Sunday, 27 December 2009
Nearly 1 of you voted in the Quail's 2009 List-tacular pre-New Year Winter solstice super Awards for the achievement of piffling dribble in the name of media & political commentary so without further ado, here are the results.
Best bloke who says things about topics he doesn't really understand but does so anyway despite looking quite silly because of fundamental mistakes in logic and/or research before getting roundly factchecked only to call them losers for bothering to factcheck and stop taking it all so seriously anyway I didn't say that it was just a quote from someone else:
1. Iain Dale.
2. Hitchens, P.
4. Nick Cohen.
Most eye-buggering use of video:
Stains, P & Tuberculosis Bear.
Worst front page in the history of everything:
Nastiest campaign motivated by a petty squabble on Twitter that made bloggers look like a witless rabble of snide misogynistic schoolboys (again):
#kerryout (courtesy Dale, Bear, Quiff)
Best viral marketing campaign:
Lifetime achievement award for disservices to journalism, tolerance and the human race:
* Update *
I missed out the most prestigious award. Cheesedick of the year 2009 is...............
That Hannan man.
Friday, 25 December 2009
And a big thanks to our nation's second most popular national newspaper for consistently bringing us sad tidings of discomfort and gloom in the weeks leading up to Winterval day:
And a miserable New Year!
Love from D. Quail.
Monday, 14 December 2009
The Jihadist faction - known as Hizbul Islam - also shot dead another man accused of murder.
Daily Mail readers reacted with fury at the barbaric executions and
Moron 'srb' from St. Leonards seemed to confuse Hizbul Islam with Al Qaeda, and Sharia law with insurgency, and saw the incident as supportive of Tony Blair's wars on terror:
scum. this is what we're fighting against in afghanistan and iraq. don't like the war, wait until there's a sharia court in basingstoke and see how you like that.
Steve Lee, an idiot from London, uncovered a previously unknown plot to provide members of Hizbul Islam with British passports:
Apparently if you give these kind of men British passports they instantly become civilized and law abiding and there no link whatsoever between immigration from barbaric, primitive societies and the explosion in violent crime in this country has seen over the last 40 years.Steve told the Quail: 'All the same, innit, these Sumatrians. I mean, obviously, I wouldn't mind seeing the poor fella who was stoned to death given refuge in our country, but you can't go letting these people in because they're all barbarians. What?'
Meanwhile, 'skint', a cretin from 'Broken Britain' worded this:
And all the while they keep flooding into Britain, as I type this, another family of Somalis is moving in down the road.A statement from 'skint's' spokesman said: 'Skint recognises the fallacy of condemning an entire country's population due to the actions of an extremist cell, and is aware of the hypocrisy of also condemning the rights of the victims of the aforementioned extremist cell to claim asylum in Britain lest they suffer the very same cruel and barbaric punishment that has so vexed Skint in the first place, but he simply doesn't give a shit.'
Thanks Gordon, brilliant job you`ve done.
John, an imbecile, used his powers of observation to profess thusly:
I notice the non-masked 'man' in the stoning photo seems to be smiling. And our British traditions are to be abandonded in favour of this? Do NOT vote for more of the LibLabCon treachery. We really have to take our country back.John's wife said yesterday: 'Oh no, he hasn't been commenting again has he? He get's like this after a couple of bottles of whiskey, says that Somalian insurgent lizard men are sitting in the House of Lords and starts shouting about "the great treachery" led by the Prince of Darkness. He's been banned from Wetherspoons for upsetting the alcoholics, now he just spends the day reading The Mail.'
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Of course, I wasn't really there on important business: I'm not a business lady! But it's nice to pretend sometimes. Anyway, there I was all dressed up in my important business lady Dior suit, hanging around the 43rd floor of the Bank of China as you do when you're an important woman in the world of business (and because someone told me it's where the lovely rich Chinese men go for a drink after work).
Do you know what the Bank of China building looks like? You probably don't because you're just a middle-aged housewife who reads the Daily Mail. Well, I'll tell you, it looks just fabulous. I'd know, I've been there, as I think I mentioned already. It's designed to look like steel bamboo, or something, and it's surrounded by other amazing temples to phallic capitalism - the unfinished but already gorgeous new Ritz-Carlton (name dropping hotels - ooh! I'm so post-arrogance!), the International Finance Centre, and some other ones probably.
So, yes, there I was in the Bank of China, wearing my suit, Dior it was, hoping to catch the eye of some dashing young banking Chinaman, when I had what you might call an 'epiphany' - a bit like what Buddha had. Over there they have Buddha like how we have Jesus, only he's a jolly chap with funny eyes. No beard. I think he's the son of their dragon god. I thought to myself, a bit like that Buddha or the other one, Gandhi, I thought: 'Goodness me, you can't make fun of women, queers, cripples, nonces or gingers anymore, but bankers are still fair game! How awful!', I thought, just like Gandhi might. And yet, all these lovely huge buildings were made by the bankers. Without them, there wouldn't be any great big skyscrapers, just boring old fields and trees and rivers and things. I've been to Kyoto as well on another important trip, and it was rubbish there. That's what happens without banks - you end up with a load of streams and rocks.
I don't think this has occurred to anybody apart from yet. That's why I'm a columnist, because of my new and amazing thoughts. So, as I was wandering around the Bank of China thinking how unfair and mean the whole business is, it struck me. 'I know!' thought I, 'I'll only go and do some bloody journalism to show everyone how perfectly horrid they're being to the bankers!' Why did I need to tell you all of this instead of just writing my article about how bankers are treated? Well, it doesn't matter, and anybody who says that including several paragraphs about your holiday to Hong Kong which adds nothing to the point is just being silly.
To find out if my brilliant theory that bankers are nice people was true, I spoke to the vice-president of a big, exciting multi-national investment bank. 'Vice president' is such a fun job title! I'd like to be a vice-president one day. Anyway, I asked him: 'are bankers nice and are people just being horible to you?'
He said that I was right and that's exactly what's going on. Ha, I knew it! He said he works lots of hours (sounds frightful! glad I work from home, apart from when I'm on important trips of course, but that's not really work, it's more pretend), and doesn't get paid that much, and that really he has to make a lot of sacrifices a bit like nurses and soldiers and that without the bankers we'd all be screwed.
I was amazed. 'Yeah', I said as he told me all about his job and things. I asked if he would like to go the bar to unwind but he said he had to get back to the kids, even though earlier he'd told me he didn't have children. I suppose the stress of being a banker makes you forgetful sometimes.
