Hey women! Don’t read news, here’s a picture of a cat in a car.

This is the news!

This is the news that crawls into your bed at night trying to top and tail ‘like cousins’.

This is the news punching into your ear and whispering ‘cream me’.

This is the news, entering you with its sexy unsheathed facts.

This is The Mail.


Women! Have some crap! You like crap. Stupid women.

Today, I would like to do something different. I would like to talk about FEMAIL.

In the midst of the sweaty masculine testicles of the Daily Mail’s NEWS and SPORT sections comes the sweet sexy stench of HRT in the form of FEMAIL magazine. FEMAIL is The Daily Mail’s women distraction weapon, like a deer attached to a piece of string hugging a grumpy human baby.

We all know that women’s eyes are too fragile to look at NEWS, because women are soft and rubbish and should be really be giving birth or sowing or something. The Mail knows this too. So to stop women from having to suffer the unique agony of tiny jellied explosions in their skulls because Nick Clegg found some stuff in a bin, someone on staff at the Mail invented FEMAIL. Covering such varied and current topics as women who are aging, older ladies who love cats and womb bags in their twilight years discussing cashmere onesis, FEMAIL magazine is the one thing I always wished for: a window into the mind of posh weirdos with shriveled boobies.

FEMAIL is filled with all the lovely mindless crap we all know women love, Fred Basset cartoons, articles about weaponized cats attacking ex-lovers, horoscopes, partially dead hamsters sat on pretty bits of wood, fabric with pictures on it. They even dedicate two pages to different types of bow. It all feels a bit like a dying 50+ trying to reconnect with his ex-wife by buying her a deep fat fryer and asking her do a puzzle with him.

I could have lived without knowing that Kiki Dee is happy she didn’t have children.

And all of that comes before we get to Sarah Vine.


Imagine Richard Littlejohn with the ability to create offspring while constantly babbling in aggressive rhetoric about facials and ghosts and ‘women’s issues’. Sarah Vine looks like a wine-addicted divorcee who’s only recent whiff of a relationship was appearing on ‘Dinner Date’ and losing because she looks like a cross-dressing warlock. I can’t even be nice and say that she probably owns cats, you can see in her eyes that she snaps the backs of kittens for a lark.

On a daily basis Vine dishes out advice on ‘why life is a risk you have to take‘, ‘why spitting on Morrisons shoppers is fine…‘ and ‘How to batter your face with chemicals until it looks either youthful or vague‘ and it’s always fucking nonsense. Here are some samples:

1) Why life is a risk you have to take – If you’re not born, you can’t nab a rich husband. You’d just be a poor pre-corpse.

2) Why you need to smash the wrinkles of off your smarmy eyes – Men don’t marry wrinkles

3) Why women were better in the 50s – We knew our place. Behind our men.

It’s this mess of useless tosh that worries me more than The Cancer or The Terrorists or The Polish. The fact that even the dedicated women’s section of the Mail reinforces the idea of the women as a second class citizen I find exceptionally depressing. I’ve heard they’ll be releasing a section aimed at foreigners (Immailgrant) to be filled with articles like ‘why I loved leaving the UK’.

Anyone taking the advice of this women should be spayed, as a race we can do without them.

On a separate note, I’m really starting to think Vine and LittleJohn are the same person, check out the mirrored poses on their official photos:


Elderly hide illness so they won’t be a burden – I can’t help but think they aren’t doing enough, killing themselves would make sure of it.

Could Pakistan give Saudis nuclear weapons? – Well, Christmas IS coming! 

photo (11)


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