It’s Friday, friends! As per usual this week, a sorry troupe of rent-a-hacks have spaffed some utter toss about wimmin onto page and screen. Averse to cleaning as we are – being general slovenly wenches with grimy fridge-backs – we have mopped some of it up and, like a child proffering the contents of a full hanky, we’re here to show you some of the last seven days’ choicest press globules:
10) Ladies, you all honk
So, it seems that a company that sells bath products is unimpressed, nay, ‘alarmed‘ [my italics] to see the results of their own survey, which suggests the majority of women are not jet-washing their gross, filthy, human bodies on a bi-daily basis. What possible reason could a company that sells over-priced soap have for conducting such a survey, and then giving it to a journalist at The Independent ? Heavens, we’re stumped! It’s not like we women don’t already know how unsanitary we are – we ooze, shed, bleed, perspire and pong – surely only a galloping pervert would fancy a woman that hasn’t recently been dunked in Cillit Bang? So women, take heed: wash your congealed and rotten parts at least once a day or you’ll upset Maxine from Flint + Flint, and why wouldn’t we want her to be filthy rich?
9) The Shit Awards 2015
Oh yaaaaaawn, more fecking dresses. Now, I might have got this wrong, but aren’t The Brit Awards, and awards ceremonies in general (except fashion ones), about stuff what people have done good, or vaguely good, or a bit middle of the road but made a lot of money, so let’s pat everyone on the back? Anyone would think they’re a shop window, advertising women posing with their hand on one hip and doing that awkward knee thing for looking adorably gauche and youthful. Oh goody, let’s JUDGE THEM! Who’s thin?! Who’s hot?! Who’s muttony?! Who gives a giant flipping fuck? Clue: Not us… Holly Willoughby usually knocks it out the park though, eh? Not sure about the tassles though. Oh lawd, thanks Daily Express I have a jeffing opinion about a famous person’s dress. Someone please drown me in a puddle of C-listers’ tears.
8) In celebration of infected implants
Katie Price has, apparently, had surgery to remove infected breast implants. Responding to this fetid plight with empathy, dignity and relevance, The Sun ran a full page ‘photo timeline’ of Jordan’s knockers. It’s sort of like those Kings and Queens timelines that are printed on tea towels at the Tower of London gift shop, except with tits and zero educational merit. But it’s ok, because they’ve dropped Page 3, and we have complete equality now.
7) Wardrobe Malfunction
I have some questions Daily Mail, and they are thus:
what if I don’t have a husband (and obviously I don’t, being a dried up old feminist spinster of 34)? What if I went to school and am able to count garments myself, do I still have to ask a man to do it? What if, like the ladies in the Destiny’s Child song, I’m a relatively independent woman (shh mum, I’ll pay you back soon) and I bought all that shit myself, including 4 pairs of identical trousers, possibly by accident? What if, Daily Mail, I think Charlotte should kick Tom in the conkers and run away with someone who shares her passion for varied attire and isn’t a bit of a cock? What if, Daily Mail, I think Charlotte needs to rethink her editorial bent, so she doesn’t make women look like simpering bell-ends? So many questions.
6) Art Buff
Artist Milo Moire, who achieved notoriety for firing paint-filled eggs from her foof, has had the Daily Star reaching for their smelling salts. She got her kit off, picked up a baby and walked around an art museum looking at nudes. Reading this article is a touch surreal, as the hack in question quotes the artist’s motivations, ‘She then asks: “How close may a form of representation in art approach real life?”‘ I may be an awful snob, but that jars a little with the Star’s usual output when discussing naked women, i.e. they didn’t say ‘PHWOAR, CRIKEY,’ which is refreshing. But fear not, for those of you concerned the Star might be going up market; there is a story about potential nip slips and various female stars showcasing, flaunting and generally slagging their bodies about for everyone to pore over and judge.
