I AM proud to call myself Mark Steyn’s number one fan, and after his Wednesday evening show I was left wondering what would have happened to political satire in British broadcasting without him. Gone and lost for ever. That was life before Steyn. Our airwaves pretty much under the collective control of the woke before lockdown, from then on the grip of the authoritarian, unquestioning, humourless Covid cultists and bullies had just tightened.
But with the second coming of Steyn on GB News, the clouds of telecast oppression lifted. And as Media Anno Mark 1 progresses, his lightning wit and barbs of satire only get better.
Arguably last Wednesday’s surpassed all previous. It was Jeremy Vine’s ‘me me me, into my pillow’ Covid tweet and Boris Johnson’s latest leftist idiocy that came under his fire. Yes, I know everyone across Twitter had been taking pot-shots at Vine’s Covid entitlement – I was one of them:
but no one else had laid bare such grotesque entitlement as it needed to be, or put it in such stark perspective. Likewise, while everyone in the country might laugh at Johnson’s loucheness, it takes a Steyn to to tell it as is and ruthlessly spell out his indecent hypocrisy.
You can watch him below, first, before the news, laying bare Vine’s selfish maundering and, after the news at about 12 minutes in, his blistering truth-telling on the morals and inconsistency of our shameless joke of a Prime Minister. Transcripts of both sections follow the video. They are just too good not to put in print and savour.
MARK STEYN: Ladies and Gentlemen, head off for the hills, the Covid is back, in a devastating new variant targeting Britain’s favourite telly presenters like, er . . . Jeremy Vine.
JEREMY VINE: Sore throat, headache, cough. Aches and pains. And a Joy Division T-shirt. So I’m in bed with it. With ‘it’, with Covid. Previously, years gone by, I would have come into work with this – you can walk, you can work. But obviously that’s not possible now. But going by our show, out of the presenters, 100 per cent of our presenters have got it. That means, [inaudible] that means there must be a lot of it about. Why isn’t the government mentioning it? Why isn’t the government saying, ‘Anyone vulnerable, you know, stay indoors.’ Look at my teddy. That’s a big red line.
STEYN: Uh, is there a BAFTA award for worst acting performance? ‘That was, super, darling, but can we just have another take? Just a little more croak and try to work on your pillow munching?’ ‘Uughh – This is Jeremy Vine. I was supposed to be doing a voiceover today for Curly Wurly but I may have to postpone it for a day or two. I bought an apricot flapjack at the Tube station and I thought I’d got one of the crunchy bits stuck at the back of my throat. But it turned out to be the deadly new Covid strain. The Omicroak variant, like a bat outta Wuhan. Why isn’t the government talking about this?’ [laughs then coughs] Oh no, I’m coming down with it. Pass me the Ginger Growler. [puts on gorilla mask] Oh, thank God for that.
Bring back the masks and the social distancing. Jeremy Vine is croaking, not, you know seriously croaking. He’s just a bit croaky.
The economy – and he wants the government to be talking about his croak – the economy is totalled, the supply chain wrecked, entire industries that require anything more than, literally, dialling it in with pillow munching selfies are gone for ever. The National Health Service has been reduced to the world’s most expensive Zoom call. Every baggage handler at Heathrow has been stricken with sudden early retirement syndrome. We have the worst inflation since the seventies. Granny dying alone and unsurrounded by tiresome loved ones. A generation of children so psychologically damaged that they’ll be suicidal, depressives or ASBOs on steroids in a decade. Mysterious increase in stillbirths in Scotland and Ontario. Collapsed birth rates in Germany and Norway. Perfectly healthy teenagers dying in their sleep. Athletes in the peak of condition dropping dead on the pitch. Justin Bieber with a semi-paralysed face so he can’t go Biebering around to all his Beliebers.
We have half a million of Jeremy Vine’s fellow citizens reporting adverse vaccine reactions, thousands dead of Guillain-Barré syndrome and other once rare diseases. And it’s still not enough for the psychos of the groupthink media.
There’s still maybe 4 per cent of normal life that isn’t totally screwed, but maybe one more lockdown will do the trick. Jeremy Vine’s triple-jabbed, maybe more, and he’s munching the pillow all night long. Maybe the government isn’t talking about it, because they know all the measures that you pompom girls of the propaganda media pranced about supporting up to the hilt have all utterly failed.
I’m not sure Mr Vine has ever talked about the hundreds of thousands, maybe more, of hitherto healthy, young and middle-aged Britons now unable to work or to drive, having to sell homes to pay their medical bills. It’s not as pressing as a ‘touch of the croaks’ to him: ‘Why isn’t the government talking about me being croaky?’
