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Monthly Archives: January 2016

My hell at the hands of the Twitter mob

Since I wrote that fateful tweet on Monday, my life hasn’t been the same. The Twitter mob have hounded me. I, a lowly columnist being paid real money to sneer at other people, am being sneered at by other people. (I mean, not people who work for newspapers and go to nice parties, but other people. People whose children don’t go to expensive schools. People who live outside zone 1. You know, nobodies. Plebs. Nothings. Those people who smell and smoke and shop at Argos. Scum.)

All I said was the entirely innocent and not provocative-at-all comment “Cuh, that person who just died was a cunt and everyone who likes them is a piece of shit, oh, and your mum smells”. And then it went mad. People started being mean to me. Me! Just for being a person with a strong opinion and not being afraid to speak their mind, frequently, repetitively, until someone takes the bait.

That’s what you get nowadays in the unpleasant world of so-called social so-called media. The Twitterverse don’t care who you are, they’re out to get you. The mob were out to get me, I can tell you! Not at first, of course, because no one saw my tweets and my column is shunted behind a paywall so that no-one can read it. But once I’d said the same thing about four thousand times, using capital letters, and started insulting people who’d dared to disagree, things got going. At last, they were out to get me.

My week of hell. Unlike me, whose words are clever and good, these people often swore or said bad things. Some of them called me names, particularly when I told them they were dirty unemployed scumbags who should have been drowned at birth, for some reason, and then I found the phone started ringing and I was being invited as an edgy, controversial alternative voice on discussion programmes, and then the hell got even worse. I had to go on these programmes and say really dislikeable things about people who didn’t have newspaper columns – I literally had no choice – and then the Twitter Mob got even more annoyed with me, and I started being invited onto more discussion programmes, and so on, and so on. You can imagine how terrible that was for me.

I almost didn’t write this column for the usual fee, such was my browbeating at the hands of the sick and twisted lowlifes who inhabit Twitter and don’t have Blue Ticks like me.

I think what the Twitter Mob and their awful attacks on decent, nice people like me exposes is the way in which our society has become coarser and less open to free speech. In my book I Hate People, They’re All Shit, Especially You, I explored this idea for a large advance and, despite disappointing sales, I kept being invited onto Radio 4. And people kept hating me. I suppose it’s the politics of envy.

Beware the Twitter Mob. One minute you’re writing something which is completely accidentally really annoying to lots of people, and the next you’re being told by those people that they don’t like what you’ve written! Hell, I tell you. Hell.

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

Oh dear

It’s a curious time. The country is fucked. No, not quite true. It’s being fucked. Right now. The worst government in living memory, if not ever, is ruining everything. On purpose.

And yet the main battle on what we might – if we were a lazy, dribbling piece of shit who can’t think of anything else – call The Left is which other part of the so-called Left we hate the most. Do we hate the Blairites? Do we want them to fuck off and join the Tories? Do we hate Marcus Chown and that bloke called Eoin, and want them to stop doing text-on-a-picture memes? Do we hate Jeremy Corbyn? Do we hate Peter Mandelson?

I’m not entirely sure that Eoin Whatshisface, Owen Jones, cocktrumpets retweeting Max Keiser and slightly incorrect text-on-a-picture memes are the real enemy. But if you want to spend your time taking the piss out of them rather than the worst fucking government in living memory, by all means be my guest. Just don’t come crying to me when the country’s entirely fucked over in ruins, everything’s privatised, the NHS is being run by Boots and we’re still bombing everyone in the Middle East for a laugh.

But I can’t see a way around it. On one side you have toddlers chucking toys pissing their nappies about THREE HISTORIC ELECTION VICTORIES which clearly mean that everything – everything, even PFI fucking-over, NHS privatisation, That War Thing and the multiple wasted opportunities of an enormous mandate to achieve real and lasting change in, for example, the electoral system – they did was The Best Thing Ever. Those people are awful. They’re miserably dense. Hopeless, tedious, boring flag-waving arseholes.

On the other side you have the terrible, awful, tedious, boring flag-waving SWP-selling Stop The War combat trousers Russia Today-reading fruitloops who argue endlessly about which exact strand of Marxism would achieve the lasting revolution, endlessly pontificating that anything other than a government composed of Trotskyite purity would achieve anything, and that Tony Blair was the devil incarnate. And who cares if we never get elected, as long as we’re right?

There are many of us in between. Some of us used to be friends and allies. But it’s not happening right now. We all hate each other. And the worst government ever, the most awful, vicious, spiteful, vindictive, unpleasant, wilfully-hurtful bunch of self-serving bastards it’s ever been our misfortune – or rather self-harm – to vote into power are getting along nicely with continuing the Great Project of pulling up the drawbridge and cementing the rest of us in to the worst future imaginable.

And it’s only getting worse. I can’t see a solution. It’s a massive schism. But I suppose the only way things are going to start working is to start building bridges. Here are some suggestions:

  • Perhaps Labour MPs could try and have a meeting with their party leader without scampering off to their mates in the press two minutes later calling it a fucking shambles, saying it’s the last straw and claiming that this time, unlike every other time, it’s going to be the end.
  • It could be worth a try for people not to ask anyone who doesn’t endorse full communism by tomorrow teatime to join the fucking Tories. Go on, give it a bloody go.
  • Let’s try and listen to each other. You know, rather than barking louder and louder at each other.
  • Realise that we have both massively fucked up. We’ve caused this problem and we need to do something about it.
  • Recognise that it wasn’t Corbyn’s fault he was elected, but the failure of the Labour Party to come up with an actually decent candidate. Blame those other three hapless twits if you have to but don’t blame who won and imagine it’s just a silly phase that party members have to be talked out of. If you wanted to win you should have put up someone good. Now fucking get on with it.
  • Recognise that Jeremy Corbyn is a bit flaky and used to knock about with Gerry Adams (I say used to, but you know) in the Bad Old Days, and has shared platforms with people who are a bit iffy, and that this tends to put people off. Maybe the best way of ameliorating this isn’t to claim some massive conspiracy but to quietly and sensibly jettison people who are completely and utterly toxic.
  • Understand that even if Jeremy Corbyn is a bit flaky and used to knock about with Gerry Adams and has links with Stop The War who have links with someone who once had links with someone who once had links with someone who’s antisemitic, it’s not massively helpful to keep trying to get rid of him when there’s no-one any good to take over. Remember those three twats who were up against him? RIght. Some soldier who once lived in the north of England, or some MP who once told Diane Abbott to fuck off, or some bloke who made a speech once but has failed at everything else he’s ever done, or some bloke who got beaten by his brother and fucked off to America, aren’t your saviours.
  • Notice that, yes, the media are a bunch of bubble-obsessed arseholes who want to wreck things, and they prefer easy and simple stories to difficult narratives, and, yes, they’re arseholes. But they’re the only arseholes we’ve got. They’re never going to love Labour. Never. But that doesn’t mean you need to actively piss them off all the time, for no good reason.
  • Remember that the good hacks of Westminster are not your mates. They’re not on your side and they never will be. There’s no point trying to cosy up to them now in the hope of jam tomorrow. There will be no jam. There will only be pain and despair. You just have to try and make it as good as it can be.

Anyway, that’s just some ideas. Let’s all be mates, yeah?

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2016 in Uncategorized