Gay gay gay. Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay. Are you listening yet? Are you laughing so hard your ribcage is blasting itself into splinters over passers-by, like a mirthly nailbomb? No? I’ll repeat it. Gay, gay, gay.


In a poll taken of 500,000 twats last Wednesday, the word ‘gay’ was voted the funniest thing in all our pungent world.

If I sound bitter, it’s deserved. Next week I’m replaced by a duck, because they’ve taught it to type ‘gay’ for crumbs. Satire’s dead, they said. What people want these days is ‘gay’ in spangled spades. For my new job, I’m reluctantly redubbing Woody Allen’s Manhattan, with every third word as ‘gaylord’ (the other two: ‘you’re a’). Oh, and the Empire State building’s replaced by a whopping great pink cock. In tights. I wrote to Channel 4 with a show idea: I’d come on stage for two hours wearing a tiara, and a sandwich board with ‘GAY’ in foot-high letters. They said thanks, but no thanks. Wonderful idea, they replied, but Alan Carr already does that weekly. Maybe you could add a bra?

A friend leaves themselves logged into Facebook. Ten minutes later, everything about them is ‘gay’. Status: they like bumhole! They’ve founded the ‘I like bumhole’ society! They’ve invited us all to a ‘massive gay orgy’! Because gays like bumholes! And gay is funny, geddit?

I’m not in the business of indiscriminate insults, but sometimes I get angry. So here goes: if you do this, there is literally zero justification for your lives. This is not a joke. You are a walking argument for abortion – not just that, but for extending the time limits to, oh, thirty years? Forty?

Let me make my point now, so then I can berate you further. On a scale of comedy, ‘gay’ is as cutting-edge as a blunt dodo. Irony is no excuse. When you use it, what you’re saying is ‘I’m a gurgling, witless tosser with a pre-natal sense of humour’. I’d give both eyes for a GPS box-cum-suicide-belt that popped when these people entered the postcode. You probably think I’m still joking; I’m not. This column: no joke. Seeing them locked in a coffin full of bees, and cannoned into the sun? I’d laugh.

I’m all in favour of free speech, just like I’m in favour of the freedom to drive a car. But I’m not in favour of the freedom to drive cars into skipping schoolkids. By the same token, freedom of speech ends the moment it’s used by idiots. We need a new system, but IQ tests just won’t do it. So next week: the duck. Gay, gay. Gay, gay, gay. Gay. Laughing yet? Die the fuck off.

For Cherwell, maintaining editorial independence is vital. We are run entirely by and for students. To ensure independence, we receive no funding from the University and are reliant on obtaining other income, such as advertisements. Due to the current global situation, such sources are being limited significantly and we anticipate a tough time ahead – for us and fellow student journalists across the country.

So, if you can, please consider donating. We really appreciate any support you’re able to provide; it’ll all go towards helping with our running costs. Even if you can't support us monetarily, please consider sharing articles with friends, families, colleagues - it all helps!

Thank you!