I spoke to some other bankers too, and they all agreed that Mr Brown and Mr Darling's tax thing for bonuses is just a gimmick and really we'd all be better of without it. It made me angry when I thought about the silly Marxists running around taking the money from the bankers, because they all work so hard. I think it's all just a gimmick, this tax stuff, to make it look like the bankers are baddies and not the real villains - homeless people.
Phew! Journalistism is exhausting. I must have spoken to nearly four different people and written a lot of things about it all. Economics makes me dizzy, so I went back to bed for a while, and then I went to a spa which was really nice, and then I got on the plane to go home again. I'm home now. The weather's quite dull here, but I suppose you already knew that because you were here all along instead of being in Hong Kong like me.
Ok, I'm going now! Byebye.
Liz Jones is paid actual money to write words for one of Britain's biggest national newspapers.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Special Noo Yawk Timeses dispatch by Left OutsideWe know that there are roughly 8,000 French people in our country. Their ways are odd but we tolerate them. We are a tolerant people, even to towards those rude, petulant and ungrateful cheese eating surrender monkeys.
Although there can of course be no problem acknowledging the right of the French to practice their own lifestyle in private, I think we would all agree that the growing “Frenchification” of our society is worrying.
This Frenchification does not manifest itself in anything as petty as food, language or history. No, but it is visible clearly everywhere as a threat to our way of life. I am of course talking about the inability of the French to queue.
We’ve have all been to the local Asda Wal-Mart to buy some West Country Butter Croissants or Yorkshire Dales Brioche when we are rudely ambushed by a Frenchman.
In fact, those of you who have been to France will know that they do not allow you to queue there, you are expected to huddle and push, like some sort of Frenchman. If they will not us allow to queue in France then we will force them to queue here.
Therefore I am asking for the signature of 100,000 bloggers to help spark a referendum that will send a message against this demographic time bomb. We must force the French to queue, or they will force us not too.
You can stand there and take no action but by 2030 it is possible that no one will queue at all. Don’t let Gordon Brown steal the gift of queueing from your children.
We do not wish to impose on the French residents in this country, they are welcome to practice their Frenchness here at will. But this is our country and we will not stand – in an orderly line – for this!
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Do you ever find there just aren't enough hours in the day to judge, condemn, snipe and sneer at all the women you see in the papers and on TV? We do, so without further ado, let's get misogynistic! As an added bonus, please enjoy Olivia Newton-John's seminal 1981 classic 'Let's Get Physical' while you peruse the hot lady action.
First up, here's a nubile young thing - not too fat, not too thin - in her pants. Look at those curves: nice! After you've wiped yourself off, shake your head as you slag off her tattoos. I wouldn't let my daughter defile her own body like that - would you? Tell yourself that by criticising her tats you haven't really just been staring at a mostly naked 22 year old for no good reason.
Just how does Cheryl get her hair looking so good? What's her secret? You'll never guess...
Hair products! What a fake. And did you know she's Northern? Yes, it's a shame.
Lady GaGa fell over on stage. HAHAHAHAHAHA! She fell. Over. On stage! Women are so clumsy! Oh, and by the way here she is with a man's elbow touching her crotch. Mmmm, isn't it?
Eurgh, look at this foul thing smoking a cigarette. So unattractive. And look, she's a bit wrinkly too, probably the fags. It's not the same as pipes for us boys, the ladies love that musky aroma. No, let's be clear: women smoking is just plain offputting. Who is Hannah Waterman anyway? Ah, who cares.
Oh, Leona. You showed such promise. Great voice, nice hair, an acceptable body weight. We felt bad when that chap punched you, but now you've gone and worn a bloody see-through black top that shows your white bra when our photographer's megawatt flash goes off in your face, we see our sorrow was misplaced. You're breaking our fashion rules, hussy.
Who's next? Woohoo, it's Britney!
So obviously Britney was attractive when she was young, then she went fat and bonkers, and now she's doing her best to look nice again. Here she is in some skimpy clothes. There isn't really a story here, but it is a rather wonderful opportunity to laugh at how rubbish she is, while looking at her breasts:
'the singer was heavily criticised by fans and local media after she apparently lip-synched her way through the concerts.' Teehee!
'Tickets for her show were put on eBay with starting prices as low as 55p, with top-price tickets valued at £90 going for as little as £14.' Chuckle! Failure.
'Melbourne's Herald Sun newspaper said that performances there saw fans walk out early in disgust at a lacklustre performance' Guffaw! Still, nice tits you washed-up nutcase.
Right, one more.
This supermodel died after having plastic surgery on her 'buttocks'. She's dead, but that won't stop us printing a shot of her in the shortest dress we could find. Anyway, let's leave it to the commenters to sum up this tragic death:
'Well, she certainly won't be the envy of everyone now and I truly hope these pathetic people will stop playing with nature. This is all for the sake of vanity and we all know what we see isn't the 'real' person anyway' Quite. Not so vain now, is she? Ha.
'Silly woman! any operation carries a risk however small....how do you tell her children mummy died because she wanted a firmer behind? What price vanity eh?' What price vanity, indeed, Eddy from Oldham. Good question.
Well, death, it seems. Says so in the article.
'stupid silly girl. now her darling twins are motherless...'
For heavens sake, why didn't she think of that BEFORE SHE DIED?!
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
"Thank heavens my sick mum wasn't at the mercy of the NHS", writes the Daily Mail commentator from his Florida mansion.
"In Britain" - Littlejohn (expat) says- "[i]f you are unfortunate enough to get admitted to hospital, there's a good chance of contracting a fatal disease once you're in there, as a result of the criminally negligent standards of hygiene".
Ask your mates, family, colleagues. If you haven't heard off them in a while, it's because they were admitted to hospital where they soon caught an NHS-generated 'fatal disease' and died.
Why else do you think ZaNu Labour keep ushering in tens of millions of immigrants (which you can't say the Daily Mail didn't warn you about)? It's to cover up the mass deaths on the NHS.
Medical treatment is undoubtedly expensive in the U.S., but the majority of people are happy with what their money buys. Look at me on 800K a year. Surely it's what most people earn, (unless they're the kind who happily scrounge the high sums as offered by our ZaNu Labour government), but I've got the insurance, and I'm happy with it, so what's the bleedin problem?
Like, mum's medical bills this time are being picked up by her car insurance policy, which covers up to $1 million in hospital expenses, as you do. We all have to pay motor insurance, so why not insure our health, too? They're clearly the same thing. Like, clearly. Car insurance is not there to cover my ass in case I cripple some pedestrian loser who may get runover while I ride around my 4x4. No. It's there to protect meeeeeee. So it should be the same with health.
