What do you get when you cross ‘Der Sturmer’ with ‘Playboy’…?

Why, our favourite newspaper of course!

See the logical pictoral equation below for the full demonstration:

+

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The beautiful simplicity of the world’s most deranged newspaper is that it can be as filthy and salacious as it possibly can, whilst simultaneously (at least in the eyes of its readership and editorial department) maintaining a proud, patriotic, Pro-British disposition. As if all those endless torrents of daily tits and arse stories, complete with semi-pornographic pics, are respectable items of journalism that fails to detract for a moment from the ’serious’ conservative writings of its staff.

I loved the Private Eye’s recent discussion of the Mail and its Online Edition. Apparently Paul Dacre is such a technophobe, he stays well away from the online edition of his paper and leaves it to lesser minions. I know his standards are low, but would he really approve of his online copy being so utterly drenched in quasi-porn? Actually, maybe that’s a question best left unanswered. In the world of Northcliffe House, anything seems possible.

The equation is more truthful and accurate than many people will dare to admit. Amidst the sordid stories of sex and flesh and lust, are inserted, almost daily, tales of rape and kiddy fiddling and blacks seeking out white women to abuse and destroy. No other paper goes into quite so much weird, pernicious detail as the Mail on these nasty, deliberately sought-out and spun tales. And let’s not forget it’s usual political fare – if it doesn’t feature middle class suburbanites getting stitched by the cluster of compulsory enemies (gays, the Left, women, foreigners, the EU etc) then it will be pulped before it gets to the reader.

So what is your Mail reader left with? Tits, Snatch and Fascism. A beautiful combo I’m sure, and in some cases, hardline deranged authoritarian right wing politics and sex needn’t be separated. I’m sure many a Mail reader felt subconsciously awkward at reading that Max Mosley story. Maybe it made them feel guilty. Maybe, just maybe, they decided to skip the daughter-in-the-shower spying and go tinkle with the Rover on the drive-way. Who knows. Though with every day being a Hate day, there’s plenty of time to hate and all day in which to hate some more.

Get hating Hate readers. Not much time before potatoes give you cancer and your house starts rising in price again. Enjoy!