard Keys, in a show entitled – and I’m not joking – Smash It!; words used as part of a misogynist aside that Keys made, whilst working for Sky Sports, which was recorded and is available to view online.

Gray also made two misogynist remarks to female colleagues, both of which are indisputable and viewable. One in which he refers to female lino Sian Massey, in which he said – amongst other things – that women didn’t know the offside rule. And another occasion in which he essentially asked female colleague Charlotte Jackson to retrieve a microphone from his crotch.

There are two myths people perpetuate whilst defending Gray.

The first is that his commentary is unparalleled. Gray stood out, only because the boys-brigade pool of pundits and commentators is so catastrophically weak. No-one is forcing BT Sport to employ the pleasant but insufferably dull Michael Owen, for example.

Gary Neville is easily the greatest football pundit on TV today, and his is a relatively new tenure. Just shop around is the answer. Stop favouring the Alans and returning to the same dullards time and again. Switch it up. There are black people and women who are witty and insightful and know about football too. Make it competitive, like in any other industry. For how many years have I got to try and avoid Alan Shearer and his big, red, sweaty head on Match of the Day? Chiles has had a go and he’s awful. BT Sport were so afraid to risk-take when compiling their new sporting line up, they plundered shit football broadcasting from twenty years ago and re-hired the Home Counties, pseudo-lad Tim Lovejoy, who was as shit then as he is now.

There are miles better pundits than Gray is the point, even if we were willing to overlook the sexist abuse of colleagues. Which we’re not.

The second myth is that Sky had a vendetta against Keys and Gray and they were set up. They may have acquired enemies at Sky who wanted them sacked for multiple alleged reasons. They may have also secretly filmed. I’ll level with you, I’m sceptical about that. However, as even a fairly competent six year old can attest; one cannot be secretly filmed being a misogynist arsehole if one is not a misogynist arsehole.

The papers are reporting Grays return to television but failing to consider the implications this has on BT Sport female employees who are being compromised and asked (either implicitly or explicitly) to work alongside someone with a history of abuse of female colleagues. Further, female football fans are being dismissed and undermined. The two individuals concerned: Sian Massey and Charlotte Jackson are learning that sexist abuse in the workplace is acceptable. And I am rapidly learning that BT are unwilling to engage with me on this issue on any of their social network platforms.

There are bigger issues for women, when we look at rape and domestic violence statistics. There are bigger issues for football, when we look at Qatar. Nonetheless, like Atkinson, those being proven to be publicly abusive in football deserve to permanently lose the right to broadcast.

Gray is tangibly unremorseful too.

BT have a moral obligation to protect women in football and their customers and have shown wilful disregard to both.

Unforgivable.

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@JudeinLondon

I often disagree with my mate Jude. She has some shite taste in music and her disturbing devotion to mayonnaise over HP sauce irks me, profoundly.

We like who we like, and we hate who we hate when it comes to social media and it’s fair dos. We don’t have to follow and we can block and we can choose not to engage.

We can also go all out on starting a twitter row, and sometimes rows are fruitless and sometimes they resolve things. But the nature of social media is that you can confront sentiments you’re opposed to and if the other person is willing you can argue it out. Which is also fair enough.

But here are a couple of things I want to counter in the endless torrent of abuse @Judeinlondon receives.

 

Jude is racist, because she uses the term White Devils

 

I’m not comparing Jude to Mohammed Ali, but I’m gonna draw your attention to this…

“The day after he beat Liston, Clay announced publicly that he was a member of the NOI. There are no words for the firestorm this caused. Whatever disagreements one may have with the Nation of Islam, the fact is that the heavyweight champion of the world was joining the organization of Malcolm X. The champ was with a group that called white people devils and stood unapologetically for self defense…” – David Zirin; Author of What’s my name, fool?, The Mohammed Ali handbook & Welcome to the Terrordome: The Pain, Politics and Promise of Sports

 

Ali was regularly critiqued on his tone and intonation. Something leveled at Jude is that she is rude and confrontational. All great black activism – in fact any political activism – is rooted in anger and antagonism.

It’s not socialist, but in fact a hideous neo-liberal position to tell anyone engaged in political dialogue that they are too aggressive.

I’ve seen loads of you who would describe yourself as left-leaning pile onto the “Jude is nuts” wagon.

Here’s the thing.

Most of you are white.

THAT’S how you fucking know you’re on the wrong team. If you’ve spent the last day or two, tweeting about Jude while Tommy Robinson lives and fucking breathes YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

No one wants to be the problem.

