By Ben Pensant
It goes without saying the progressive left were overjoyed when brown-skinned 33-year-old TV personality Jameela Jamelia recently came out as a bender. Her story had everything: victimhood, diversity, and the kind of craven kowtowing to internet lynch mobs guaranteed to delight Bottom Inspectors everywhere. Indeed, Jamelia’s decision to tell the world that she likes fannies as much as cocks – prompted by the justified outrage that greeted the announcement of her new job presenting a talent show for gays or something – was veritable catnip to the modern left.
Jameela, of course, is everyone’s favourite brown-skinned 33-year-old presenter-cum-actress-cum-joyless campaigner for human rights, in particular the human rights of brown-skinned 33-year-olds called Jameela. As a result she finds every aspect of the Trumpian Brexity wasteland of 2020 grossly offensive; her dedication to rooting out problematic behaviour so thorough she not only wakes up outraged but is permanently offended in her sleep, as the binman she reported last week for calling her a ‘stroppy cunt’ during a dream knows all too well.
For the last few years courageous Jameela has been electrifying social media with her unique blend of constant finger-wagging and principled narcissism. In other words: scolding women she doesn’t like for not doing feminism properly and reminding everyone how awful it is to be a beautiful brown-skinned 33-year-old in a middle-aged white man’s world.
She also enjoys impressing faceless online language monitors by haranguing people for using terms she only found out were offensive yesterday. Her most recent attempt at policing words came when she objected to the hyper-problematic phrase ‘blind spot’, having learnt hours earlier that it was deeply triggering to people who cant see, acne-ridden teenagers, and vulnerable Dalmatians (especially trans ones). Word on the woke grapevine is that the brown-skinned 33-year old has spent the last twelve minutes sticking up for both the hearing impaired and the sub-Saharan wild cat community by urging her Twitter followers to boycott Barnsley rockers Def Leopard.
For such acts of bravery – combined with her sterling work fighting for the poor and the ugly by reminding them how pretty and privileged she is – Jameela has become something of a woke figurehead: the Lena Durham it’s okay to have a wank over. So if ever a celebrity deserved to be showered with victim points for coming out as non-binary, it was our Jameela. I mean, just look at her: she’s brown, 33, hates JK Rowland, and spends her life gleefully promoting the same banal platitudes promoted by Lena before she was deservedly cancelled for defending a man accused of rape and stuffing one too many pebbles up her infant sister’s arsehole.
All in all, Jameela’s announcement had the progressive world in a frenzy, and rightly so as there’s nothing we love more than knowing there’s one less straight person in the world. However, it pains me to say this but it seems my fellow leftists have got this one spectacularly wrong. Because as much as I want it to be true I just can’t believe that the brown-skinned 33-year old is genuinely lesbonic. Something smells fishy, and it isn’t Jameela’s fingers.
Why don’t I believe her? How long have you got? First off, she showed a complete lack of respect for SJW ethics when she bowed to the mob. Not the bowing itself, obviously – that’s to be applauded. No, it was the way she sullied the glorious tradition of caving in to social media outrage by following it up with a big-boned lie. All the brown-skinned 33-year-old had to do was issue an insincere apology, promise never to be naughty again, and agree to Do Better by attending seminars on gender, race, and Doing Better After Acting Like An Alt-Right Tit. Job done.
But no, Jameela had to spoil herself by falsely claiming to be a lezza sex-dyke, offending true liberals everywhere with her brazen cultural appropriation of lezza sex- dykery. “How do you know it’s false?” I hear you cry. Glad you asked. Shame you need someone to do your homework but what the hell – how amazing it must be to be so privileged you’re completely unaware of the cast-iron evidence proving conclusively that Jameela is about as gay as ISIS. Because to understand why she is lying you need only look to the brown-skinned 33-year-old’s choice of co-star in vile pro-Christian Amazon ‘drama’ The Good Life. Yes, I’m talking about syrup-wearing barman and serial rapist Charles Danson.
This monster needs no introduction but let’s just say his friendship with the Clintons does nothing to mask his career-long quest to spread vile right-wing propaganda through the medium of television ‘comedy’. Having spent the ’70s and ’80s molesting Shelly Winters as happy-go-lucky serial rapist Sam Maloney in Taxi, he moved on to his most vile creation yet: playing an even more revolting version of himself in fellow baldy Larry Davidson’s Islamophobic shitcom Seinfeld.
