Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Wow, Elton John has a go at Dolce and Gabbana and the whole lefty world agrees with his spitty, spiteful little response. Now, Elton (formerly Reginald Dwight – amazing how some people come to look like their pets and others just grow into their names, isn’t it?) has form in the drama queen stakes and true to his nasty ‘previous’ he’s decided to set out to damage their business. Imagine if some Hollywood covert-gay from the nineteen seventies came out and said Elton John had got the ‘brown dirt cowboy’ idea from a shared sordid episode in a trailer park and he had no right to sully that precious memory? Why the very idea!
Of course, wee Owen Jones, the self-appointed guardian of the nation’s morals has waded in to support EJ without a thought for the free speech rights of those with whom he disagrees. In his column he says: “Dolce and Gabbana’s response demonstrates that they have retreated to the last refuge of a bigot.” And “They have used their public platform to make gross generalisations.” and then goes on to cheer the fact that Reg “has exercised his own right to freedom of expression in response.” Huh? My free speech is bigger than your free speech? Again? The naked hypocrisy of the left writ large.
Of course, none of this is important, it really isn’t, because in excuse OJ goes on to dispense a little right-on psychology by further disparaging the famous gay fashionistas by declaring “The fact that Dolce and Gabbana are gay is neither here nor there: there is no shortage of examples of members of oppressed groups who have internalised the prejudice and discrimination directed against them.” Oh, give it a rest Owen; they can’t help themselves? The faux intellectualism of this haughty diagnosis is almost a parody of what it is to be cultural Marxist, sixth-form, fifth-columnist (… or in this case Guardian columnist).
We have been browbeaten into accepting that shoving your cock up another man’s arse and then paying a surrogate mother to bear and give up her child is perfectly normal behaviour and any dissent from that view cannot ever be tolerated. But here’s the truth; nobody yet knows how the third-party offspring of a world-famous and immensely rich celebrity camp couple are going to turn out but - no matter what some Melbourne University study optimistically suggests - I’m looking in the crystal ball and seeing therapy… lots of therapy.
The war on the nuclear family, on conventional societal structures, has been raging for some time and while I’m largely ambivalent about which of the now several (and increasing in number) sexes inserts which body part into which orifice and whether or not they can marry or adopt, become bishops, other sexes, or screwed-up self-harmers, I entirely reserve my right to look on some combinations as, well, just not normal. And by normal I don’t mean ‘heavily propagandised until nobody dare speak against’ I mean ‘what most people do and what most people think, but dare not say’.
"I never liked D & G fashions anyway"
So, pardon me for my Neanderthal views, but I’m not having a pair of jumped up poofs like Elton John or Owen Jones telling me which other poofs I can agree with or otherwise. Until this episode my only knowledge of D&G had been to be scantily aware of their existence. Now, I am almost inclined to go out and buy a maternity frock.