Thirty-five middle-aged men into casual sports wear who would remotely align themselves to socialism, making snide tweets to each other:

“Have you heard this one, Phil? I’m racist…”

“Better get me Ku Klux Klan outfit for Halloween..” etc

You’re WHITE. You’re tweeting to another WHITE person about the intricacies of race in the context of labeling the black person in the “discussion” as off her head.

You’re WRONG, you jebs.

Tweet about ATOS vans, or the EDL, or the Tories if you want to prove you’re not racist. Don’t make shit gags to your white mates about the BLACK PERSON upon whom this discussion RESTS.

 

People who support Jude are sycophants

 

I’m not a sycophant. I wouldn’t kiss an arse, even if it belonged to someone fit and was part of some reciprocal lovemaking scenario.

I make my choice to support Jude because it’s a fucking easy one.

She asserts herself during conversations and describes herself as part of rude twitter, but I find her politics actually very measured.

I’m much angrier than Jude as a person. And if I were black – and I’m not so I’m just guessing – I think I’d be incandescent.

YOU CUNTS are incandescent about race and you belong to a race of people that aren’t even racially oppressed.

 

  Calling Jude, Dude in London or Drogba isn’t Racist or Misogynist

 

Yes it is. There are black men on my TL who are AT LEAST as politically opinionated as Jude and never get the same sort of horrible personal attacks about looks, gender and race.

She needs a shag, she’s on her period, she’s a tranny… all horribly race and gender specific.

The worst I’ve seen about the way Tommy Robinson looks on twitter is that he’s trying to emulate Tom Cruise in Top Gun, when he wore a dodgy outfit.

That’s because there isn’t language and semantics that could shame and vilify Tommy Robinson in the same way that people are attempting to shame and vilify Jude.

 

Jude hates men

 

Jude fucks men. The KillAllMen hashtag is used against her, even though it’s clearly in a context of wit, transposed within a landscape of genuine feminist critique.

It’s the same lads making jokes about paedophiles, trying to liken the KillAllMen hashtag to her wider, entirely sound political observations.

I saw a young girl – dense as all fuck – who tweeted something like:

“Can’t believe @JudeInLondon just called someone a misogynist then her next tweet – seriously – was KillAllMen”

You’re following cunts who regularly make gags about people who shag kids, cocker. Back to school for you, dickhead.

Just because some women too firmly entrenched in Patriarchy agree with you – the same dicks who are RTing your paedo gags and don’t choose to engage in internet politics (which is their choice, but I’m political EVERYWHERE) – don’t kid yourself you’re the civil ones.

 

Jude tweets too much

 

Jude can do what the fuck she wants.

Plus it’s not Jude hanging on to the fucking argument for days after like a fucking petulant teenager.

“I don’t care about the internet… it’s not real..”

You’re doing a fucking good impression of someone who cares, you relentlessly tweeting cunt.

Personal attacks on Jude’s grief

 

Once more, Jude can do what the fuck she wants.

Anyone questioning the solemnity of someone’s grief by whether or not she goes on the internet is a bad dickhead. And barrel scraping.

 

Jude is a self-appointed Human Rights Campaigner

 

Jude made a documentary for the BBC about women in DRC. Jude regularly contributes publicly both in person and in writing about women suffering in the DRC. Jude pursues a political dialogue within New Media despite relentless unnecessary abuse.

She’s not a self-appointed Human Rights Campaigner.

 

 

To conclude:

You don’t have to like Jude, obviously. You can hate Jude. You can slag Jude off. But if you’re in the “Dude in London…” thread, there’s no debate to be had. You ARE the bell.

 

I’ll get shit for writing this. Arsed.

Jude knows – as well as I do – that we could pose in replica shirts and joke about anal sex and RT your jokes and not have a political identity whatsoever and get no shit at all from football fans.

Fuck that.


Why I Hate Banter – Rape Culture and Football

I woke up this morning wondering whether I was a megalomaniac arsehole.

And as I demanded family members make me brews and bacon butties, and revelled in the sheer majesty of my own reflection, I concluded thusly:

“No, Goddess. No you’re not.”

I’d been worried because I’d fallen out with some people as a consequence of a few on-line episodes involving misogyny and complicity. Which seems a ridiculous thing to get wound up about. Unless you’re an intelligent woman, in touch with culture and society, and have spent more than 45 seconds online.

You see, I didn’t particularly want to be an online feminist. I just wanted to bore the arse off people with pictures of my dinner and have a few digs at Coldplay like everyone else. But the problem is, I like football.

