Stuaaaaaaart Herrrritageeeee

[Konki]

Here's the smackdown: https://mobile.twitter.com/DavidLammy/status/1174637370802655232?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Etweet

Here's the bald:



And this is the original shitty article: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/sep/18/the-best-way-to-deal-with-online-trolls-do-like-rachel-riley-starve-them-of-oxygen#comments

The top comment is spot on:

"Countdown's human calculator has attracted such a swell of antisemitic hatred that she has been forced to silence enough people to fill Sadler's Wells."

This is linked to a story that doesn't seem to say anything about her receiving antisemitic hate. It says she gets attacked for calling Labour antisemitic, which is really not the same thing.

The bloke is such a bunch of arse.

[Funcrusher]

Didn't know wether to put this here or in the other Guardian slating thread but it's probably more for here, as it's another example of a long-term Guardian journo's ever increasing pointlessness.

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2019/sep/18/cant-i-just-say-its-tasty-why-food-critics-go-too-far

It's an article by Zoe Williams about how she spent 10 years (10 YEARS) as a restaurant critic despite usually not really having that strong an opinion either way about most of the food. A decade, t  e  n     y  e   a   r  s ffffffffs being paid to do a highly covetable job before anyone finally noticed she was shite at it. What is she trying to achieve with this frankly weird article anyway? ''I very badly did a job you probably want for TEN YEARS and I didn't even care about it ha ha ain't journalism grand?'' And this last statement...

...as well as having fuck all to do with whatever point it was she was trying to make, is just drunk talk.

Zoe Williams can't really write, and couldn't write at all in her early Graun years where she was utterly roasted on a daily basis on the Talk pages, and has nothing of any substance to say about anything. I can only assume that she was well liked by Al Rusbridger and gets on well with the other posh girls that now run the place. She exemplifies how utterly pisspoor columnist journalism has become.

[Cardenio I]

It's a crowded field, but Emma Brockes is my personal bete noir. One of those Guardian writers with a regular column of such utter, what-I-did-on-my-holiday tepidity, such grindingly quotidian observation, such brazen insignificance it actually becomes the opposite of writing. If I live to be a thousand I'll still never finish writing Emma Brockes and the Negative Ontology of Text.

With an effortless banality that would think a bottled roast dinner fart "a bit of excitement", Brockes regales us with constant fucking reminders  that she lives in New York and all the hot takes of an amateurishly enchanted "Hillary 2016" badge. The diary of the worlds most solipsistic teenage girl reads Emma Brockes' column and go "And? Who fucking cares mate, get over yourself".

Emma Brockes actually opened an article with the phrase "I needed some Ikea bookshelves assembled" with the glib assumption of reader sympathy. This in an article that describes her searching for a handyman on Taskrabbit, for an Ikea fucking bookshelf, and dismissing one of them out of hand for wearing a suit in his picture. This attire, she says, "protested too much", presumably because nobody's ever assembled an Ikea bookshelf without a hi-vis, hardhat, hobnail boots and a salt-of-the-earth sense of humour ma'am. Over half of the entire population of planet earth has both worn a suit and assembled a piece of Ikea furniture. Emma Brockes despises them all. We must despise her back.