5) Stalking Susanna
Honestly, the Daily Express are effing OBSESSED with Susanna Reid. It’s EMBARRASSING. Every single week, we have a TWISN longlist of sexist Susanna articles, which we reduce to a shortlist before fainting as a result of ‘vapid content’ exposure. Imagine being Annie Price, the godforsaken woman who had to pen this garbage? I don’t think the Express even expect anyone to read it, or even notice it at all, as they’ve used ‘pretty in pink’ as the headline about 77,465 times since September. They LOVE it when they catch a glimpse of her looking a bit glum in a blue dress, or sitting next to someone less attractive, who happens to be wearing green – oh the colour puns! Imagine! It’s all so dizzyingly insipid that I…I…oooooh, can someone pass the smelling salts?
4) ‘Oh bugger, I’ve got egg down the front of this Prada gown’
Dear The Times, these women are flogging a cookbook. Why, then, are they ‘striking a pose’ in dresses that no human could possibly ever cook in? Why are you leching on about their ‘enviable figures and glamorous looks?’ Jasmine and Melissa Hemsley talk purely about recipes in this article, so why aren’t there any pictures of FOOD? The Hairy Bikers do not have to put up with this shit. I hope you’ve got Gordon Ramsey in a basque next week, to celebrate Sausage Roll Wednesday or whatever shit theme day is lurking on the horizon, like an ominous turd.
3) Yo-yos and ya-yas
Here is an article airing Myleene Klass’ views re. the mindless vortex of consumerism, the loss of childhood innocence and the evil of capitalism. ‘I want my children to give yo-yos, not kindles,’ she states, in response to a posh school row regarding what sort of presents kids should lumber their mates with at birthday parties. This is all very interesting, probably, if you’ve got kids and haven’t got putrid, infected implants to worry about like Katie Price. Anyway, as this appears in The Sun, it’s unfathomably illustrated with a series of massive photos of Klass in weird bras, thrush-trap knickers and some sort of flammable polyester sciatica support about her middle. It’s an article about yo-yos – I don’t understand.
2) Tots in trench coats
Urgh, this is so effing creepy, Daily Mail. Just looking at this festering article makes me want to bathe in a vat of vinegar, Persil and turps. It’s weird to dress up children like fashion models and make them carry £15,000 handbags and pretend to hail taxis. These girls are ten years old. Do you know what ten year olds do in taxis? They eat Monster Munch and spill Tippex all over the leatherette seat covers. They vomit and their shoes are covered in wet dog turd and gravel. They play games with extremely loud sound effects. I know this, because my family got a taxi back from Monk Bretton Priory in 1989, after the Ford Cortina went wrong on the A628, and there was a distinct lack of trench coats, sophistication and mascara.
1) Being mean to boys
Oh Katie Glass, what a gal; this week she wrote about feminists bullying men in The Sun, a paper that has routinely bullied women for decades. Calling on ‘evidence’ of an evil feminist allegedly aborting a male foetus because it was male, she admits she knows this story probably isn’t true, but the crucial thing is that ‘True or not, this story felt possible to [some people].’
This is what can only be described as hypothetical journalism… Cut to Dinsmore in an editorial meeting: Skinny mochaccino vanilla latte in one hand, rusk in the other: ‘Right guys, let’s take something that’s almost certainly not fact and see how people feel about it, let’s be all about the feels, and then report on this basis, yeah, I know it’s a bit fucking dubious, but if you think about it, an opinion is a fact in your head, right? That the opinion existed is a fact? Yeah? Oh and someone cut Dapper Laughs and Robin Thicke some slack, those chaps are having a really hard time making money after all the rape apology, Katie, you’re looking for promotion to Handmaiden of the Patriarchy right? Would you mind giving this a punt sweetheart?
So there you have it, our press is just moist with the drool of idiots being paid by the word. Oh, and we almost forgot, Madonna fell over. She’s fine – she got back up. Yeah she was a wearing a big, bejewelled cape with serious health and safety implications. It’s a really big deal apparently. Whatevs. Anyway, have a good week darlings, we’re premenstrual and are off to howl at the moon and eat carbs. xx