I like football, and I also like… and call me Mrs Picky… earning the same as men for the same job, feeling safe if I get pissed, not being judged on a different moral compass purely on account of the vagina, not being statistically more likely to be raped, or killed/ battered by a partner and the list goes on.

So where to start…? Ok, here:

Football and Feminism are not incompatible. Far from it.

From 1885 when working class people had successfully fought for the sport to allow professional participants, right up until the late 1900’s when a variety of factors changed the game beyond recognition – working class males were the imperfect audience for football.

Which brings us the combination of factors that have changed the landscape of modern football, to which many of us object. A grotesque mostly deliberate/ part accidental culmination of the formulation of the Premier League, an expensive television rights bidding war and the Taylor Report which resulted in all seater- stadia that led, in conjunction with new money in the game, to huge corporate areas and a focus on families (rich families) planted a seed in football which has led to the entire sport becoming a massive pile of corporate steaming shite that bears little resemblance to football past.

I’ve shorthanded there. Fuck it.

The very worst thing that modern football has done, however is to create a generation of real dickheads who “love” the sport.

These people are often from places like Shropshire or Surrey, and so have been shielded from the effects that football has had on big cities. They started liking football in the 1990s and are ignorant of the inherent politics that underpins football historically.

No sense of pride or value, they instead trawl the internet and use forums to espouse a caricature of manliness that they have been fed since around 1992 from FHM and those other shithouse publications. It’s a new version of misogyny that is directly entrenched in the values of modern football.

New media doesn’t help. The online football fans represent a very tiny minority of those who actually regularly go and watch live football, and very few people I know personally who have a season ticket have any online presence whatsoever.

Which means that a lot of the people we see on the internet participating in this modern football “banter” disease, subjugating women, targeting specific women and then hounding them in groups, tweeting disgusting shite to famous people, mocking tragedies etc… They should be considered victims.

They are victims of modern football, in much the same way others are.

I am regularly engaging with knobheads on the internet about what constitutes Rape Culture. Rape Culture is the prevailing sense that misogyny at a small group level, if not confronted, is connected to rape.

Those older, working class football fans who have a sense of understanding about struggle and a political perspective get it. Of course they do.

You’d have to be dense as all FRIG not to understand that when mates don’t say to their mates… ‘What you’re saying there is wrong” this leaves the misogynist under the impression that they have social approval.

That’s what Rape Culture is  and I apologise for patronising those of you with basic intellect for spelling it out so crudely.

You look at long-term football attendees who are a couple of generations older and they make off-colour jokes, they buy Viz, they have the craic… but there is no fucking way they’d participate in calling women a slut in groups. Online, or anywhere else.

No one I know – not even from rough as arseholes areas of Manchester – no one I know who is over 35 is a) gonna participate in bullying women at the football or b) allow other groups of men to do it.

In terms of football; it’s a new thing.

Every week new footballers are being charged with sexual assault. The focus is aimed at women who are drinking more, because of ladette culture (another media construct – guess which gender and class own the fucking media, fuckos?), not on the fact that these young kids are all over the fucking internet espousing views they’ve directly inherited from this shitehawk modern football, lad culture.

Because football has become so corporate, it’s no surprise that we see the trend for violence in sport being reflected in corporate capitalist America. We saw it recently in the Steubenville Rape case. A very insidious, new media-led misogyny serving to make women the focus of what is clearly a male problem.

Even Richard Keys – the poisonous little gnome – trying to ingratiate himself with the much younger Jamie Redknapp using the infamous “Would you smash it?” The visible look of disdain on Jamie’s face as he tried to hold onto his dinner, under his skinny tie.

George Lineker on twitter every day speaking about women like they are pieces of shite, meanwhile his father – the most prolific football presenter in the country – never publicly bollocks him.

Like I said, those people entrenched in football-fan misogyny are victims. They are victims of modern football, and in a very real sense, victims in life. They live for a football, the roots of which they are not in touch with, God love ‘em. Plus they’re mostly witless.

The real problem I have is with those people who are complicit. This is why I get narked. You expect people who express themselves as socialists, or as intelligent or compassionate to have the balls to stand up to their mates.

But we live and learn.

For the record, if you see a woman being abused by a man in the street it is always best to intervene if you feel able. Equally, if you’re maintaining friendships with people who bully women and you’re aware of it, you’re complicit in that bullying.

