An Ode to the Daily Mail


I'd do anything for my mother.
She brought me into this world
And she was there during those teenage years
When I was all
Hormones and acne
And now
I try to pay her back
Anyway I can
Often and without fail
Except when she asks me to go to the shops
And get her a Daily Mail.

I mean,
What if someone sees me?

I’m not religious
But I believe that one day, God
Was violently sick
And that the vomit spewed forth
In a never ending cascade,
A torrent of absolutely disgusting
Relentless upchuck
And when she finished she
Wiped her chin and said,
I’ve gone and created
The Daily Mail.

Oh thou art a putrid and filthy concoction
In those pestilential pages
A generation booms its last and softly dies
Amid sofa advertisements,
Nodding in agreement with letters to the editor,
Opinion dressed up as fact.
Your headlines are misleading,
Your logic is twisted,
You stand for an England
Which never existed.
You’re a comic with no humour
Your editorials are absurd
Peddling anecdote and rumour
And about as patriotic as a turd.

There’s a middle England somewhere,
A place of patios and pathos,
Middle class porcelain and so achingly white
Yet you wouldn’t know it because
Everyone’s so bloody crimson with rage
Because of what they read on the page
Of the Daily Mail.
The lace curtains twitch
When there’s someone in the cul de sac
Because nothing sells better
Than righteous indignation
And a subtle reassurance that
The reader’s prejudices are normal.
Anger has become performative
And inevitably, heteronormative.

Oh, Daily Mail,
Oh you rancid hate-mongers,
Oh,You peddlers of puke,
Oh, You snivelling badger-breathed scumbags,
Oh, You’re a parasite on the face of intellectual debate,
A fart in the public toilet of common decency,
A ranting screaming spitting shower of bastards
Who make
Mussolini look like the Chuckle Brothers.
I’d rather snog an electric eel
Than be seen
Carrying your stench-emitting
Saliva spitting
Sorry-assed excuse for casual racism
And institutionalised transphobia.

Oh dear!
They haven't got any,
Is what I say to the Muv
When I come back from the shops
Empty handed.
Well, she says,
It is popular.

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