Honestly, ladies, we just can’t do anything right, can we? If we’re not seducing hapless little MPs with a seductive flash of knocker, we’re wantonly revealing parts of us that nobody must ever see, murdering babies and selfishly destroying our bodies by getting old. Whether we’re violently frumpy or so hot that men’s pants disintegrate, we’re Doing It All Wrong. Here in the Sexist Newsroom, we figured we would celebrate frumpy babies, disintegrate some MPs and flash in some men’s pants. Are you in? Of course you are. Now, read this for inspiration.
10) Culottes are always waiting to pounce
The Mirror, 15/05/2016
Oh for the love of all things menstrual. Is our media embroiled in some kind of sinister culotte trade involving sweat shops and yards of fabric that collude in your wardrobe malfunctioning? Everyone looks shit in culottes unless they’re seven feet tall and made entirely of leg, so please stop trying to persuade us to wear them. In their merging of the trouser and the skirt they’re like the sartorial equivalent of a spork; shit at being either, and doomed to rattle around at the back of the cupboard like the faux fur tank top I bought from Kay’s catalogue in 1998.
9) Beware of perverts, say perverts
8) Man writes about imaginary cat fight
You know combovers? How men only have three strands of hair, stretched over a vast expanse of baldness and receive mockery and opprobrium in equal measure? This story is the equivalent of a combover. The Mail have taken a comment by a woman famous for doing a thing, about other women also famous for doing the same thing and hauled it across the shiny dome of total twatbadgery to hide the fact they don’t have a story. Oh, and to make you think that they aren’t bald. Or, in this case, make you think that only one famous woman is allowed to do a thing at a time, and that the others should, by rights, be dead or obscure. The Mail: bringing you news combovers since whenever.
7) Editorial tantrum
The Sun, 19/05/2016
6) Woman reveals absolutely fuck all
Today on the bus I realised that the snug jumper I had bought from Asda was so skintight other passengers could see the clear outline of my ELBOW. I was absolutely mortified, even more so when I discovered that a greasy little tit who was bunking off school had videoed the whole thing and put it ON YOUTUBE. Will I never be free of people who realise I have ANATOMY? Oh the SHAME.
5) Career Feature
Just as the Mail gets all Special thinking about female fertility and has to have a lie down after shooting out 500 words of misogynistic hategobble, the Star loves its sex workers. And when we say ‘loves,’ we means ‘uses to get a story that might give its readers something to take to the work toilets.’ Recent stories have featured the nice games of chess and pleasant chats they have with punters who are ‘ordinary blokes’ but The Star is, oddly, pretty uncritical of the chaps that are “offensive, rude and derogatory” and leave the women selling sex “falling apart as soon as [they] leave”.
Regardless, I for one think it’s great that they want to run profiles on women and their professions. I’m buying it every day because I want to read about a lady doctor or barrister, but perhaps I’m being optimistic. A Daily Star reader’s entitled wank is much the same as the Mail reader’s frothing hatred, and there’s no sign of either stopping any time soon.
4) Gimme gimme some Goving
Sarah Vine is a gift to the nation. Just when you catch yourself wishing that Michael Gove would ‘accidentally’ end up in A&E wearing an ‘I love Jeremy Hunt’ T-shirt, she pipes up in a column that she doesn’t like sex anymore. So no joy for Little Michael it seems.
On a related note, in this somewhat hard-to-swallow epistle, she warns young women who are obviously, ALL PANTING FOR IT because they are HARLOTS, off her husband. This advice is a bit like telling people not to take a dog turd home and barbecue it, because anyone who would ever be within six feet of him and not projectile vomit in a way that makes The Exorcist look like a kids’ cartoon should be sedated.
YOU HAVE TO WATCH THEM, she says, and adds that THEY ARE YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL in a way that suggests she sees Serena Cowdy who has been intimately involved with two married male politicians, as some kind of malevolent enchantress who bewitches poor, hapless chaps with her nice dresses and waxed unmentionables. Vine calls the men fools, but her real bile is definitely saved for young, childless Laboutined women. When she’s done painting all the women in Westminster under 30 scarlet, she goes on to begrudge Angelina Jolie her mansion and gets all in a mardy lather at the thought of the Hemsley sisters’ toned thighs.
Sarah, you seem to have a few issues… do you want to talk about it? Y’know, before you go Full Liz Jones?
3) Corrections and clarifications
The Sun, 16/05/2016
Dear The Sun,
The far shorter and correct headline is – “Abusive man convicted of sexual offence”. You’re very welcome.
The Sexist Newsroom
2) Fresh plums anyone?
The Sun, 18/05/2016
This story has inspired me to help a loved one. My boyf is really quite unhappy with the size of his testicles, largely because of the expectations heaped on him by society; bless him they’re like a pair of grapes and I know it upsets him. I’ve decided to buy a lottery ticket this week, for the first time in ages, and if I win I can buy him a new set of love spuds to replace the rubbish ones he has now.
1) ISABEL OAKESHOTT: My gold medal in the point-missing Olympics
“It would be lovely not to get personal about this” states Ms. Oakeshott, before going on to write a piece which must have left her laptop doused in hot, angry spit while she imagined fire, brimstone and women who don’t want to have ‘THREE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN’ (NB: we’re glad the Oakeshottlings are beautiful or The Mail might feature a piece critiquing them). If you have any grasp of reality, the only thing this piece will illustrate is that Isabel Oakeshott is only qualified to write agitated, preachy, sexist guff for the Daily Mail and then fasten herself to the sweaty underpinnings of vile, anti-choice, Tory wing-nut Nadine Dorries. This piece consists solely of thin and fatuous flailings, in print, about how women will be merrily aborting late term just because they’re having an off day if the nasty midwife lady gets her way. Do what you like with your own junk Oakeshott. But my clunge is my clunge. Back off.
There. Wasn’t that lovely? A tale of strumpets, perverts, pudendas and pregnancy. Who could ask for more? Well, Lord Justice Leveson did, and most people would probably prefer to be fairly represented, but oh – what are accuracy, fairness and ethics when one can partake of a delightfully torrid, hate-filled puff piece of women being utterly crap and a bit slutty instead?
We will be back next week. In the mean time, after this week’s furore, we’d love to introduce you to the important and crucial campaign organisation Abortion Rights. Click here to follow/support them.
Ta-ra for now x