99% Of Express Readers Don’t Get That They’re Idiots

I ain't fick!

I ain’t fick!

In a shock poll conducted by Cafe Spike it has emerged that 99% of Daily Express readers refuse to accept that they are idiots, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

“The fact that I believe every conspiracy theory out there and that I’m incredibly gullible and stupid doesn’t make me an idiot,” claimed one outraged Express reader. “Although I must admit I did feel a bit of a twat after panic buying two thousand tins of vegetable soup and a catapult after the Express weather reporter told us about the impending ice age, but nobody can predict the weather. Ergo I am not an idiot. End of.”

“Just because I’d stop at nothing to get my country back doesn’t make me an idiot,” said 89 year old UKIP member George Slaughter. “Anyone who doesn’t agree with me should be tortured and shot in the head. My next door neighbour’s grandad didn’t fight in two world wars so that we can be governed by EU Nazis. We’re perfectly capable of our own final solution thank you very much.”

“I’m not gay but I’d perform oral sex on Nigel Farage for all he’s done to deliver our country from the yoke of Nazi oppression,” said an Express reader who calls himself “inlovewithdemocracy” in the comments section of the DE. “And furthermore I’d have anyone who isn’t a white Christian interned in labour camps, although I’m not sure about gas chambers…there must be a more economical way of conducting mass genocide than gassing and cremation.”

“I HAVEN’T A CLUE WHAT THE HELL I’M TALKING ABOUT AT THE BEST OF TIMES,” said DE commenter CAPSLOCK. “BUT WE SHOULD KILL EVERYBODY WHO DOESN’T AGREE WITH ME – ESPECIALLY THE DARKIES AND THE QUEERS.”

All of which kind of says something or other.

Although we haven’t got a clue what that might be.

Martin Shuttlecock.

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92% Of Daily Express Readers Can’t Be Arsed To Read The Articles

The Express Staff On Lunch Break Earlier Today

The Express Staff On Lunch Break Earlier Today

A recent investigation by the Online Press Marketing Group has revealed that people who buy the newspaper or log on to the Express website can rarely be arsed to actually read the articles.

A staggering 92% of Express customers admitted that they don’t actually read the articles, with 7% saying that they only use the Express for the puzzles, such as the crossword, word wheel and sudoku, while 1% declared that they didn’t understand the question.

“The problem with Express articles are that they appear to have been hurriedly dictated into voice recognition software, which is then processed as a written article by somebody suffering the final throes of a lethal attack of explosive dysentery,” explained media guru and former Downing Street spin doctor, Bertrand Bassett. “The articles are extremely brief, horribly researched, poorly presented and wouldn’t hold much appeal for anyone with any interest in factual information.”

A brief glance at the comments section appears to support Mr Bassett’s assertion, as a story about space exploration or something similar attracts comments about gunning down migrants and rioting in the streets. Which bears little or no relation whatsoever to the subject matter.

“Personally I don’t read it and I wouldn’t give it house room under any circumstances,” said NHS nurse Patrycia Petrakova. “I looked at it once but it was full of idiotic stories about space aliens, conspiracy theories, migrants, ridiculous scare stories and so much about that pompous buffoon Nigel Farage. Why bother? No sane person would resort to reading such nonsense.”

The Daily Express – so shit its own readers can’t be arsed to actually read it.

Franco Mellie for Cafe Spike dot com

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What Happens In The First 60 Minutes After Reading The Mail And Express Online Comments Sections

Let them have it.

Let them have it.

Okay, I’ll come clean here and reveal one of my dirty little secrets. I suppose I should know better really, because stepping into dangerous territory against all medical and psychiatric advice is not recommended for even those of robust spirit, yet still I do it. It isn’t even as if there isn’t the information available, so there really isn’t any excuse for reading the comment sections tacked onto the bottom of ‘news’ articles in the Mail and Express online. It does get worrying though when you start to contribute too. It’s tantamount to submitting to madness.

I’ve tried cutting back; limiting my visits to once a week, and hoping to extend that to an occasional visit – say three or four times a year – but I failed dismally. The first month went okay, but then the addiction kicked in, and like any lapsed addict the pull of the right wing drug sucked me in and I started spending entire days reading the bigoted guff on these sites, and posting my own sarcastic ripostes. I even went as far as posing as a UKIP supporter one day, but had to give it up because I was almost starting to believe it myself.

Realising I was treading on dangerous ground I started to take notes, recording my feelings and responses over the course of an hour in order to document the potentially lethal damage a person can wreak on their own body by simply logging on to the Mail and Express websites and reading the comments over the course of one hour. A mere 60 minutes.