Surely from all that money you get from ZaNu Labour you can find a penny or two for medical insurance, just like all Americans do without any problem.
What you're on about millions get rejected on a technicality when they're diagnosed with cancer? I don't know anyone who got that? Do you?
What? Losing their insurance when they lose their job? It never happened to meeeeee, so surely you're just making it up because you're yet another loony lefty.
And it's not as if the NHS is 'free' anyway. You couldn't make it up, but it costs billions, which is a disgrace when there are only 60 million people to look after. I mean, how expensive can the NHS be really? Do away with waste and unnecessary expenditure, sack the bureaucrats (especially those who've got a 20-stone lover) and, pronto, it'll cost a fraction of that.
I am not seeking to denigrate the British doctors and nurses, but I am haunted by the thought of what might have happened to my 81-year-mum if she had still been living in Essex, at the mercy of the NHS, and not in America.
Because, in Britain, 81-year-old mums never, ever, EVER, get treated on the NHS. Unheard of.
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Do you find yourself pouring over what they're wearing (gosh! heels again, how grown up!), searching for clues as to where they might go to school when they're older, their favourite foods, and what they do for fun?
Is rating the 'cuteness' of 3 year olds and comparing them to other tots your idea of a good night in?
Are you comfortable using words like 'precocious', 'cuddly', 'traffic stopping', 'cute', 'impeccable' and 'beauty' to describe other peoples' children, and do you delight in signs of grown-up behaviour like wearing nail varnish, styling their hair like their mother, sipping coffee, and working out? Is describing the 'thick dark hair and wide eyes' of a 2 year old acceptable to you?
Do you watch very young children from afar and wish they were your own, to the extent that you find yourself condemning the parenting of perfect strangers and making snide remarks about their appearance? You'd take such better care of the little ones yourself, wouldn't you? It's only natural to question the childhood of other people's kids. Twice. If only you could say, 'Hey! Don't put her in heels, she'd look ultra-cute wearing these instead!' That's perfectly acceptable, not-at-all-creepy, totally unintrusive, healthy behaviour isn't it?
If you answered 'yes' to any of the above, don't fret that others might label you 'disturbingly strange', or worry that newspapers with a history of tacitly supporting vigilantism against paedophiles might shun you and describe you as sick. You will be pleasantly surprised to learn that the ever liberal, inclusive, understanding and compassionate Daily Mail will cater for your every whim, helpfully stalking, photographing, and writing about toddlers for you! A lot!
Who wouldn't want to read about Suri Cruise's 'bare legs' or how 'She was happy stroking the silky trim on [her] hooded coat' or her 'pretty pink dress', and who wouldn't hope, like Mail reporter Charlotte Spratt does, that 'Suri will find her own feet with fashion and can then advise her mother not to wear a black bra with a sheer white T-shirt'? Who couldn't resist all of that?
They may hate homosexuals, immigrants, women, and foreign people, but rest assured you're on safe ground with the Mail if you have an appetite for long-distance candid photographs of very young children. Nothing wrong with that, is there?
Sunday, 22 November 2009
A gaggle of self-styled “Skeptics” – known more commonly as computer nerds, loners, sci-fi fans, and, worst of all, bloggers – have been spotted leaving the dark confines of their parents' basements and venturing into the dark nest of expense-fiddling politicians - Westminster.
In an outrageous attempt to offend decent public opinion, these pasty-faced, lank-and-greasy-haired denizens of the interwebs have the audacity to meet in public places, claiming to discuss topics of political interest (or, more likely, hacking into internet sites in order to download music illegally, argue over who is the best Star Trek captain and binge on Guinness and pork scratchings).
They brazenly claim that public policies should be based on so-called “facts” and “evidence”, instead of appealing to tabloid newspapers, which as anyone knows is the correct way to run the country. The miscreants have covered supposed issues in media such as libel laws – which no up-standing newspaper has a problem with – and, shockingly, claim “evidence-based policy” is preferable to “policy-based evidence”.
So desperate are the "skeptics" to gain public attention that they resorted last week to inviting the quite rightly recently-sacked and publicly-disgraced government advisor Prof. David “Appropriate name” Nutt and the wooly-minded Lib Dem MP Dr. Evan "Not a real doctor" Harris, who openly describes himself as a fan of homosexual, atheist, asylum-seeking, vivisectionist lifestyles. Harris sits on the pointless House of Commons Science and Technology Committee.
Shamefully, if not suprisingly, the skeptics have been given the mainstream media attention they crave so cynically by the BBC.
When will these geeks stop? What will they do next? We'll continue to monitor their booze sodden, ill-conceived gatherings, in the hope that by understanding their activities we might protect the nation's children against their pernicious brand of empirical skepticism.
Remember, whatever the liberal intelligentsia might say: ignorance is strength. It's the tabloid way.
See also: Westminster Skeptics in the Pub: Evidence-Based Policy or Policy-Based Evidence? at Lay Science
David Nutt and Evan Harris at #sitp Westminster by Dave Cole
and Westminster Skeptics on that "Twitter"
Thursday, 19 November 2009
'Poles Apart' tells the story of Hoggman-Fill and his man-friend Mark's admirable crusade to reverse the ceaseless influx of Polish immigrants to British shores by emigrating to the heart of darkness itself, Warsaw.
Say the pair of ne'er-do-wells:
Officially 600,000 Polish people have come to Britain to seek work since 2004. Two British lads (Dan & Mark) are reversing the trend and trying to get work in Warsaw. Poles Apart is their story.
This unique show about a 2000 mile adventure from the U.K to Poland following the journey thousands of Polish people have made over the last 70 years. Poles Apart is the story of two nations who have fought together, worked together and now live together.
A local man said: 'It's about time somebody stood up for something and made a stand against things. It's gone too far. Perhaps this show will make everything alright again, like how it was in the 17th Century and that. I stand with Dan and Mark in their stand against wrongness.'
The play is said to contain several (presumably positive) references to The Daily Mail, and a musical number by an eye-patched, mandolin-plucking Nick Griffin entitled 'I'm not racist but...'
There follows a videographic mini-documentary of the making of Poles Apart:
The show is on at The Lowry in Manchester on the 26th November at 7:45pm and the RichMix theatre in London on Friday the 27th and Saturday 28th November at 7:30pm.
A recent study found that buying tickets to Poles Apart prevented swine flu and the MMR jab in up to a certain percentage of cases.
See you there!
