The End Of The News Of The World Is A Beautiful Thing

A lying, hypocritical, bigoted, prejudiced, reductive, money-grubbing, scum-sucking shit-rag: so long NotW...
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It’s not that we haven’t known for decades that the News Of The World was a lying, hypocritical, bigoted, prejudiced, reductive, money-grubbing, scum-sucking shit-rag of a two-bit whore that gleefully spun itself around on the Viagra-woodened cock of the Devil . We did always know that.1

But it’s just that we didn’t know that so many other people were unaware of it and so seem somewhat surprised at the recent revelations.

And it’s not that we didn’t already know that if there is an orgy at which the invited participants are tabloid newspaper owners, tabloid newspaper editors, tabloid hacks, corrupt policemen, fame-hungry celebrities, hypocritical members of the public and power-loving and fear-sodden politicians, then the end result is bound to be a writhing mass of diseased flesh as people brutally compete to see who can be most thoroughly fucked into the ugliest state of moral depravity. That, as well, I think we already knew.

But what we didn’t know was that the whole orgy was being filmed and taped and noted, and that instead of being locked in the secret drawer of an oak writing desk in a flat in Mayfair (a la any self-disrespecting Sixties scandal), in this case the evidence would out.

And little did we guess that the controversial horror film, The Human Centipede, was actually a metaphor for the relationship between tabloid proprietor, editor, journalist. The film, you may know, depicts three people surgically stitched together, mouth to anus, forming a ‘human centipede’; so as the first person defecates into the mouth of the second, the second is forced to eat it and defecate into the mouth of the third. And so on and so disgustingly forth.

Hold onto that image (and your lunch)… and now picture the relationship between Rupert Murdoch, Rebekah Brooks and any NOTW journalist - let‘s call him ‘Hackford’. See any difference? No, neither do we. (Well, apart from the fact that the one in the middle hasn’t got long curly ginger hair…) The only thing missing is the presence of a fourth person, representing the News of the World reader, stitched onto the anus of the journalist. What better metaphor for the chain of command and ‘information flow’ than this.

A friend recently described the implosion at The News Of The World as ‘a fucking beautiful thing’ and a fucking beautiful thing it indeed and undoubtedly is. Beautiful to see Daddy Murdoch, Little Jimmy Bob Murdoch, Ginger Spite and all the NOTW journalists get their protection racket exposed and their party game so thoroughly spoiled.

So now we know that when Cameron said we are all in this together, what he actually meant was that we are all in a great steaming creek of hot shit, the source of which is the sewer pipes of his media chums.

And the party game they’ve been playing for so long is one that you’ve probably played yourself as a child. Remember that moment at a kid’s party when you all sat around to pass the parcel - and, in a pleasingly apposite detail, often the parcel would be wrapped in layers and layers of newspaper? The difference is that the Murdoch Party parcel contained at its centre not a present but a scrunched-up ball of cold hard cash - chilled like the heart of a lettuce, just out of the fridge - and it was then wrapped in layers of human misery within layers of lies within layers of bullying within layers of abuse within layers of exploitation within layers of hypocrisy within layers of fear within layers of threats.

Oh, and there were two more things inside it - a small but powerful explosive device on a timer and a very tightly packed sack of human shit.

Then the music ended and the kids left fighting over the parcel were the kids everyone most disliked - Rupert (Jesus! What’s wrong with this kid, why can’t he play nicely with others?), Rebekah (shame, seemed like a nice girl and then made some horrible friends), and Hackford (poor little Hackford, just wants to fit in with the bullies).

Little wonder we cheered when the parcel exploded and, in this Grimm moral fable/party metaphor crossover, Rupert Bear was left picking crap out of his comb-over, Mummy Bear’s orange wavy fur was clogged and clotted with steaming effluence and Baby Hack-Bear’s little face was so blackened with bowel rot that he looked like he’d fallen asleep on an oven ring.

Hopefully all these revelations will strengthen the barricades of the irreplaceable BBC. Remember, only two years ago, Little Jimmy Murdoch was giving a MacTaggart media lecture suggesting the BBC had to be cut down to size (presumably this moral midget meant by his and his daddy’s hands). He also said UK broadcasters were as dreary as ‘the Addams Family’, shaming himself twice for displaying his ignorance of the delightfully erotic dynamic between Morticia and Gomez and the great original cartoons of Charles Addams.2

David Cameron obediently agreed with Jim, finding it delicious that the BBC would be cut. He seems to be wilfully blind to the fact that the BBC is a once in a lifetime diamond-find that needs and deserves to be defended to the death from the likes of him and the robber barons who would crowbar it free from it’s setting, smash it to bits with a hammer and then replace it with a big piece of shiny plastic sponsored by Shiny McPlastic Plastics Ltd.

And if a Clint Eastwood western was remade with Murdoch, Murdoch jnr and Brooks in the starring roles, it would have to be re-titled ‘The Ugly, The Ugly & The Ugly’

I think its far more delicious that Cameron has readily associated with Rebekah Brooks and so rigorously defended his appointment of former NOTW editor Andrew Coulson - and, boy, after a threesome like that there must be a heck of a fight between them for the mouthwash.

So now we know that when Cameron said we are all in this together, what he actually meant was that we are all in a great steaming creek of hot shit, the source of which is the sewer pipes of his media chums.

The state of self-denial is a powerful and sometimes psychologically needed response. How else can we explain Louis Walsh and Robert Mugabe’s lack of desire to immediately kill themselves. Or Donald Trump’s belief that his hair doesn’t look like murdered Weetabix. So, it's not that when the Murdochs and Brooks go to work every day and they have to swim through an infinitely long ditch deep in human waste that surprises us. And it's not that when they do the Dirty Digger Doggy-paddle through the muck they're all wearing wet suits and oxygen tanks to insulate them from the stench (I’d expect them to protect themselves from physically engaging with the toxins they peddle).

No, what really galls is that they genuinely do seem to deludedly think, at the end of each day, when they are being hosed down free of turds by the powerful spray of the Corporate Money Hose, that it leaves them smelling of roses rather than stinking of sewage.

If they were rendered as cartoons, they would all have their own cloud of flies. And if a Clint Eastwood western was remade with Murdoch, Murdoch jnr and Brooks in the starring roles, it would have to be re-titled ‘The Ugly, The Ugly & The Ugly’.3

But don’t worry, just as one pus-filled boil is lanced and the discharge ebbs away, another one starts to fester and grow… in the form of the proposed Sunday edition of The Sun. For some odd reason it will be called The Sun on Sunday rather than More Brutally Ugly Moral Bankruptcy.

So, while you can, enjoy the lull before the next storm of shit.

1. As far back as 1988/89, News International reporters where posing as junior doctors to try get medical records and photos of a dying Russell Harty and also loudly promoting lies about the Hillsborough disaster.

2. Pleasingly, the fictional biography of the Addams Family is titled ‘An Evilution’ (that is, the evolution of evil)

3. Or perhaps ‘A Fistful Of Bastards’

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