This is how it went.

5 Minutes – After five minutes I noted a marked increase in my adrenalin production. My eyes started to bulge and I could feel the hairs on the nape of my neck beginning to spike up. There’s an overwhelming feeling of disbelief. Are these actually real human beings posting these comments, or is there some kind of fiendish artificial intelligence at work churning this stuff out in reams?

12 Minutes – Anxiety kicks in. Am I really British? Suddenly I’m not so sure any more. According to these people who seem to be leaning slightly towards the political right I can’t possibly be British unless I truly want Britain to become great again. Basically by killing everybody else and building a huge wall around the country.

26 Minutes – Feeling a little calmer now and beginning to relax. There’s still a nagging dread that the whole of Britain has been concreted over and that tens of millions of people are putting us under siege in our own homes. I’m starting to get a bit nervous about setting foot outside the house for fear that some gang of foreign marauders will come and cut my head off in the street and nobody will come to my assistance. A quick glance out of the window allays most of these concerns. There aren’t any shadowy figures lurking behind the recycle bins intent on rape, torture and bloody murder. Mind you – the bloke up the kebab shop did once scowl at me when I asked for extra chilli sauce on my chicken shish…

37 Minutes – More fear kicks in. I’m learning a new language – the language of the extreme right and the conspiracy theorists. I’m also learning how to spell and use grammar to maximum effect. I learn new words and phrases and there’s no doubt I start to look at the world in a different light. I learn that everything going on today is part of an evil plot, masterminded by something called the ‘New World Order,’ I find out that I’m a ‘lefty cultural Marxist’  and a ‘traitor’ to my country. I’ve fallen for the mass deception that is the ‘Coudenhove-Kalergi Plan’ and that I don’t live in Europe any more. I live in the ‘EUSSR.’ I also discover ‘MSM,’ which apparently means mainstream media, as in the papers and TV, strictly unreliable news sources at best. It appears you have to get your news from places like infowars.com, Britain First, David Icke, Breitbart, Pegida and other secretive sources for all the real news. I may be scared but I discover I am at least learning something.

46 Minutes – Typographical errors and misplaced apostrophes no longer seem as important. I’m actually quite ambiguous about the way the ‘patriots’ on the DE and DM butcher the English language. I no longer flinch when I see things like ‘are country,’ or ‘they should all go back to they’re own country’s’ and that nothing is real any more – it’s all a false flag and done with photoshop. Either that or any pictorial content which doesn’t fit the agenda is ‘staged.’

51 Minutes – I find God. I’ve not been overly religious for a long time, so it’s a relief in a way to find out that I was worshipping the wrong God anyway. The new and only real god is a bloke named Nigel, and the new religion is called UKIP. There is only one commandment in the UKIP religion – Thou shalt adore no other God than Nigel. Nigel is the chosen one and must be revered at all times.  I learn of the axis of evil, which is LibLabCon McBilderberg. Voting for the axis is punishable by death.

59 Minutes – I’m wracked by doubt. Is everybody other than Nigel out to kill me? Should I really be calling for refugees to drown in the murky depths of the Med? Should I be a Hungarian or something? Is Vladimir Putin a communist or a strong leader? Is everybody who isn’t UKIP ‘traitorous?’ Should my response to any humanitarian crisis be to say: “Send the army in and shoot them all?” Should I join Britain First? Should I type everything with the Caps Lock button activated and toss in copious amounts of exclamation marks? I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality.

60 Minutes – I look at the responses to my comments on the DM and DE and discover that most of them don’t like me at all. They call be hurtful things like ‘Shuttledick’ and accuse me of being a ‘paid shill.’ Unable to take it any more I turn off the laptop. I’m in floods of tears. I come to the shocking realisation that I’m probably better dead.

I’m in a whirl. I desperately need some positive affirmation. I pick up the phone and call my mate Lynton. He has this knack of being quietly reassuring, putting my mind at ease. He says I’m an idiot for looking at those sites in the first place because despite what the comments say they aren’t the true voice of Britain. “What they are mate,” Lynton informs me. “Is a bunch of sad old gits with no sense of humour, no education, no intelligence and probably no significant other in their lives either. They’re all to old and decrepit to go around making threats and advocating race riots. Just sad, lonely old men,” Lynton concludes.

“A bit like me then really?” I chuckle, feeling somewhat uplifted.

“Exactly,” he says.

I’m not quite sure how to take that.

Martin Shuttlecock.

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