Is the insightful Richard Littlejohn an even bigger prick than I thought possible? I’ve not read a single word of the muppet’s blitherings for ages now, and ah, it has been bliss. Then one random click (ok, not random -I saw his name on Chicken Yoghurt and couldn’t help myself) and my mind it is boggling:

“That doesn’t make it justifiable homicide, but in the scheme of things the deaths of these five women is no great loss.

They weren’t going to discover a cure for cancer or embark on missionary work in Darfur. The only kind of missionary position they undertook was in the back seat of a car.”

Dead prostitutes, who gives a shit, eh? You’ve got to cure cancer or, oh, say, write a load of mind-buggeringly feeble bias-confirming right-wing drivel on a weekly basis before your brutal murder is worth anything other than a shrug. And he follows up with a stack of bollocks straight out of the Religious Fundamentalist’s Guide to Not Feeling Bad About Anything:

“We are all capable of free will. At any time, one or all of them could have sought help from the police, or the church, or a charity, or a government agency specifically established to deal with heroin addicts. They chose not to.”

First the murders are tragic, then the victims are disgusting, they’re on the streets because they want to be, then the lefties have to realise that drugs ruin lives, one minute it’s moral outrage and the next it’s bloke-down-the-pub jokes about slappers and massage parlours, and ultimately, dontcherknow, what Littlejohn finds most objectionable about this whole thing is the attempt to make us all feel responsible for the murders, which I must have missed, but then I have been off the internet for a while. And it’s all in the aid of one of his piss-weak jokes about Blair reeled off in the last paragraph. It really is the most incoherent, disgusting, now-I-mean-it-now-I-don’t odious stack of shit I’ve read by him or possibly anyone.