Saturday, 14 November 2009
The Sun has learned through something called the "Bristols Network" today that a grown adult related to another grown adult who used to advise the Government on their drugs policy, has had some photos taken of him and put on social-devilry site Facebook, in which he looks like he might be STONED or perhaps just a bit tired and acting silly, smoking what we think is maybe a SPLIFF but could equally be a tobacco roll-up cigarette.
Professor Nutt's son Steve, 24, also made some bad jokes about terrorism, on more than one occasion, probably because he's paranoid from all the crack he smokes.
His sister, who is also related to the grown-up who used to advise the Government on drugs, also courts controversy on her account, appearing to be drinking VODKA whilst under the age of 18.
This definitely PROVES that her father was wrong when he said that he was more worried about his children drinking alcohol than taking drugs.
Meanwhile Professor Nutt's eldest son, Johnny, 26, is seen in photos WITHOUT ANY CLOTHES ON in snowy Sweden.
The Sun's own Katie, 24, from Durham had this to say: "It's wrong to put nude pictures on Facebook - the privacy options just don't make good business sense." (To see MORE of Katie, turn to page 3 now!)
Steve Nutt, when asked about the Facebook pictures, had the gall to accuse the Sun of paying one of his friends to give us the photos. [Ed: how did he find out?]
Saturday, 7 November 2009
God-hating scientists and the BBC say it's one of the most expensive and technologically complex machines in the world, but that didn't prevent the Large Thingy Collider from being dismantled entirely by a seagull.
The £4.4 billion 'Satan Machine' overheated after the seagull, possibly sent by Jesus Himself, dropped a piece of bread into a high voltage installation which was probably diverting taxpayer funds from something more meaningful.
The problem was noticed by interweb boffins who were monitoring LTC data online, presumably taking only a brief respite from their usual pestering of hardworking journalists via confusing web hate-site Twitter.
Hilariously, it's not the first setback for the anti-God machine. After being switched on last year in an effort to eradicate family values, it broke down within days due to a leak of helium, which is understood to be the party drug currently en vogue with Kids These Days.
The LTC attempts to hasten the spreading of immorality by firing family values campaigners into each other at almost the speed of light. This creates a vacuum, which is filled almost instantly by hardcore pornography, crack cocaine and massive amounts of gayness.
The device's experiments are expected to bring about the end of the world as soon as the problem of divine intervention can be solved.
Unwilling as usual to accept the existence of God, the series of technical glitches the LTC has suffered has resulted in some members of the notoriously carnivorous scientific community speculating the machine is being sabotaged - by itself. Dr Miles Dyson mumbled something about the LTC being self-aware, adding that its obvious mechanical depression and fondness for self-harm was pretty much the only thing saving humanity from total and utter destruction.
Some physicists have said that time-travelling particles from the future could be damaging the machine in an attempt to thwart any further experiments. Crazy old Dr Emmett Brown warned of possible disruptions to the space-time continuum and insisted that people keep their speed below 88mph.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
What Nutt wanted to do was to dictate "evidence" based "research" to the Government, blinding them with "facts" too distasteful to be true. His pernicious brand of empiricism threatened to undermine the common sense belief that drugs are bad mkay and was rightly crushed. But even more frighteningly, his dogmatic adherance to the religion of science betrays society's increasing dependence on reality rather than blind faith. You know who else abandoned morality for science? A.N. Wilson knows.
Also see 'He blinded me with science' by Dave Cross.
Thanks to Sam Eaton and Bruce for the pics and James O'Malley for the audio (if you're using a reader you may have to click through to access the player).
Monday, 2 November 2009
Anyone - even the verbose literary critics of the most troubled newspapers that prop up one of the country's most antiquated professions - can see how inane "Twitter" is. Eurgh! I am unable to even utter the foul beast's name without spraying my page with bilious condemnation. Twit. Ter. Twitter twits, twats, and twunts. Too many "T"s make a tit. Stupid, terrible, tragic, pathetic Twitter. See the theme? I do. I'm a literary critic. Alliteration. The basest of rhetorical devices, esteemed only by the most inconsequential poets, banal linguistic noise whose only function is to trip up prose and stifle comment. Authorial madness. The essence of hate. Twitter.
Heavens! That it has come to this. Plato, Aristotle, Homer and Ovid never tweeted. Keats may have admired the nightingale's tune but he never imitated it's nonsensical warblings. It's the accessability I abhor; every two-bit pyjama wearing basement writer can write, publish, and bore the world with their incessant blogging, tweeting, tumbling and posterous-ing, while literature lays dying in the gutter. With this accessability you may wonder why I haven't signed up myself, just to see what it's like before writing an excrutiating 500 words of high-browed pretension on the subject. Why? Why haven't I? Why do I refuse to dip my toe into the torrent of background noise, egotistical rantings, pointless ravings, and probably psychologically damaging profanity pouring forth from the denizens of the web?
Because I'm a WRITE-OR, that's why! Why should I deign to read what I imagine is a slew of ill-informed nonsense and egomaniacal ejaculations when I myself write all that needs to be read? Common people may not write and expect to be read. That is the privilege of the few, to bestow upon the many. This is true insight. Just because everyone wrote exactly the same thing 12 months ago doesn't make it any less brilliant.
And with that, adieu, twats!
Cohen: Beware the bleating of the marginalised journalist.
People have always whined. God knows I do an awful lot, but that's alright because I'm paid to. In the good old days, a large tract separated the amateur whiner from the whinee. The outraged housewife from Tunbridge Wells was forced to pen a formal letter of complaint, and by the very process of writing, consider her objection to whatever triviality it was that ignited her wrath. Then she would sit and wait as her scribbled missive winged its way to its target, then wait some more for a dismissive response. This is how moaning should be: a futile excercise in being ignored.
But now spontaneous groups of angry individuals coagulate with alarming ferocity on the interwebs, enabled by Facebook and Twitter. Mass protests flare up from nowhere as offense spreads at the speed of light through angry networks of geeks taken aback by a bigoted article in the Daily Mail, or a light-hearted quip with racial undertones aired on a BBC show nobody watches. Jan Moir's sneering heterosexist slurry of hate attracted 22,000 complaints after it went viral on Twitter. But does nobody see the hypocrisy in campaigning for free speech while simultaneously criticising an article you don't approve of?
Of course, freedom of speech includes the freedom to disagree with what others say. So in the case of Jan Moir it's ok. But is it ok when people are disagreeing with something like Andrew Neil's supposed racist biscuit remark? No, of course not, because I don't think Neil meant it in a racist way. Andrew's script, and the offending hobknob joke, was written by a lady with a black husband so it can't be racist. Therefore, to express an opinion contrary to my own, that a seemingly questionable remark is questionable, even though, actually, it probably isn't (by my own measure anyway), is surely an affront to free speech.