Meanwhile, in totally unrelated news, do you know the Canadian comedian Nick Nemeroff? Here he is in hospital.
NICK NEMEROFF: I will not get the third shot. I will not. Pfizer me once, no shame. Pfizer me twice, shame on Covid. Pfizer me three times, shame on you. You want me to get a third shot. What’s next? A fifth shot? No, thank you.
STEYN: Nick Nemeroff under the weather in Montreal. We’d ask him on the show, but he’s dead. Thirty-two years old. Cause of death, unknown. He croaked big time. Not like Jeremy Vine’s crappy croak. There’s a lot of that about and we’ll talk about it later.
[Extract after the News bulletin]
STEYN: Jeremy Vine was demanding to know, as is the way with the solipsistic narcissists of our media, why the government isn’t talking about his sore throat, why the government isn’t producing a White Paper on his croaky voice, why the government isn’t locking the country down because of his slight vocal tickle. Well, the government isn’t talking about it – this may stun you – the government isn’t talking about Jeremy Vine because it’s too busy talking about Vladimir Putin. Boris Johnson says Putin only invaded Ukraine because of his, quote, ‘toxic masculinity’.
BORIS JOHNSON: If Putin was a woman, which he obviously isn’t, but if he were, I really don’t think he would have embarked on a crazy, macho war of an invasion and violence in the way that he has. If you want a perfect example of toxic masculinity, it’s what he’s doing in Ukraine.
STEYN: You know, I get that after 12 years of supposed Conservative government, there’s not a jot or tittle of conservatism to show for it. But I wish at the least so-called Conservatives could at least be bothered to talk like Conservatives. Toxic masculinity is leftist framing, and if you take it seriously, it refers not to Vladimir Putin launching wars, but to, say, ooh, selfish opportunist men who shag anything that moves, and then, should anything unfortunate result, talk the bird into getting an abortion. Just sayin’, Boris.
However, if we are now to define toxic masculinity as walking uninvited into somebody else’s country, then what about all those strapping young lads arriving on England’s southern shore every night of the week? Because unlike Ukraine’s borders, Captain Butch Boy, the UK’s borders are actually your responsibility.
And speaking of toxic masculinity, what about all those towns up and down the land? Rotherham, Telford, Rochdale, Oxford, Oldham, Aylesbury, Banbury, where industrial-scale gang rapists rape English girls, serve – if they’re very unlucky – three years in jail, and then, as we reported last night, avoid deportation by renouncing their Pakistani citizenship. So they’re strolling their old beat, running into the girls they gang-raped and urinated on and dangled off balconies. Fortunately, the girls are now 16, 17, so they’re a bit long in the tooth to attract the gang-rapists’ attention.
But even so, unlike Putin, that toxic masculinity is your responsibility.
Matter of fact, if you’re so concerned about toxic masculinity, how about doing something about general police lethargy on sexual assault? The median time to lay a charge in a rape case in England and Wales has increased seven-fold from 70 days – that’s a little over two months – to 465 days. That’s over a year and a quarter. Only 3 per cent of sexual offences result in even a charge or summons. So if your tastes run to sexual assault, you’ve got a 97 per cent chance of being entirely untroubled by Her Majesty’s Constabulary.
On Sunday in Ilford, East London, a young lady called Zara Aleena was ten minutes from her home when she was attacked. Miss Aleena was robbed, then raped, then murdered. And I was struck by this line from a statement put out by Ms Aleena’s family: ‘Zara believed that a woman should be able to walk home.’ And she’s right. Once upon a time in London, a woman could walk home, but not now.
As I always say, Britain is the land where everything is policed except crime. Cressida Dick has gone, but her wretched police force staggers on very much in her image. And yesterday, Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary announced the Metropolitan Police would be put under so-called special measures because of, quote, ‘critical shortcomings’. I was struck by this one. You know, that if your house gets burgled, it’s all but impossible to get a copper to come round. But at least you can always call their 24-hour customer service helpline and it’ll ring out at their answering machine in the South Sandwich Islands. And assuming the cassette hasn’t run out, you can at least leave a message about the burglary and it will therefore get recorded in the national crime statistics. Whoa, whoa. Don’t make any such assumption. Greater Manchester police was placed under special measures because it failed to report 80,000 crimes. Same thing now with the Met. They’ve failed to report, I think it’s 69,000 crimes. So when we’re told officially that only 6 per cent of crimes result in a charge or a summons, the real figure may in fact be even lower.