Good Morning, dear friends. I was just about to pen some scathing introductory words about the shittery of our newshounds, when I spilt a pint of coffee down one leg (the left one), so I’d better go and wash  it (the right one is fine). Iris could’ve taken over, but she was up till 3am writing fan fiction about a fetid, undead, bloodsucking goblin pursuing a beautiful, desperate woman. It was inspired by the enchanting love affair between Rupert Murdoch and Jerry Hall, and is set to be the next Twilight.

Anyway, while I put some trousers on, here’s some sexist news:

 

10) A bit of skirt

In art historical circles, there is much said about phallocentrism and the worship of the mightily heroic and metaphoric member.

Paintings, architectural erections, space ships, guns; all sorts of things are said to be imbued with the magisterial grandeur of the glorious wang…

However, the Mirror demonstrates that our world is a complicated place. So, if you put an Op-Art, repeat-minge on a dress, everyone vomits in a bucket.

 

9) The world’s crappiest celeb secret

Hot on the heels of their recent article about unsightly geriatric elbows, comes this handy treat a’ la Femail. Great timing, as I had just made peace with my weird knees, and now have plenty of ‘worry time’ on my hands … which reminds me: HOW OLD ARE YOUR HANDS? Do they have unpleasant lines on them? Do they look like claws? Better put some rubber gloves on quickly, and wash the cat or something.

 

8) Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Jesus on fucking toast Femail, will you put a shitting sock in it for 2 minutes. You sound like my NAN who keeps telling me I should drink less, have a hair cut, be better with money, take up sewing, learn the difference between a wisteria and a gladioli, polish my shoes, wear sensible trousers, brake sooner, have a spare box of cornflakes, wear less black… *chewing on own fist.*

I love my nan, even if she is geriatrically racist. But Daily Mail, I’m thirty-five years old, I don’t need anyone telling me to eat an egg white omelette instead of a nice cake. And, furthermore, I don’t love you, so kindly refrain* from berating me about my banal life choices.

*sod off forever

 

7) Skyward locks HORROR

Oh Daily Mirror, not even Gwyneth Paltrow can control wind.

You’d know this, if you’d ever attempted her mung bean soup recipe, which dramatically concluded my twelve hour vegan experiment.

 

6) The Fanny Police

So. Let me get this straight Daily Star. You trade in tits, arse and muff (or to be more accurate, muffless mons pubis). You’re the paper equivalent of those boys in tracksuits, that glide by on BMXs, scratching themselves and shouting ‘Get yer tits out.’

However, if a woman ever did acquiesce to their urbane request, what would they do? Thaaat’s right, they’d feel like bellends.  That’s you that is, Daily Star, a gormless 12 year old on a bike with no fucking gears.

 

5) The Great Tit Debate

Oh, oh, Daily Star, how can I possibly thank you? The empty years I have wandered this barren earth, tormented by the heavy burden of this question: do listless wankers on the internet prefer plastic knockers and, if so, will the happy day ever arrive where such a feeble bellend falls in love with me, and pays for a bloke with a scalpel to violently hack my body to bits for his viewing pleasure? One can but dream, dear reader.

 

4) And I would’ve done it for free…

Following their series of interviews with sex workers – all of whom appear to earn £75,000 an hour teaching cross stitch to sexually repressed gentleman geography teachers – the Daily Star are now interviewing lap dancers to find out what REALLY goes on. Well, it appears they all make £75,000 an hour as well, and none of them mention having to gyrate against the doughy thighs of clammy bankers who stare smugly up their back passage. No, it’s not like that at all – one woman was paid thousands to kick a chap in the groin, while another bagged £400 quid an hour off a bloke who only wanted to rub her feet. Isn’t that lovely? Next time I see a load of wankered cretins staggering into Spearmint Rhino, I’ll rest assured that they’re only there for the reflexology.

 

3) Grieving mother refuses to be eaten up with anger and grief

Oh fuck off. And take The Telegraph with you.

 

2) Woman hasn’t thought about having a baby

Who are you shagging? Who were you shagging before that? Aww, did he dump you? Fashion fashion looking thin fashion style icon fashion. Are you getting married? Are you having a baby? You haven’t thought about having a baby??? Even though you haven’t thought about having a baby, do you think you have what it takes to have a baby? You haven’t thought about thinking about it??? OK, that’ll have to be the headline then Daily Mail.

 

1) Yeah! Leave her alone! That’s our job

“How does she cope with being the subject of such relentless commentary?”

Gosh, darn Amanda, how does she cope? Maybe learning to be violently unself-aware is the answer? Yes. That would help her drown out the ‘RELENTLESS COMMENTARY,‘ the kind one frequently finds in The Daily Mail, for instance. Perhaps you could give her some tips you insufferable, blazer-sporting gorgon?

 

***

Well, you’ll be happy to know that my left leg is now dry and I’m now working my way through a bin of croissants. Iris, many miles away in the damp, fecund south, is no doubt tossing feverishly in a torrid sleep, filled with sparkly skinned, smirking Murdoch vampires who will never, ever die: a disturbing thought, but an excellent costume idea.

Happy Halloween darlings!

Flora and Iris x