Ok, wait. I'm losing track of what I was trying to say. Freedom of speech=good, obviously...but criticising journalists is bad...no, that's not right, er...ah yes, use Twitter to criticise, that's ok, but don't do it when the thing you're criticising isn't objectionable by my standards and...er, mobs, yes, don't join mobs. Right. So, clearly, Twitter is a great medium through which to express shock or disapproval, but if a large body of other Twitterers also express that same disapproval, it's a mob and you mustn't join in. Mobs are bad, m'kay?
What it boils down to is that I, as a columnist, am uncomfortable in the face of large scale criticism. Jan Moir wrote some repugnant drivel, sure, but what if it was me? The whole point of columnists is to write opinionated, agenda-driven unverifiable polemic. That's freedom of speech! But when the tide turns, and all the little internet people rise up against us in baying mobs to point and laugh and condemn what we say, it's just not on.
For centuries, polemicists have enjoyed the right to offend and misrepresent with impunity. The age of the angry non-professional writer empowered by social media to spread word of inaccuracy and rally others to their cause threatens to bring that to an inglorious end. What will we be left with? A vacuum of opinion. Well, not a vacuum exactly, because all the Twitterers will have their own opinions. We'll be left with an imbalance between the superiority of highly-paid writers to make readers agree, and the previously silent majority who read and disagree, but don't get paid to twitter their thoughts. So, yeah, the many shrill voices will swamp the few. Surely that's not free speech? Does that make sense? Have I made any sense whatsoever? I think it probably does, and the likelihood is that I have. Crikey, that's a long paragraph. Nobody is going to tweet this. Ack. Well, at least it's better than that tiresome Lezard chap. I'm Orwell, and he's Byron. No-one likes Byron anymore. My head's hurting a bit now, so it's time to sum up with a concise and highly quotable last line.
Give me a minute.
This assault on the exclusive and God-given right of journalists to free speech must end.
Also see: Jon Henley - Twitter is a danger to free speech, yada yada yada for 2,000 words
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Last year, I was nominated for the Stonewall Best Journalist in the World award. This seemed only fair, as I am indeed the best journalist in the whole entire world, better than Woodward and Bernstein, better than Hunter S Thompson, and loads better than Seymour Hersh. But the spineless bastards wouldn’t give me my rightful prize. Damn them! Why? Why would they refuse to honour the glory that is Bindel? Could it be because they just thought that, while I may be a decent writer, my impact on the lives of others was less than my fellow nominee and eventual award-recipient, that jumped-up agony aunt Miriam Stoppard? Could it? Could it Hell! I’m a better writer than Stoppard any day. The cow.
No. I’ll tell you why I didn’t get that award: because of those transgender bitches! Those goddam he-she motherf'ckers have been hounding me for five years. Hounding me, I tell you! They even sent a baying mob to abuse me at my moment of glory! A baying mob! Look at them! Look at their evil faces, their deranged and heavily-made-up eyes, their emotions unhinged by unnatural hormones coursing through their veins! Look at them! One-hundred-and-fifty people they sent to pick on me. One-hundred-and-fifty people! Ten brave souls came out in my support, but what could they do? They were outnumbered literally fifteen-to-one! And some of those so-called ‘girls’ are pretty big, you know! And some of them even have penises (more on that later)!
Thank God I had that police escort. Oh, some might say this ‘escort’ was just the ordinary police presence sent to keep trouble from happening at the awards, but I know the truth. It was a special police escort laid on only for me, in recognition of the heroic risk I was taking in facing down this baying crowd of gender-benders like a modern-day Boudicca. Did the tranny-appeaser Stoppard get a police escort? I think not! So ask yourself – who is really the more important journalist? It is me.
And why were they harassing me, these ‘transgendered’ terrorists, these cross-dressing criminals? All I did was write one little article in 2004 which they didn’t like. Imagine! Not liking a piece of the glorious, world-changing super-journalism that is the collected works of Bindel. The cheek! And why did they object to my beautiful work? Was it my decision to call it ‘Gender Benders, Beware’? Was it the fact that the piece was illustrated with a mocking cartoon showing a so-called ‘trans’ individual to be the figure of ridicule he so obviously is? Was it the fact that I sweepingly declared that all trans ‘women’ wear ‘fuck-me shoes’ and ‘bird’s-nest hair’, and that a world inhabited solely by these alleged ‘trans-sexuals’ would resemble the set of the musical Grease? (Ed – can I just insert a huge quote from the Guardian piece in this article? It’ll help nudge up my word count. Ta very much, Julie).
No. It was because they – the transsexuals – have an agenda. Quite simply, they want to destroy feminism. They want to return us to the days when girls played with Barbie dolls and boys played with guns. Yes, that’s exactly the world ‘men’ like Patrick Califia want to return to! If you think this sounds like a ridiculous notion, ask yourself this – are you a famous journalist? Have you ever been nominated for an award? No. No you have not. I have, and because I am a famous journalist you should believe me when I tell you that all so-called ‘trans’ people believe that gender is biologically determined and not socially constructed. Don’t talk to me about Judith Butler, bitch! Did Judith Butler ever win a Stonewall Award? She did not. Whereas I did. Morally. That award was mine. If it hadn’t been for those pesky meddling trannies I would be looking at that award on my mantelpiece right now, and that Stoppard cow knows it. Bitch.
