Slag Party

JK and friends waiting for the 355, last Sunday.

By Ben Pensant

They say a picture paints a thousand words. But the recent picture of the most evil people on earth gorging on lobster and fine wine in an upmarket eatery while transwomen starved outside painted just one: cunts. And not just any old cunts but TERF cunts, with bad hair, shit mobiles, ugly dresses, and Cotton Oxford football boots.

Yes, I’m talking about last weekend’s instantly infamous lunch date between a trillionaire author and her coven of brutal hench-lesbians, a get together so instantly infamous it electrified social media for two whole days before everyone forgot about it. Well, everyone except me.

Needless to say, to call these vile witches ‘women’ is a stretch on par with referring to misunderstood Tory-slaying freedom fighter Ali Harper Ali as a ‘murderer’. Indeed, in an act of unabashed transphobia extreme even for this lot, a quick glance at the rollcall of drunken wenches reveals there wasn’t a single penis between them. Not even a pretend one. Jesus.

Unsurprisingly there was also a distinct lack of opposing viewpoints present. Yep, it seems these poor little snowflakes are too squeamish to sit down for a meal with principled lunatics who spend their lives calling them evil bigots and threatening to rape their smouldering corpses. So much for ‘balance’.

And not a single male feminist was there either, which speaks volumes. If they were so interested in dialogue they could have invited OJ Jones. But no, apparently a person with a penis has no right to join a discussion about people with penises, even one as accommodating as OJ, who would have happily identified as a woman for the afternoon if they insisted. (It wouldn’t have been too much of stretch, he already sits down when he goes for a piss.) But no, they decided their grubby little get together was strictly a TERFS-only affair. Despicable.

But it wasn’t just the offensive spectacle of females I disagree with eating food together that made this so deeply problematic. Because this wasn’t just any old lunch date: this was a summit to devise the most final of final solutions, like that time Kevin Branagh and Frank Gallagher went to that castle to draw up their diabolical plans to fake the holocaust.

If this sounds hyperbollock, trust me, the evidence is overwhelming. The fact that none of the people present have ever said anything hateful about trans people is irrelevant. That’s what they want you to think, dipshit. Those of us attuned to transphobic tropes are adept at reading between the lines, just like we knew David ‘Plonker’ Jason was being racist when he told that anecdote about the Queen calling a white ambassador a ‘gorilla’. So while true liberals everywhere were busy fighting misogyny and toxic masculinity, these right-wing hawks were toasting bigotry and spreading hatred. The fucking bitches.

But who exactly are these fucking bitches? Well, to put it simply: they’re TERFS. That’s all you need to know. What was discussed is irrelevant, though as I’ve already painstakingly explained, they were discussing the extermination of transwomen. They’re TERFS – discussing the extermination of transwomen is kind of what they do. But if you really must know a bit more about who was present, what they said, and whether or not their choice of outfit or smartphone was deemed acceptable to beardy woke-bros on Twitter, here is a damning who’s who? of the evil fascists in attendance…

JK ROLAND. The ringleader, in case you were wondering. There’s little I can say about this fashtastic beast that I haven’t already spent years crying and spitting venom about but needless to say, it wasn’t just her bigotry on parade last Sunday afternoon. According to eyewitnesses Roland disgraced herself early on, appropriating Italian pain by ordering pasta then talking loudly with her mouthful. (If Jessica Yavin got hold of JK down a dark alley she’d have a mouthful alright. Of cock.) Needless to say, it will surprise no-one to learn that moneybags JK left the stingiest of tips. Well Jo, if you’re reading here’s a tip for you: your books would sell more copies and burn a lot easier if you printed them on toilet paper. OUCH.

JUDY BINDEL. Like many TERFs, there was a time when Bindel made leftists swoon. Indeed, from calling for juries to be scrapped in rape trials to secretly filming people on trains eating crisps, it’s no exaggeration to say that if you took her gender critical views out of the equation she’d practically be one of us. Unfortunately her hatred of transwoman defines her as an evil fascist, as did her behaviour last weekend when she was overheard clicking her fingers at the Indian waiter and calling him ‘Sabu’. Wow, who’d have guessed that a woman hellbent on eradicating the trans species is also a vile racist?

ALISON BLACKLADY. With such a motley assortment of corrosive caucasians it was no surprise that JK invited a token POC to give the illusion of diversity, and who better to fill that role than ambulance chasing lawyer Alison, who took time out from bankrupting gay rights groups to play Auntie Tom for a gaggle of menopausal muff-divers. As you’d imagine, Alison behaved as abominably as her milky paymasters, selling out Black wxmxn everywhere by downing two bottles of white wine and steadfastly refusing to order fried chicken. Contemptible.

SUSANNE MOORE. Clearly on a high from her relentless bullying of OJ Jones, former Guardian hack Susanne let her uncultured working-class roots show upon arrival: pinching the doorman’s bum, ordering vindalooo with rice and chips, and fashioning a crude council estate cream soda by dropping a dollop of sorbet into a glass of lemonade. Needless to say, her post-meal antics were as classy as you’d expect, and on more than one occasion she was heard to break wind violently and blame it on the dog. And yes when she said ‘dog’ she meant ‘that Indian waiter’. Classy.

MAYA FORSTER. Supposed academic and the criminal mastermind who founded this legion of skanks in the first place, Maya has been in a permanent transphobic huff ever since her brave bosses peddled her for for being a Nazi. So naturally she brought her entitlement and snippiness to the dinner table, demanding to see the manager after brown sauce was placed on her fishfingers instead of next to them, and reacting to the poor Indian waiter sweeping up some grated cheddar she’d thoughtlessly dropped under her seat by calling him ‘cheese fuck’ and accusing him of squeezing her arse. Yeah right. The only thing squeezing that backside is the knackered chair she stuffed it into.

Other less notable but equally triggering guests included: loudmouthed Aussie ‘feminist’ Pam Greer, who temporarily put aside her differences with Moore so the mucky pair could bond over their mutual hatred of cross-dressing toddlers; PM’s secretary Pritstick Patel, who couldn’t wait to share some exciting news about blackmailing refugees with free holidays to Rwanda; horse-faced reactionary Katy Hopkins, who had the gruesome gang in stitches with a sterling rendition of Mike Reed’s paean to transphobia Walk on the Wild Side; racist frog Marina le Pen, who cut short her election campaign to gift her UK counterparts handstitched swastika-shaped pussy hats; and last but not least, the ghost of Maggie ‘Margaret’ Thatcher, who popped by to dish out tips on starving children to death, amusing everyone by whispering ‘Enoch was right’ every time the Indian waiter filed up her glass with freshly squeezed refugee blood.

Sadly, despite the widespread condemnation and abuse these harridans received for visiting a restaurant during a deadly pandemic, it appears they’ve already incited hordes of fascists to lace up their jackboots and organise. So while bearded progressives demonstrated their commitment to women’s rights by mocking JK’s tits, selfish menstruaters of all ages and bra-sizes took it as a free pass to gather in cafes and bierkellers across the UK to eat cake, drink wine, and beat up men in eyeliner. Anarchy, in other words, and not the good kind either.

And thanks to Bindel and co they’ll probably all end the night dancing to Dusty Springsteen and licking each other out too, with not a moment’s thought to all the women with penises such debauchery excludes and offends. Ladies that lunch? More like fascists that munch. (Fanny. As in ‘munching fanny’.)

I hope they choke on each other’s jammy-rags.

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