The Decline of News Media

Is it any wonder that the old guard of News Media is panicked for it’s future at the moment? The internet has come along and brought with it easy access to multiple sources of news and relatively easy access to primary sources. This has ripped open the editorialising of Broadcast and Print Media. Their biases and editorial decisions can be easily discerned with a rudimentary google search. This has eroded trust in them and lead to a decline in readership and viewership. Their reaction to this, rather than to clean themselves up, has been to double down, add in flashy new graphics, seek alternative and often sleazy sources of income (native marketing) and cut funding to investigative journalism the one thing still providing any kind of justification for their existence. So I say fuck ’em. Clean up or clear out.


Is any wonder, that the news media is dying,

when time and time and time again,

they’re caught out lying.

Wearing all their biases, clearly on their wrists,

support for all the powerful,

and death to any who resists.

But the emperor’s prick is showing, flapping in the wind,

and I tell you it’s no wonder,

newspapers are getting binned.

News relies on trust, and dies when it’s gone,

but they never learn a thing,

going on and on.

Keeping hidden agendas, and beholden to wealthy owners,

news is not paid for by readers,

but by private donors.

So if you cannot trust them, to provide what’s true,

what use are they any way?

Fuck ’em, let’s find something new.



Sky News Sunday 12th

I’m still trying to get a bearing on what happened in Orlando on Sunday morningn, both emotionally and mentally. The situation touches on so many issues and fault lines, and is just such a pointless and brutal act that it’s hard to feel anything other than shock. Something I have managed to get a handle on though, is what happened on Sky News that night. Which was Owen Jones getting steam rolled and talked down to by  Mark Longhurst and Julia Hartley-Brewer as they attempted to appropriate the anger and sorrow of the LGBTQ community in a textbook example of cis white privilege.


The bodies have barely lost their heat,

the dance floor is still covered in blood,

and the snakes can’t help but to entreat,

and scramble to steal victimhood,

to steal the mantle of shock and sadness,

from the world’s LGTBQ community.

To spread more fear, hatred and madness.

the very fuel of this travesty, this tragedy,

this insult to humanity.


If You Buy The Daily Mail You Are Willfully Feeding Evil

While writing this I saw a Facebook post about something awful in the Daily Mail and thought to myself “what a coincidence”, but on second thought, nah, what an inevitability. It is a fucking awful rag.



Contortion of statistics.

promotion of mystics,

silencing of ethics,

and demonising critics,

Selling of cosmetics,

by attacking women’s aesthetics.

Dishonesty will always prevail,

when you read the Daily Mail.


Remember when this country was great,

the calling card for rallying hate.

Blame inequalities on the vulnerable,

protect and apologise for the culpable.

There’s always a problem with Asians or Blacks,

the everyday reporting of racist hacks.

Take it to heart,

whiter than a shade of pale,

is still to dark for the Daily Mail.


Playing on the fears

of those living in arrears,

pushing hatred of migrants and queers,

scaremongering the EU with smears,

snapping mourners tears,

and at struggling youth sneers.

Pass Farage another ale,

scraping the barrel with the Daily Mail.


Watch out for this evil pedophile,

maintain the ‘we’re different’ denile.

Take a gawk at looking good Jojo (15),

and our exclusive countdown ’til Hermione turns eighteen.

Tell women what kind of man to love,

and that there’s another body part to be ashamed of.

All part of the toxic tale,

printed every day in the Daily Mail.

Christmas Comes In Twelves.

As your Christmas unwinds,

prepare for the listicle grind,

of twelve of a kind,

from a media unrefined.


The twelve pubs,

the twelve worst snubs

the twelve best meat rubs,

the twelve cutest cubs.


The twelve most christmassy cakes,

the twelve calmest lakes,

the twelve hottest Jakes,

the twelve most effective rakes.


The twelve most festive tipples,

the twelve weirdest celebrity nipples,

the twelve most concentric ripples,

the twelve most inspirational cripples.


The twelve most chocolatey chocolates,

the twelve most mullety mullets,

the twelve most scariest plummets,

the twelve most vaginal gullets.


The twelve most christmassy jumpers,

the twelve most rockin’ fist pumpers,

the twelve cutest pictures of Bambi and thumper,

the twelve bravest men who found testicular lumpers.


The twelve loveliest Christmas family portraits,

the twelve least navigable straights,

the twelve worst ways to conjugate,

the twelve best ways to ovulate.


Twelve Christmas kittens,

twelve ways to knit mittens,

twelve unusual citrons,

twelve Z-list celebrity Britons.


The twelve most nostalgic movies,

the twelve best Premier League newbies,

the twelve biggest sets of wag’s boobies,

and twelve child actors holding doobies.


Twelve delicious Christmas dinners,

twelve Nobel award winners,

twelve toothless grinners,

twelve famous plate spinners.


twelve people to watch in the new year,

twelve ways to festive up your beer,

twelve of the cutest deer,

twelve ways to force Christmas cheer.


Twelve stages of crushing ennui,

twelve ways to be bourgeoisie,

twelve things someone should remind me,

twelve places I’d rather be.







Henchmen Are People Too

He burns and mars,
and cuts, and murders.
Leaving men with scars,
homes without fathers.

The crowd whooping and cheering,
on their feet punch the air,
as the hero beats henchmen
– a species now quite rare.

He stalks and prowls,
now growing closer,
snarls and growls,
eyes growing bolder.

Bursts into the room,
door blown asunder.
Villain senses doom,
Punches hit like thunder

Villain left alive,
A hero so righteous.
Seems a henchman’s life
– doesn’t matter the slightest.