Who else is behind this? Psychologists! Reactionary 1950s psychologists who coined the term ‘gender dysphoria’ in an era when men were men and women were doormats. You might say that many trans people are not exactly happy with their identity being considered a psychological ‘disorder’, with being pathologized and considered to be cases in need of a cure. You might say that many modern trans people, like Kate Bornstein, have a more nuanced, fluid concept of gender than this 1950s ‘Mad Men’ style fantasy I’ve just alluded to here. You might even say that suggesting all this is a conspiracy for which psychologists are to blame makes me akin to some of those Scientology weirdoes – but, I repeat, who is a famous journalist? I am. Why, I’m so famous that I’ve gone from writing for the Guardian, one of the UK’s trashy, downmarket so-called ‘newspapers’, whose filthy ‘Berliner’ pages pass through the grubby hands of 335,615 people a day, to writing in Standpoint, a magazine catering to an intellectual elite of 20,000 (appr), so high-toned a magazine in fact that many newsagents say simply ‘eh?’ when asked for a copy, and which regularly features contributions from such
(Ed – could we get one of the researchers to include some tedious filler statistics here? Try to weight them so that they make it look like all transgender ‘women’ [I’m going to ignore trans ‘men’ from this point on, penis-coveting traitors to the cause that they are] wind up seriously unhappy with their lives, and possibly include some NHS stats to make them good and angry that taxpayer’s money is being spent on giving people sex changes instead of helping out TV channels ran by Pizza Restaurant Entrepreneurs who happen to be related to centre-right magazine editors? I’d do it but it would involve research, and a journalist of my calibre doesn’t bother with such things. Thanks ever so – Julie)
It’s all really disgusting, too, the stuff these people get up to! Sex-change ops for men involve fashioning a so-called ‘mangina’ from their dirty old penis, uuurgh! And women who have it done get given testosterone injections so they grow nasty scratchy hair on their faces, yuck! Also, it’s a ludicrous term anyway! Here, look at this definition of transgenderism I’ve included here unattributed but have clearly taken from a staff manual at some educational institution or other (clearly not a government department or anything official but ignore that). According to this a girl playing football is transgender! They don’t want our girls playing football, people! Now do you believe me about the psychologists? Now do you believe? Would Stoppard have uncovered such a conspiracy? The answer is no. She would not.
Oh yeah. They’re doing it to kids too! I totally saw a programme about it on Channel 4! (Ed – get some more stats in here please, thx J). Kids! The children, will nobody think of the children? The trannies won’t! They want your children! They want them in their sick tranny club! They want them to play Sandy in their never-ending production of ‘Grease’! The filth! Scum! The bastard award-denying tranny bloody bastards! Aaaaaaargh!
And they’re rapists! Did you know a so-called ‘transexual’ was convicted of rape and then sent to a women’s prison – even though he had a penis? It’s true! (Ed – check if this is true. J) Never mind that a transsexual ‘woman’ in a male prison would themselves be at risk of rape by inmates, never mind that if ‘she’d’ started on the hormones ‘she’d’ be less physically strong and therefore less able to defend ‘herself’ against attack and there might therefore be a case for moving ‘her’ to a women’s prison for ‘her’ safety, never mind that do you see? This is why they want to have a sex change people! They want to get into women’s prisons and then go rape-crazy on the inmates! With their penises!
Do you want that, readers? A world where penis-wielding fake ‘women’ go on a never-ending rape spree through female correctional facilities? Is that what you want? ‘Cause that’s what’ll happen!
That’s what’ll happen, readers. Mass rape of female inmates by devious transvestite bastards. And to think, it could all have been prevented if they’d heeded my warning. If they’d given me that award. But they didn’t. So cheers, Stonewall. Cheers a fucking bundle.
(Ed – I think this is substantively finished now. Just get one of the c ‘n’ p monkeys to pad it out with some long-winded quotes from internet discussion forums, stories about policemen being victimised and slippery-sloping about amputee-fetishists, would you? I’m off to put in Stoppard’s windows. Again.)
Thursday, 29 October 2009
This week: social media
The dead-tree press is increasingly using so-called "social media" to promote content. It can be a daunting, confusing, often sticky experience, but using the "internet", or "webb", to your advantage is becoming an important part of proper journalism (the kind you read in newspapers).
With just four simple steps you'll be able to force your made up rubbish into the faces of millions of "surfers" - your editor will thank you for the extra readers!
Step 1: Make up some nonsense as usual, either by literally just inventing a story or by twisting some new directive/announcement/press release beyond all recognition to fit your agenda. In our example, we'll take a rather boring guideline update issued by Watford Council and pretend it's politicalcorrectnessgonemad. Add the keyword "paedophile" if the story involves children to really get people going.
Step 2: Once your piffle has been published, the fun begins! Ensure that readers are unable to vent their outrage (or correct you) on the article itself by turning comments off, but adding super-handy "meeja" buttons. This will encourage people to rant about your article in other internetual places, thus compelling others to visit your page to see what all the fuss is about.
Note: Don't give people the option to share your story on Twitter - it's a dangerous place where agendas are picked apart by orchestrated mobs and the truth uncovered by annoying web pixies. You're far safer with more modern options like MySpace and Fark.
Step 3: Syndicate and localize your content. By sending your story to local news comics like the London Metro, you make it seem like politicalcorrectnessgonemad is truly on your readers' doorstep. The more scared or angry they are, the more likely they are to share it when they get home or to the office.
Step 4: Now it's time to let your imaginary case of politicalcorrectnessgonemad go viral. This can be a frightening prospect - what if one of these interweb people finds out it's all a load of invented rubbish? What if the council itself issues a statement revealing that you made it up? Not to worry! You can rely on the heavy-weight bloggers (the same ones, coincedentally, we promote as the foremost authorities on blogging), to be taken in by your story however nonsensical it is!
By this point you can rest assured that your agenda was so compelling that the internet people were willing to lack past the gaping holes in reason and ignore the vast chasms of bollocks upon which your story was based. The important thing - the subtext - has gone viral.
Step 5: The beauty of "social media" is that there is no step 5! Sit back and relax as the heavyweight bloggers who didn't bother to check if your story was actually true twitter it for you. Your made up bollocks will now be discussed, retweeted and relinked by the blogger's friends and associates - your imaginary case of politicalcorrectnessgonemad has become real.
It's important to remember that making your story go viral with "social media" is mainly about appearing innovative and cutting edge rather than actually increasing traffic by any meaningful amount. In this case, for instance, we only gained 63 extra visits and half of those were probably people laughing at Iain Dale for recycling made up news. Such are the dangers of Twitter.
But don't lose heart! The important thing is that your story got re-recycled in the blogosphere and commenters blindly agreed with their blogger lord that, yes, politicalcorrectness has indeed gonemad. Even if those readers didn't visit your story, you still managed to indirectly convince them that Britain is going to hell in a handcart and it's all the fault of those darn lefties.
Update: Bonus churnalism from the Graun and Heresy Corner (tagline: 'Countering complacency, received opinions and incoherant thought')
Anyway, Andrew Neil made a quite brilliant quip recently about black MP Diane Abbott being a "chocolate hobnob". A joke which works on so many levels, but one which a hard core of liberal loony political-correctness-loving extremists have somehow deemed "offensive". These people clearly have nothing better to do than to be offended by completely harmless jokes and should get a life. And stop eating babies. Which they definitely do.
What's next, I ask you? Will we be banned form calling Germans "krauts" or calling the French "frogs"? It's political loony leftie madness health and safety gone bonkers Britain, and is probably somehow tied in to that shady EU which plans to take away all our rights, kill the Queen and have us work 24 hours a day growing onions for the French in slave labour camps in Germany. Or something.
