Rupert's Retired and Words Mean Nothing
Let's reflect on this impoverished small business owner's struggle against the elites of media
When I saw Rupert Murdoch trending in the headlines I was initially excited for all the reasons you’d think, and ultimately disappointed for the same reason I’m disappointed every time it’s less than I’d hoped.
Now go off about how much of a ghoul that makes me. Truth be told the number of people I’d actually wish death on are very few and in every case I’d be just as happy if they stop and reverse whatever they’re doing that makes them so terrible for humanity. Second, I don’t think wishing does anything—it’s prayer if it were an open letter—so wishing death on someone is ontologically exactly the same thing as wishing the moon were made of ice cream.
In actual fact, it wouldn’t matter if Rupert Murdoch really were dead instead of Shadow World Dictator Emeritus or whatever his new title is. That’s like stomping on the flea that the cat brought in long after it’s laid seven generations of eggs, so what? It stops nothing and it barely understands what it deserves.
As much as this will actually be news to a lot of people, Rupert Murdoch is not the type of undead that you can end the infestation by killing its leader. He’s not an elder whampir, though there are indications he may be some kind of lich or possibly a revenant.
No, we spent long enough kicking the can down the road on Murdoch’s growing stranglehold over the media of the western hemisphere that he’s spawned dozens of mucosal clones through the pustules on his back like the common Suriname toad that he is.
Make no mistake, he’s groomed Lachlan so well that he’s going to hang around for another fifty years essentially grafted to the back of his son’s head and melding his thoughts like Professor Quirrell. So no, I can’t find it in myself to feel much of anything in the way of celebration or relief.
What really astonishes me is the statement the ghoul in chief released to reassure his trash goblins that the corpse of democracy still had some juice to suck dry:
Who in God’s name is Rupert Literal Murdoch talking about when he complains about the “elites” who control all the media? Who could he possibly be talking about??
I mean there’s one quick answer to that question and it’s “Jews” – obviously, when you consider the Fox machine’s whole thing for the past decade at least has been trying to tap into some of that yummy yummy sweet 1930s hysteria that converts so effortlessly into dollars. It makes a stupid sense when Elon Musk or Donald Trump cry about the Judenpresse. But who, specifically, is Rupert Murdoch talking about when he says it?
It's like Steve Jobs digging himself out of the casket to declare he hates phones and anyone associated with them. What the fuck is he talking about?
I’m Australian, I’m from the country this human cyst came from. He once pumped his capital into swapping out the government of my country because they were trying to upgrade internet infrastructure in way that would have harmed the profitability of a cable TV network he owns. Nobody here over sixty has read a printed word in the past three decades that he didn’t personally sign off on. This guy owns my government and we’re ostensibly a monarchy.
The word Murdoch has been synonymous with media magnate for the entire time I’ve been on this planet. Not just descriptive but synonymous, it’s like Kleenex or Band-Aid, it’s kind of curious that we don’t call a newspaper “a Rupert” by now. This is the last person I expected to sincerely twist his two remaining hairs into pigtails and try to portray himself as a callused-handed newsie trundling down Fifth Street on his fucking tricycle.
The man at least at some point owned 70% of the newspapers in my country. 70%. If you try to get someone to the left of Mussolini elected here you have to push through clouds of tabloid fuckshittery so thick it’s like squinting though the clouds of Jupiter.
I have to believe that Murdoch was actually joking when he wrote that memo because he’s not even the type of man who will commit to a bit like this. He’s not Donald Trump Jr throwing away his razor and business suit and reinventing himself as a Mississippi hog farmer joining the class war against the Rich Men North of Richmond.
He’s the type of man who proudly sits in the billionaires’ booth with Elon at the Super Bowl and throws peanuts at the peons he openly disdains. He’s never even pretended to be one of the little people for thirty seconds of his miserable life. He’s proud of owning most of the media on Earth. It’s like if Elon sat their crying about how sad he is that the Jews own all the satellites. No, you do, shithead.
Rupert Murdoch retiring or pretend-retiring or dying or whatever he’s doing probably isn’t going to have any impact on the media landscape until we can try to find some way to untangle news from capitalism and deliver information to the people in a way that isn’t reliant on a two hundred year old bathtub shrivel who eats hatred.
So yes, the human bowel cancer is still kicking, and I don’t feel much of anything about the news, except I’m telling myself that you can’t be that big a sack of shit for that many years and be feeling healthy. Consider this: Rupert Murdoch is roughly the same age as Michael Caine, who also announced his retirement yesterday. Which one of them look like a melting fisherman’s sack full of centipedes?
Not coincidentally, this is exactly the kind of childish visual comparison that you would find in a Murdoch newspaper, except it would try to sell it to you as an earnest opinion rather than a joke, and the uglier man would be photoshopped into a drag performance or something. Don’t worry, there will be no birdcage liner shortage in the near future.
the man is cancer manifested into a human form. Yes, I had a similar thought, how is that such a scourge on our society is still alive and kicking at 92. It's as if evil itself is giving him the life blood to perpetuate his rot.