All human life is there, but not Rebekah Brooks. What can that mean?

Look through all the British Sunday Newspapers this morning, and you will find a lot that is unintentionally funny – plus even more that’s disturbing. But not a whimper of outcry is raised about the impending appointment of justice perverting not-guilty sociopath media supremo Becky Wade, the spin-artist formerly known as Rebekah Brooks, to the CEO position at Newscorp. Peter Jukes and other associated journalists with a spine now face an uphill struggle to unearth the even smellier poo at the centre of King Turdoch’s Empire of Smear. But it’s a task that must and will be undertaken. Dial Murdoch for Murder: it has a certain ring to it. Mickey Spillane is long-dead, but the wise-guy colloquial prose would fit such a novel perfectly.

And of course, we must remember that such a book would only be fiction, for to suggest otherwise would represent criminal libel, and we mustn’t go there oh dear me no. One woman I always think of as a piece of fiction is our Home Secretary Theresa May, who is of course in constant communication with Rupert of the multiple nationality disorder. Indeed, on the front page of Turdoch’s flaccid organ The Sundry Chimes today he has Mrs Mayormaynot “demanding” that the EU drop its free movement of labour clause. For all kinds of other reasons, I think the clause should be incinerated too; but whereas most people think she’s setting the negotiating bar so high because she’s a daft mare, once again I tend to see Rupe the Dupe in there poking the ice-pick in Dave’s eye. The Digger loathes Cameron, and would prefer a Prime Minister displaying rather fewer Communist tendencies. And Theresa Placeforme is an ambitious nonentity with designs on choosing the Number Ten curtains one day.

Over at the Daily Wail, Dacre the Dave Impaler is also at work, splashing the MoS with a banner headline saying the military top brass all blame Cameron for the rise of Jihadism in general and ISIS in particular. That’s a bit like blaming penguins for climate change, but then Paul D’Acresofdosh is deranged and so we must expect such method in his, er, mania.

In the midst of refugee horror, liberties being baseball-battered, the Rule of Law being “screw the poor” and a hundred other corporacratic damnations, The Independent leads with a new Tory shocker: the reform of Britain’s driving regulations. It is simply more neolib privatising, job cuts and test centre closures, the end goal of which is to perhaps produce a nation of incompetent speed freaks and then sell Sky contracts offering 24/7 live coverage of the carnage. It’s all a coverage-up, I tell you. Well actually, it’s just a bloody awful lead.

corbynQtime2Best LOL of the day for me so far was The Observer’s front page attack by Moral Tone upon Jeremiah Corbynovitch, in which Bush buddy accuses the front-runner for Labour’s leadership of “living in a parallel reality”. This is roughly on the same level as Imelda Marcos accusing Mother Theresa of owning too many shoes, but it does beg the simple question about which reality failed QC Tony Blair inhabits. Is it, we wonder, a reverse or inverse reality? A perpendicular with crooked tendencies reality? A sloped playing field black hole reality? We do not know we cannot tell what pain Tony had to bear. We only know it wasn’t for us he hung on and hoovered up the money there.

And so to the tabloids. If today is anything to go by, Rupert Bearfacedliar has decided to move the tits from Page Three to page one, where ‘Tamara’ gets a boob out and tells us why she’s happy to breast feed in public. That is, to get on the front page of the Sun. It is the tabloid façon these days to only use the first names of Conference League celebs, so I’ve no idea whoTF Tamara or any of the others are. I will merely relay to you that Kym is an angel, Adele has said no to £80m, and Bobby betrayed somebody.

The other thing they have is that single-event description thing to define one’s identity in perpetuity. So a bloke dumped by the MoD after he lost a leg is Funeral Soldier, because he was a pallbearer at Princess Diana’s Gladioli rally. A Bristolian teacher falsely accused of murder became Pink Hair Weirdo. And the poor chap hounded by hacks last week instantly became Airshow Death son. During my brief day in the sun having discovered Gordon Brown’s depression and eyesight problems, I became Brown Bonkers Blogger. Those the tabloids wish to demonise they first saddle with a silly ID; which of course stands for I’m Demonised, bah-boom.

So before I leave you to your Sunday lunch, let’s end on a foodie note from the Mirror. It’s a classic of awful puns and daft irrelevance, but then that’s tabloid journalism – and these days, you can do a Ph D in it.

bakeoffmirror2It’s all there – alliterative brulée pun, the Bake-Off/Rip-Off play, and ‘knives out’ (Gerritttt????) for chef Ian Cumming…who is now doomed to be forever ‘Bake-Off Star’.

Let’s make Rebekah Brooks ‘Psycho Escapologist hackette’. Tony Blair ‘Chilcott Burial twat’, George Osborne White powder Budget Bender’ and Theresa May ‘Top Cop Bonker’. Oops. Sorry – that one slipped out.