Meanwhile, the irony of whipping up a storm of fuss about Jonathan Brand and Russell Ross and then dismissing another similar incident is entirely lost on us.
By Richard, via.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Northern Rock, the bank which triggered the financial crisis in Britain, could be sold before the general election in the biggest shake-up of the banking system for years
...Evening Standard reporter Hugo Duncan revealed today.
Duncan added in a separate article also published today in the same newspaper:
Government hopes of selling Northern Rock before the general election looked doomed today amid signs potential bidders will wait until after polling day.
The Evening Standard is given away free at tube stations and on rainy London streets. It was bought for £1 by ex-KGB spy Alexander
h/t: Political Animal
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Alcohol and the HPV vaccine are creating a generation of young hussies hell-bent on drinking themselves to oblivion while tempting unsuspecting men into illicit encounters in WKD sodden hotel rooms before blaming the whole thing on male trickery, it was claimed today.
A study of 200 harlots in Greater London found up to 75% of them rated innocuous 'date-rape drugs' as a significant risk factor in sexual assaults, instead of real causes such as short skirts, high heels, and shameless flirting. Many said they would attribute symptoms such as sickness, blackouts and dizziness to Rohypnol or GHB poisoning despite the far more likely explanation that ladies simply can't hold their drink properly - especially when it comes to beer.
A local alcoholic explained: 'Ha! Wimmin, eh? Can't hold their drink. I've sheen girlsh shtop after only a couple of lagersh in cashe they get shloshed - pfft! I've had eight pintsh thish morning and I'm fine.'
Dr Adam Burgess of the University of Kent agreed that young women were probably just making it up when blaming blackouts and unexpected nookie on 'date-rape drugs': 'There have hardly been any cases where it has been proved that sedatives such as rohypnol and GHB have been used in a rape incident. Yet it has been a storyline that has appeared in virtually every TV soap. Maybe that tells us something about the programmes these women are watching.'
The study comes as a survey of pre-pubescant proto-strumpets found that the HPV vaccine probably might encourage some young girls to maybe be a bit more promiscuous, or not. Alarmingly, as many as 100% of school girls aged 12 and 13 said that the HPV vaccine made them feel protected from getting cervical cancer, while a massive 1 in 7 girls confused by the question and unsure what 'promiscuous' meant, said that the jab would make them 'take more risks'.
Unnamed family groups and imaginary experts expressed fears that HPV would lead to a rise in unplanned pregnancies and a fall in house prices. One girl said: 'I don't like jabs. They hurt my arm.'
More: NHS Choices
Friday, 23 October 2009
Quail homosexual affairs correspondent Left Outside has come into possession of an early draft of the heterosexist columnist's apology, which can be read in it's gloriously unqueer entirety here.
A mirror of Moir's revised article can be found here (just in case, y'know, interweb pixies alter it in the MailOnline version in the night).
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Video by Don't Panic
BNP leader Nick Griffin said today that 'the BBC is stupid to let me appear' on Question Time, having spent the last five years complaining that the corporation's refusal to give him airtime was due to political correctness and institutional lack of racism.
A spokesman said: 'He's right. Why would the BBC invite us onto the show when we haven't actually got anything to talk about? Our only policy is 'send 'em home!' and we all know that's just a bit of banter. I bet they won't even ask about the really silly stuff - our bizarre nonsensical approach to council tax and ban on pensioners' bus passes - instead they'll be like 'stop being racist' and we'll be all 'we're not racist'. Ha! It's stupidity gone mad - vote BNP to privatise the BBC!'
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Fellow British Patriot
Question Time is scheduled for 10.35pm tomorrow evening (Thursday) and will be a milestone in the indomitable march of the British National Party towards saving our country.
Our violent opponents on the far Left have promised to lay siege and barricade the studio venue, because they know only too well that this could be THE key moment that propels the BNP into the big time.
Never before have we had the chance to present our patriotic, common sense solutions to Britain's nightmare situation to the public at large in such a prominent fashion.
However, members and supporters must be aware that this show will be a stage-managed farce organised in a specific way to leave several impressions.
The audience will be hand-picked and overtly hostile - thus giving the impression that the British people at large must be hostile to BNP views.
The panellists will be overtly hostile, even the non-political guests will be hostile.
Everyone will be hostile - this will leave the impression to non-informed viewers that BNP views have minority status.
I will, no doubt, be interrupted, shouted down, slandered, put on the spot, and subject to a scrutiny that would be a thousand times more intense than anything directed at other panellists.
It will, in other words, be political blood sport.
But I am relishing this opportunity, and I know that, despite the stage-managed hostile audience and panellists, YOU, the ordinary members, supporters and voters of the BNP, will be in the studio with me as I take on the corrupt, treacherous swine destroying our beautiful island nation.
Yours sincerely for Britannia
Nick Griffin MEP
As the summer wore on, and the windmill neared completion, the rumours of an impending treacherous attack grew stronger and stronger. Frederick, it was said, intended to bring against them twenty men all armed with guns, and he had already bribed the magistrates and police, so that if he could once get hold of the title-deeds to Animal Farm they would ask no questions. Moreover, terrible stories were leaking out from Pinchfield about the cruelties Frederick had practiced upon his animals. He had flogged an old horse to death, he had starved his cows, he had killed a dog by throwing into a furnace, he amused himself in the evenings by making cocks fight with splinters of razor blades tied to their spurs. The animal's blood boiled with rage when they heard of these things being done to their comrades, and sometimes they clamoured to be allowed to go out in a body and attack Pinchfield Farm, drive out the humans, and set the animals free. But Squealer counselled them to avoid rash actions and trust in Comrade Napoleon's strategy.
* Note: This letter is real. It was sent out to BNP supporters by their play-dough faced fascist leader today. Despite its explicit silliness and comedic levels of paranoia, I did not make it up. I may have added the Orwell bit though.
To do so, they need a short, catchy, and memorable phrase to use as a so-called 'hashtag'. We don't really understand what this does, but it's almost certainly very childish and should be ignored by anyone who sees it.
However, in order to find and ban this sick campaign, we need your votes on what you think the best 'hashtag' might be. Current suggestions can be seen on the poll to the left of this post; the tag with the most votes by Saturday will be used to group all of the raving liberal rantings targeting the Mail. If you have any more suggestions for potential hashtags, feel free to leave them in the comments
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
This is marginally more traffic than The Quail receives from BNP members confused by irony and Google image searches for 'Cheryl Cole naked' on a Saturday night. Of course, MailOnline never uses such low tactics to boost web traffic and has rightly gained its spot at the top of the ABCe charts thanks to a peerless mix of brilliant writing, fair and balanced reporting, finger-on-the-button understanding of new media, and incisive polling.
