Some people misunderstand this list. Don’t get it twisted, heads know me as the Freshman Bar Crawl Organiser the way I’m not afraid to afraid to take shots, but this isn’t a list of abuse. This isn’t us saying we have any particular enmity for the person being discussed. There are truly repugnant human beings in this top 100. Wifebeaters, racists, @FourFourTom. But some of them are just shit at the internet. Helen Lewis is one of those.
I mean, really, feeling physical emotion against someone who writes for The New Statesman? Parish newsletters for churches in Tring have more impact on my life than The New Statesman. My latest piece of crossover fiction, examining what would happen if Stringer Bell were to be transported to Equestria, gets more weekly readers than The New Statesman. And yet Helen Lewis on Twitter actively annoys me.
I’ll tell you why: she’s literally exactly the same as every other twenty-something British journalist right now. I can guess her background for you: educated at either Oxbridge or Durham, did a follow-up degree at City. And boy can you tell. Everything is so… bland. Qualified. Helen Lewis may hold some actual opinions, but you’d never know it from anything she writes.
She comes out and bats heavily on a left-wing pro-feminist wicket… but she used to work for the Daily Mail. She quite rightly decries violence against women in video games… then she shouts out some indie piece of shit where you shoot a bra-clad Michelle Bachman in the face. Every important tweet is inevitably followed five minutes later by a “funny” spelling mistake in a local newsletter or a picture of a fucking cat wearing galoshes or something. To paraphrase Truman Capote: that isn’t tweeting, that’s typing. The revolution will not be televised but if we’re lucky someone might make a rage comic out of it.
But, I’m not gonna lie, the real reason she’s on here is the face. She looks like a supporting character from The House of Elliot, ol’ The Camomile Lawn lookin’ boy. Every time I see her RTd into my timeline I get the horrid feeling she’s going to try and underhandedly steal the diamond mine that’s been in my family for seven generations. I don’t need that sort of pressure.
"Today, I received my favourite ever letter from a reader. She sent me a picture of a goat that she drew."
"In the @newstatesman this week, I have written about extinct pigeons and breasts. Sadly not in the same piece."
"Oh great, there’s now a dictator of a nuclear power the same age as me. More ammunition for my mother this Christmas."