Trans-pants headlines for headless chickens: 
Transgender prisoners demand…
Transgender courageously strips off…
Trans couple adopt trans 10 year-old…

Like a twig in the wind, the trans tail twitches in a desperate bid to wag the gender dog. It would be a pitiful spectacle if it wasn’t so revolting. Is that too strong a word? I don’t think so. When a miniscule number of
deeply troubled people decide to promote their own confusion as a “lifestyle choice” and go out of their way to target children the word revolting is more than justified. These ‘trans activists’ are a real danger – to themselves (transgender suicide rates are off the charts) to the morons who swallow their lies (“biological sex does not exist”) and above all to the children upon whom they predate (“infants have no gender, we’ll let Zee choose a gender when Zee wants to…”)

Unfazed by minor obstacles like biological reality, the trans tram goes rattling onwards into linguistic oblivion. For now we are all supposed to join in the great “pronoun debate”. Which is what, exactly? Well, it’s either a limp dick or a ballroom Blitz, with laws and lawsuits, lecturers and politicians falling over each other to get on the right side of the most colossal non-issue in history. Pronouns.
You’re kidding me, right? Some illiterate teenage narcissist decides squampo is “my pronoun” so the rest of us have to say ‘squampo has arrived” when it walks in the room, because anything else is “transphobic violence” ? And squampo is the title it chose because it’s not content with the genitals it was born with? (Please note – the use of “it” is not intended to cause offense but is my pronoun of choice when describing people who are incapable of defining themselves armed only with the English language.)
Squampo, go eat your sneakers. Mental illness is never a major source of funny minutes but nothing opens a wider grin than some immature prancing attention-seeker dishing out pronoun orders. Who / what the hell do you think you are?

Now before all the uber-liberals start throwing rocks, let’s clear the deck about the twisted phobic hate-monger known as me. I grew up surrounded by men in dresses (that’s the catholic church for you) and the first person I knew to undergo gender reassignment surgery was a nightclub barman I befriended in 1979. I have happily employed and been employed by gay men and women (as well as straight people) on and off for forty years and last summer I spent a very agreeable evening in conversation with a young female-to-male transgender which resulted in an exclusive and revealing interview which will, I promise, be published in full on this blog. If all this relevant experience seems a little excessive, well, that’s showbiz. I spent a big chunk of life working in the music business, television and musical theatre so there we are. My views on this subject are, you understand, informed by something more than the tabloid headlines and political posturing which have catapulted the word ”trans’ into everyday use. So listen up.

Until about twenty minutes ago, transgender people (transvestites, transexuals, trannies, pick your poison) were rare but nonetheless commonplace individuals who attracted only passing attention unless they too worked in showbiz, which many did. Nobody really gave a damn. Men dressing up as women has been an entertainment staple forever. In 1960’s Britain it was pretty much the missionary position of TV comedy. Think: the two Ronnies, Dick Emery, Stanley Baxter, Les Dawson, Mike Yarwood, everyone was doing it, in public and, I don’t doubt, in private.

Only two things are different today. One is that transgenders have been adopted by the cultural Marxists who infest education and are obsessed with destroying the family unit by any means possible (among their many other destructive urges), and the second is that modern reassignment surgery is fantastically profitable. When you combine Socialist psychopaths with human greed, anything is possible – and that sure is how it seems when you get licensed doctors handing out puberty-blocking drugs to kids and university professors saying biological reality does not exist.
(Note for the con-artists who call themselves ‘gender studies’ lecturers – I know what’s between my legs, you charlatan, and don’t you dare tell me ‘gender is a social construct’).

It’s bad enough having your intelligence insulted by extremists, but the next preening half-wit who tells me they ‘represent the trans community’ is heading for a serious poke in the ego. Because he, she, (ze, zay, blimpo, whatever) is living more than one fantasy by electing themselves as official spokesman for a group that does not exist.

Reality check for ‘trans spokespeople’ – 

In the UK there are many, many times more people who play the guitar than are transgenders. I have been playing the guitar for forty years. I can talk about guitar playing from a position of enormous experience and a degree of knowledge. But even if I talk guitar all day and night I do not speak for the guitar-playing community, because that does not exist. Do not try and pretend that gender is more complicated than guitar-playing. Insects that can only walk, eat and sleep have gender. If you need an even simpler example, I have a penis, but nothing I say about genitals is said on behalf of all men.

Self-selection, however, is precisely what you would expect from the sexual obsessives who leap up to the front of any crowd brandishing their “identity” like an axe. When every transgender in the country registers for the Great Trans Election and the official “Trans Community Spokesthing” wins the popular vote, I’ll pay attention to their announcements. Until that happy day, my message to trans people everywhere could not be simpler. Please just shut up and get on with your life. End of.

Ian Andrew-Patrick


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