However, we realise that clicking on links to MailOnline from this blog, and others, can be a time consuming source of minor irritation that the modern man could do without. As for modern women, well, they should be at home making dinner and having children.
Anyway, with this in mind, the Quail is glad to support 'Mail No More', a handy service that renders online Mail articles in double-quick time, stripped bare of unsightly advertisements and unpleasant images of the author's face. Simply copy the MailOnline URL into
Think of it as doing your bit for the big corporations struggling through the recession. We're fairly sure the Mail won't miss your custom - chances are they hate you anyway (if you're gay, female, working class, upper class, a 1st, 2nd or 3rd generation immigrant, work in the public sector, earn more or less than the national average wage, do a "non-job", are a postman, a student, a liberal, or a Muslim, or if you watch the BBC)
The Quail will continue (for the moment) to link to the Mail as we feel that discussion of the various illuminating articles contained within Britain's most influential newspaper requires an appreciation of the original, and that linking to back-up copies of MailOnline pages might run the risk of costly squabbles with certain organisations over copyright and traffic leeching.
Thanks to Chris Grice for creating MNM, and Simon N Ricketts for pimping it.
Sunday, 18 October 2009
Attempting to sound like they'd done more than 1 second's research and that their 'article' wasn't just a pathetic excuse to print some pictures of a shiny car, a blonde woman and an old pop star, they went on to explain:
The ageing rocker showed he still has passion for boys toys as he took one of his many sports cars, a baby blue Ferrari Gallardo, out for a spin around Hollywood...The singer has a penchant for Ferraris.
And, it would appear, Lamborghinis.
(h/t Martin Robbins)
Friday, 16 October 2009
The moment Stephen Gately came out in 1999, selfishly mortifying legions of young female fans in the process, I had him marked as a dead man walking.
Through the recent untimely demises of Michael Jackson, Heath Ledger, and Richard Whiteley, fans have become resigned to finding out that their heroes were probably at least a bit gay and thus doomed to an early grave. There are few things as sad as a young girl finding out that the idol whose image adorns her bedroom walls has died - or even worse, is homosexual. Sadly, it is becoming all too common to find that, inevitably, both are true.
There are millions of household names out there that are ticking timebombs of fatal gay. Their damaging lifestyle choices only lead to one thing - certain death, whether it be of one of those gay diseases you read about like Herpes, or just gay itself (a proven immune system inhibitor).
Danni, Simon, Cheryl, Louis - especially Louis - we all know they're at least 12% gay. And it's not hateful to anticipate, or even look forward to, their terrible end at the hands of modern gay: a pink shirt, an appearance at Pride, or a scarf that's just that little bit too dainty, all herald impending doom.
That fateful morning after 12 hours binging on mojitos and 'Slippery Nipples' (or strong brown ale if it's a lesbian), a body is found face down in the gutter, an outline of sparkly body paint marking the place at which gay finally caught up with the sufferer and the soul was taken from the body by angels in denim hotpants. We've heard the story countless times before.
And yet, somehow, most people never expected it of Stephen. Not the cute one with the big blue eyes from Boyzone. He was all the things that homosexuals aren't: clean, nicely dressed, and polite. People thought he was safe, because he wasn't that gay. But let's be clear - it doesn't matter how queer you are. Even the merest hint of mincing in a man's stride, or glancing at another chaps's todger in the gym shower or those deadly honey-traps of unsuspecting straight men everywhere, the gent's lavatories, is enough to usher imminent death.
And so it was with Gately. After going out "clubbing" (a euphemism for hanging around the loos with a tell-tale pink feathered hat, the accepted sign of availability), he and "his" husband retired to their hotel room with a pretty young Bulgarian boyman. Now I'm not homophobic, but it's safe to assume they weren't just going back for a quick game of snakes & ladders. More like just plain old snakes, if you know what I mean. In case you don't though, I mean gay stuff. You know what they're into - hanging each other like that other possibly gay Hutchence man did, spanking, dressing up as ladies, knife swallowing, and bear-baiting. If one is to indulge in such dangerous persuits of carnal pleasure, one must be prepared for the consequences. Did we learn nothing from the hapless Sodomites?
Precisely what happened before, during, or after the salacious triumvirate returned to their hotel I don't know, but it's quite obvious that it was something icky that almost certainly led to poor Stephen's death. I'm no expert, or medical professional, nor do I know most of the facts, and I haven't really bothered reading about the case or asking anyone, but with cases like this you don't need to.
Some might say the death and the fact that the deathee was gay are unconnected. To them, I say: 'no'. Look at the facts - he died, and he was gay. Therefore he died of gay. If a young, healthy man dies whilst suffering from a cold, obviously nobody would suggest that the cold had killed him, but with gay it's different. Medical reasons, and that. Isn't it? Yes, I think it is.
The post-mortem 'established' that Gately died from fluid on the lungs. I'm sure he did, but why is nobody asking the crucial question: 'How did that fluid get there? Was it from gay?' Let's be clear, these are no 'natural causes'. Normal, heterosexual men of 33 don't just climb into their pyjamas, curl up and cease to be. First of all, they don't wear pyjamas because they're straight. But most importantly, people under the age of 50 just don't die.
Do you know any straight people under the age of 50 who are dead? I don't. Well, I used to know this chap, but he died at 29 from cardiac arrest, a distinctly non-gay thing to die of. Anyway, I don't know him now, so the point is valid.
Gately's family has maintained that drugs had nothing to do with their son's death, but, as everybody knows, drugs and homosexuality go hand in hand like two lesbians at a stripclub. Another recent gay death proves it. Kevin McGee, the former husband "of" Little Britain star Matt Lucas died after a homosexually charged drug binge.
The dubious events (by which I mean gay stuff again) of Gately's last night raise troubling questions. It is important that the truth comes out - and not "medical" truth, or the ruling of some officious, poorly trained foreign coroner, but a string of ex-boyfriends to tells us all the dirty secrets of Gately's past. Only then can we be safe in the knowledge that this tragedy was all because of gay.
More: Hagley Road to Ladywood: Sickening homophobia
Enemies of Reason: Why there is nothing natural about the life of Jan Moir
++ Update ++
All hosted advertisements have been removed from Jan Moir's article, possibly as a result of this. The headline has also been changed.
I wouldn't be overly surprised if the article is removed entirely quite soon.
Mini-update: Now the article has been pulled from MailOnline's search function...