I will use this opportunity to say that I am fully aware that misogyny is not limited to football – modern or otherwise – and that footballers and fans have treated women badly prior to 1992. What I refer to here is a very specific sort of woman-hating that is directly linked to football within the last 20 years or so.

On a final note, I am fucking devastated Gandolfini is dead. He was the sort of guy that these new-age misogynists look up to, and would have as a picture on their social network account. Without even thinking for one fucking minute that this hero of theirs would never -in a million yearssss – been caught spending hours on football forums bullying women in order to solicit the approval of other men.


Happy Father’s Day

It’s Father’s Day again. Nice one.

 

In a week where a Fathers4Justice campaigner saw fit to daub the word “Help” over a portrait of the Queen, as it was hung in Chapter House at Westminster Abbey, I can’t help but be reminded of the sheer ineptitude of Fathers4Justice and the absolute preposterousness of the entire movement.

 

First of all: Fathers4Justice aren’t a group of male parents with a shared interest in the pursuit of social morality as it pertains, to law, social law and rightness.

 

No, Fathers4Justice and associated political remonstrators are more Fathers4TryingToExertControlOverWomenWhoHaveSomeSlightThoughByNoMeansComprehensiveLegalBiasInTheirFavourBecauseItHasBeenProvenToBeBenficialForChildrenInGeneralTermsToLiveWithTheirMotherButThisIsByNoMeansAbsoluteAndAGreatNumberOfMenAreAlsoGivenCustodialRightsOverTheirChildren, but I don’t think they could fit it on the website.

 

As some chubby oik squeezes on his Batman suit and haphazardly shimmies his way up a London landmark, let me tell you what most right-minded people are thinking:

 

“This lad is unhappy about the breakdown of his relationship. If he’d made better choices prior to and during his relationship with the mother of his children, there is a distinct possibility that he’d be sat in McDonalds or at a Wacky Warehouse with them now, instead of making himself look like an absolute swinging ballsack atop The Houses of Parliament.

Most people find parenting extremely difficult. Single mums I know would gladly accept the offer of shared parenting. In fact they are likely to jump up and down for joy at the prospect of a break. So the fact that after the breakdown of your relationship, your ex partner is wilfully withholding your kids from you, tells me a lot about you. Even if the Batman suit hadn’t.

Let’s say –for argument’s sake – that some of these women are mentally ill or using the “children as a weapon” as is proposed. This cannot be true of all the single parent females left to fend for themselves when raising their kids. In this country, men who have been violent to ex partners are still allowed to see their children. Men who are imprisoned for violent assaults are often allowed to see their children, and given custodial rights.

The truth is that for the vast majority of campaigning fathers, much like those men stood outside abortion clinics telling women what to do with their bodies, or those men who make up more than 70% of all parents killing their children (often in retaliation for infidelity or a break-up) this is all about taking the very few human rights and slight legal familial privileges women have away from them.”

 

That’s what we’re thinking.

 

In addition, on the Fathers4Justice website it claims that fathers have fewer rights than animals. Another absurdity. Fathers are subject to the full range of human rights afforded to the rest of us, in addition to their parental rights, which are extensive.

 

Also, Dads have better employment, health, housing, financial and societal statistics in their favour. Dads are less likely to be beaten by partners, raped, sexually harassed in the workplace or have to endure ex partners in Batman suits trying to control their waking minutes.

 

So that’s something to hold on to.

 

I’m dead lucky, I’ve never been involved in an acrimonious break up. I’ve had relationships with some fantastic people.

 

But the thinly veiled rage emanating from this Jeremy Kyle-style, “He has broken my ribs on a couple of occasions and slammed the door in my face, but I have to say he’s a fantastic dad…”

 

He’s not.

 

Being a good dad is not getting your nipper’s name tattooed on your bicep, then calling your girlfriend fat six weeks after giving birth.

 

Being a good dad is not holding your child aloft at family functions, then getting back to the house and passing the baby back to it’s Mam for all the menial day-to-day shit.

 

Being a good dad is definitely not splitting from your ex and buying the kid toys and shoes that you decide it needs because you don’t want your money being spent on anything of hers, you know what she’s like the bitch.

 

No. Being a good dad is about being a good human being, respectful of women, particularly the child’s mother and respecting the fact that when relationships end, you have a duty to retain some respect for the woman you had a kid with.

 

If you’re reading this and thinking I’m saying all dads are arseholes, then you’re not reading properly. Good dads are ace. But a major facet in being a good dad, in fact, the primary facet of being a good dad is being good to your kid’s mother. Think on.

 

 

Happy Father’s Day.


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