The R word isn’t funny. Stop using it.

[trigger warning]

Hi there. I am “on Twitter”, and I fully admit I spend too much time “on Twitter”. Whilst it is a very good source for news and current events and whatnot (and in my case, absurd humour), it is also a simultaneously fascinating and horrifying insight into the minds of many people.

Something practised by many is to search Twitter for a string of text, and then retweet relevant tweets. This could be a phrase or typo (e.g. “fuck you dad”), often accompanied by a hashtag. The general idea is to highlight the predictability or idiocy of a group of people.

Today, Wikipedia “blacked out” in protest of  SOPA, informing millions of people of how terrible it is and why it will destroy the internet as we know it. Additionally, it raised awareness about SOPA. (This will be the only joke in this post.)

This gave rise to the hashtag #ThingsBetterThanSOPA on Twitter. That seems harmless enough right?

I felt sick.* I still do.

I really do not like SOPA. It is a shitty piece of legislation, ill-thought out and will have disastrous consequences if passed in its current and probably any form.

I am also by no means any kind of authority on sexual assault. I can’t remember any facts or statistics. I haven’t read any books or written any papers. I have not suffered it. I am extremely happy that, to my knowledge, nobody I know has suffered it. And I sure as hell hope it stays that way.

Now, consider, for a moment, someone’s body being used in ways I don’t want to think about against their consent. And apparently it is “funny” to consider that “Well, hoo boy, this sucks but I sure am glad the Stop Online Piracy Act didn’t get passed!” might be the thought that pops into their head. That they don’t need to go to counselling because they can still watch dumb dubstep remixes on YouTube. That they aren’t totally fucked up in the head because the fucking Pirate Bay still exists.

“But it’s just a jo–” STOP RIGHT THERE. It isn’t. Even if, for a far too large number of people, the word “rape” is their instant go-to catchphrase for when they can’t think of anything else. Far from the definition of wit.

I’m not just saying “stop making crap jokes about rape”. You should not even be trying to make a “good” or “witty” “joke” about it, because you cannot, because rape is not funny. It diminishes the suffering of survivors, makes it that much harder for them to be believed and taken seriously.  By “joking” about rape, you are validating the rapist’s actions. By “joking” about rape, you are effectively saying that you are glad that rape happens, and that someone has raped, and that someone has been raped, just so you can make your shitty little “joke”. This is but a small part of rape culture.

What part of the psychological trauma is “hilarious” to you?

Where is the “comedy” in the stripping of someone’s humanity?

The “humour” of being reduced to an object whose sole purpose is to fulfil the pleasure of someone who has absolutely no concern for your well-being now or later?

It’s not really that funny when you put it in these those terms, is it? That said, I have absolutely no doubt that there are those who will read this, and think “Hyuck hyuck, it totally is.” Awesome! Really edgy of you! Fantastic job! I can’t wait to hear your one liners about black people and homosexuals and Muslims and the disabled! You are totally original and nobody has ever before come up with your unique brand of “shock humour”, which provides us with an incisive perspective of society and takes these privileged minorities down a peg or two.

For those less thoughtless, I implore you to call others out on it. Don’t just ignore it for the sake of avoiding “awkwardness”. I expect that such “awkwardness” is trivial for a survivor, very possibly a sufferer of PTSD as a result, who is constantly reminded of their ordeal just so you can have a cheap laugh.

Rape is not funny.

Extended reading: I recommend this post if you want to know more. I just wanted to get this out of my system, even though my opinion on this has little value. This post was mostly written at past 3am, so it may not make a whole bunch of sense. And here’s a very concise post on why rape jokes should not be encouraged. I also strongly suggest having a browse through the “Rape Culture” section here.

*I’d like to also point out that the person was retweeting these for the same reason I’m writing this post, not because he found them “funny”.

On The Media And Their Ethics

Foreword: I am not a writer. Apologies if this doesn’t read particularly well, but it’s something that I want to get off my shrimpy, hairless chest.

Rupert Murdoch is a piece of shit. Paul Dacre is also a piece of shit.
Everyone who works for them are subordinate pieces of shit themselves. Maybe not so large, but still accountable.

Everything they write and produce is a piece of shit and the methods they’ve gone to in order to obtain stories, about which nobody should give the slightest slither of shit, make me want to throw up every bodily fluid possible, and create a temporal rift in my organs so I can draw up liquids from my bodies in alternate dimensions and expunge those, too.

Here’s the website for the Leveson inquiry and a choice quote from @IndexLeveson, which has been live tweeting it:

Sun asked her [Anne Diamond] to be involved in cot death campaign, said she’d look bad if she didn’t cooperate. Diamond: “emotionally blackmailed”

Anne Diamond is an English television presenter and writer, who lost her child to cot death. Also writes columns for the Daily Mail, but I’ll let that slide as  I wouldn’t wish cot death upon anyone, or to be smothered by the press and newspa-

Diamond says within one hour of finding her son dead, she and husband “besieged” with paps and reporters outside house.

Fucking hell.

There’s so much of it. So, so much, that you just grow numb. Obviously, it could be argued that this is simply a side effect of the “free press”, but there’s a difference between saying what you like, and invading people’s privacy with no regards for the consequences.

“But what about the Press Complaints Commission?”, I hear you cry. “Surely there’s an independent body to prevent all this happening?”



The PCC is a self-regulatory body. If a paper decides that it isn’t happy with the PCC, it can withdraw (like The Daily Star has threatened to). So, essentially, it’s opt-in.

And it’s chaired by Paul. Fucking. Dacre. The same Paul Dacre who edits the Daily Mail, the same paper which wants you to believe that gay Muslim communist pinko liberal terrorists are “raping are kids”, “murdering are brave boyz” and “steeling are jobs”.

A self-regulated, opt-in body which is chaired by a cheerleader for hatred and backwards traditionalist, nationalist thinking. This is all that stands between the British press and gutting people’s (famous or otherwise) private lives, relentlessly and without guilt, and nailing the innards to their front door for all to see, and convincing the public to lap up the blood and faeces that drips down to the doorstep, coalescing in a rancid pool of bile and vitriol.

And when you call them out on it?

An insufferable, undeniably smug grin slowly creeps its way across the pale, soulless visage of the gutter media, and it wrenches four words from the English language, as it has become so horrifically efficient at, and twists and bruises and dissects these four words until they conform to the meaning that they want and know their readers want to infer. The words limp out of the terrible mouthpiece, burdened by the chains of misinterpretation bestowed upon them:

Freedom of the press.

I’m sorry, this is the second pair of socks I’ve soaked in vomit today, I must go change them. Or maybe mail them to Theresa May, with a note saying I tried to transcribe one of her speeches and this was the result.

Here’s a picture of a pug to make up for the terribly written melodrama above, courtesy of

In the beginning

In the beginning, there was a guy and he was bored on the internet and he was also encouraged by a friend so he made this.

So that’s a thing.

This might be a cool thing, it might be a shitty thing, it might be a cool shitty thing. A cool shitty thing like a ninja breaking into your house then taking a dump in your fridge.

This will pretty much be that last sentence over and over in varying forms.

Welcome to the Dr. Shitfuck experience. I’m hoping it’ll be a little better than Hitler.