November 04, 2004

Cowards!

All of you.

Miranda has had her blog taken offline because of your immature harassment and personal attacks.

You attack Miranda simply because she symbolises something you cannot understand, and thus choose to hate. You attack her because she disagrees with you.

Grow up and learn to act like adults. Miranda’s body image and sexuality have nothing to do with this. There are just as many people (if not more) like her in this respect on your side of politics.

You hate Miranda because she represents a woman who refuses to fit into your stereotypical moulds. One who is conservative, but independent rather than submissive. One who is intelligent but not in love with your bankrupt feminist ideology.

If you disagree with Miranda’s ideas, don’t attack her personally, try and constructively challenge her ideas. Shooting the messenger does nothing to change the substance of the message.

1. Miranda is riding an emotional rollercoaster!
First, the poor lass bursts into tears when Michael Danby raises his voice at her. Bless. Then she un-blogs in a fit of shrill pique.

Dare we suggest that if you’re going to paint yourself as a Bridget-Jones-meets-Paris-Hilton-type preening sluttox with chutzpah to burn, you don’t switch off your blog after five left-wingers post comments? Okay.

2. Muddled reasons!
I don’t hate Miranda because she ‘represents a woman who refuses to fit into my stereotypical moulds’. I hate her because she is an ugly ignorant cunt.

Also. I am loving so hard that I have a bankrupt feminist ideology right now.

3. Pot! Kettle! Fucktard!
Perhaps if A-B herself attempted to constructively challenge ideas instead of blindly barrelling in and tarring lesbians with her giant ignoramus brush, we would be keen to engage her. As it is, she is a heinously idiotic breeder who rather unfortunately chooses to be photographed next to horses she resembles. And within the next couple of days I will cease to post about her, because frankly the notion of a finger-pointing slapsies with Joel Parsons and Proud to be Right bores me more than a Dido record. Although they do refer to me as ‘trendy’. Which. Rules.

Oh, Joel, you delightful bucket of man-spunk, you. Where, oh, where to begin?

“Miranda has had her blog taken offline because of your immature harassment and personal attacks.”

Or is it simply, as the French would say, “if you can’t stand the heat”?

“You attack Miranda simply because she symbolises something you cannot understand, and thus choose to hate. You attack her because she disagrees with you.”

Oh, no, dear boy, oh no no no no no. We attack her for so much more than that. We hate her because we DO understand her — and she doesn’t just symbolise that which we hate, she embodies it, epitomises it, she puts it in her pipe and blows smoke rings proclaiming it. (Or at least she did, until we scared her off the Internet and she ran back to the stables, clutching a kerchief dramatically to her forehead.)

“You hate Miranda because she represents a woman who refuses to fit into your stereotypical moulds.”

You what now? Such delusions. She fits EXACTLY into a stereotypical mould — and it’s hardly our fault that the mould was broken before she got there. Jilly Cooper, Pandora Braithwaite, ‘I-want-a-pony-NOW-Daddy, and thank god I have a boyfriend to keep those hairy lesbians away from me’? Don’t be jumping into the deep end of the gender politics pool until you’ve at least seen a real live naked lady, Joel, my dear, sweet child.

“If you disagree with Miranda’s ideas, don’t attack her personally, try and constructively challenge her ideas.”

Such a shame, then, that her ideas lasted only half a day under our scrutiny.

Listen, bub. We’re happy to attack her ideas — you just be sure to let us know when she has one. And in the meantime, we’ll continue attacking her for being a genuinely, sincerely, bowel-clenchingly AWFUL PERSON.

Seriously — ‘I am woman. Here me whinny. This is my blog, these are my principles, here are my hateful spiteful ill-informed politics. But don’t make fun of me because it might hurt my feelings and my little friend who loves God nearly as much as he loves John Grisham will be forced to spring nobly to my defence.’ Fuck off back to the 1950s, you blithering conservitwat.

[You’ll regret opening this can, Joel, and unleashing the nasty, devil-spawn worms therein. Take a moment to imagine the adoration and love you would have received if you’d simply posted thus: “Miranda was a delicious fake, and I, Joel, invented her! Love me! Love me! Drench me with your hot, wet praise!”]