Even worse, white Danson was once in a mentally abusive relationship with African-American Whoopi Goldblum, the bigoted slaphead mocking his poor girlfriend at the notorious Friar Tuck’s Roast when he blacked up to humiliate the marginalised Ghostbusters star for the amusement of his toxic male buddies. Yet now we’re expected to accept that a card-carrying queer woman would choose to not only work but be friends with such an animal? Seriously? Clearly Jameela was a right-wing wolf in intersectional clothing all along. I bet she isn’t even brown. Or 33.
I don’t believe her for a second, and neither should any other self-respecting progressive. For these are dangerous, divisive times and we need fascist provocateurs masquerading as brown-skinned 33-year-old lesbians like we need more white men nominated for Oscars. Having said that, I’m nothing if not open-minded. So in the interests of fairness, I’ll happily believe Jameela’s a queer if she can provide me with a video of Kirsten Bell squirting in her face.
Over to you, JJ.
Sadly, she’s not the only celebrity to make headlines this month for stepping out of their lane and pretending to be something they’re not. Indeed, it’s becoming somewhat fashionable to mock the oppressed by jumping on their bandwagon to curry favour with the woke world, a disgraceful trend which must be stopped. Because impersonating a minority without direct experience of the hardships they’ve endured is about as insulting as you can get, almost as insulting as telling a transwoman she isn’t a real lady.
So forgive me for not joining in with the bonhomie around ageing Loose Women presenter Paul Schofield ‘bravely’ coming out as a gay last week. Don’t get me wrong, this frank admission by married father-of-two Schofield should be a cause for celebration, as nothing excites modern libs more than knowing there’s one less nuclear family in the world. But the manner in which the silver-maned star told the world he’s gay – and more importantly, his disgraceful behaviour last December – strongly suggests that all is not as it seems. Something’s a bit ‘funny’ about Schofield, and it’s not the way he stirs his tea.
Because in keeping some key details to himself the effeminate presenter committed one of the great cardinal sins of the 22nd century: he didn’t give the full story to people on the internet. Y’know, the folk who actually matter. It speaks volumes about his white male entitlement that he thinks it’s acceptable to publicly declare his homosexuality without satisfying every nosey bastard on Twitter by answering personal questions like: How long his wife has known? Does he have a boyfriend? Is he a top or a bottom? How many policeman has he rimmed on Hampstead Heath?
As if this wasn’t egregious enough, when you look back at decrepid Schofield’s behaviour before December’s rigged election it’s clear to anyone with half a Gender Studies degree that he left out those intimate details because its all one big lie: he isn’t gay and anyone who thinks he is hasn’t been paying attention. Because nice, liberal, homosexual Schofe is a Tory. And as every principled left-winger knows, there’s no such thing as a gay Tory.
Sure, there are right-wing bumboys everywhere, such as hateful posh racist Douglas Murryfield and his partner in grime, rubbish satirist Andrew Doylem. But a cursory glance at their problematic output reveals that these two numpties are nothing more than a pair of cute pencil cases: pink and warm on the outside but cold and blue within. Indeed, it’s highly unlikely these two are same-sex aroused at all, their love of gay romps fuelled not by attraction to men but because it gifts them a free pass to degrade poor black rentboys and flaunt their privilege by stuffing crumpled fivers up the unlucky hustlers’ arseholes.
And in case any right-wing trolls are wondering how exactly I know that Schofield is a Tory: he took a selfie with Boris Johnston. A selfie. You don’t engage in such worryingly chummy behaviour with a politician unless you’re intending to vote for him. As anyone who’s been paying attention knows, Jeremy Corbyn is the only politician with the moral fibre and all round decency to have his photo taken with unsavoury characters despite not liking them, agreeing with them, or having the slightest clue who they are.
And speaking of the Angel of Islington, if anyone’s still in any doubt that Schofield is as blue as they come, I suggest taking a look at the disgraceful interview he conducted with the Greatest Prime Minister Britain Never Had back in December. Only a full-blown Tory would refuse to kiss St Jezza’s arse in such a shocking, disrespectful manner. Schofield doesn’t know how lucky he is – if Labour had won the election he’d have been bundled on to the first plane to Iran and swinging from a crane before his rainbow crocs hit the tarmac. Let’s see how many homophobic Tories want their picture taken with the duplicitous 77-year-old when he’s lying in a hospital broom cupboard dying of AIDS. It’s all fun and games impersonating a gay until their signature disease strikes you down too.
Still, in the interests of fairness and equality, I’m more than happy to be proven wrong if presented with conclusive proof of Schofield’s gayness. In fact, I’ll gladly accept it if someone shows me a video of Rylan Clarke-Neil spunking on Phil’s hair.
Bring it on, lads.