Jack Monroe #351 Nobody should be donating to a character from a Pulp song

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Dubious Carol was all over her cooing at the SPITE dedication she wanted to put in the book to people who had wronged her. At this point I think they'd publish Jack's bathtime farts as an audiobook just to have something to put out.
Hey that’s a point why hasn’t Carol swung in to defend her?
 
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one of the diggles/duggles that's been going for days (and is on the mn thread!) making a rare mistake here. it's not a flat! it's a massive detached house!

Screenshot_20220803-191812_Twitter.jpg
 
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Really strange, isn't it?* As someone pointed out on here the other day (sorry I'm unable to credit, can't remember who it was), many people may think oh, she's not earning anything from Ads so I'll pop a small tip in her jar instead - hence making it more profitable for her to let the site remain "broken".

Going back to Patreon 'cause it's been bugging me. She's got around 60 new patrons so far. I would hazard a guess that the majority didn't sign up at £1, not when they were doing it to either defend her or shore her up, given her pitiful situation and blog post.:rolleyes:
Just supposing she is being truthful ~she can't lie~ and that most many of her patrons pay £1/month. Someone like Mummy Nigella-from-the-bin would most likely be donating the highest tier, £44. If there is just ONE top payer for every 49 lowest ones, that's £49 + £44 per 50 donors. That's an average of just under £2 per person (£1.86 to be precise).
Even with 350 donors, with 7 of them paying £44 and the rest paying £1, it would bring her £651/month. For doing nothing except existing (and grifting). But let's be real - no way are 343 of her 350 patrons paying £1, I'd bet all my socks on it! 🧦

Didn't she say the other day "half of them don't pay the minimum, they pay less" or something like that? (Not quoting, just trying to recall what I read.) So let's play with some numbers (I like playing with numbers).;) I know there's already a spreadsheet - not trying to step on anyone's toes - just curious so I thought I'd play with some very low donor numbers while I had Excel open.😁

150 @ £1 £150
130 @ £3.50 £455
30 @ £7 £210
25 @ £10 £250
20 @ £12 £240
10 @ £24 £240
5 (!) @ £44 £220 - the handful of top tier donors drags the monthly average up dramatically!

370 donors, £1,765m / £21,180pa, less fees, taxable at current rates
FOR DOING NOTHING!

That's a VERY conservative estimate.

PS Please let me know if my numbers are incorrect, my mind is currently blown pumbled! 🥴

*Does anyone know of a second site where she posts recipes? :unsure: The other day I saw some she'd uploaded in April either 21 or 22 but I don't know which site it was on. I was cleaning my old bookmarks folder out as I knew I had some of her stuff saved from years ago - I know it's childish but I did enjoy deleting them.😁
Bless you tender one, but we have our @heretoreaditall2019 super script (that’s a fancy af computer word I picked up here) scraping (yep that’s another - I don’t like that one as it reminds me of smear tests but I let it roll) all the data from jacks patreon and then she does a fancy little spread sheet with possible variations of the various tiers to give us a (conservative) estimate of what sort of wonger our queen of grifters is pulling in every month…HTRIA can you Chuck up that latest one you did the other day please for me aunty lil? 🥰
 
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She said her Patreon income was less than half £2,450, so still over a grand then?! Otherwise she would’ve said less than a quarter etc etc 👀
 
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Opinion Piece;

Austistic People Lie. It's Kind of Our Flex.


Don't believe me? Offended? Well, listen...


You know when you're surrounded by irritating noises from colleagues, children, the photocopier making that slight screeching noise as it draws from the A3 drawer or fails to complete the full eight bars because somebody has thoughtlessly set it to copy an odd number of pages? And you have to ignore it and continue to answer the queries of the person on the phone who is talking outside, so you can hear that they're turning into the wind direction every few words? That's you lying. Lying that it doesn't set every nerve on edge and you don't really want to take a twenty pound sledgehammer to the fucking thing just to make the sounds stop.


You know when you look across your office to see the other person has just ripped a parcel open and let the contents poke out, rather than opening it properly, disposing of the horrible textured parcel tape that you know is making that packet a trap full of evil stickiness, clinging and noise, but you pretend it's not there because it's frowned on to tell then 'For the love of Christ, deal with the shit on your side of the room!'. That's lying. Lying that you don't hate every bit of the sound, look and remembered texture of a fucking parcel and it's making your skin crawl just at the knowledge that it's ten foot away from you being awful.


That person you wish would just disappear into a puff of smoke because they insist upon switching the sodding fluorescent lighting on when there is a perfectly adequate window that doesn't buzz, flicker or cast that yellow nastiness upon your retinas? But you keep quiet and wait until they go home before switching it off with a sigh of relief? Or you work on your blissful own and the tube goes, you conveniently forget to notify the site manager and are absolutely gutted when the cleaner or senior manager reports it so you come in to find the nastiness offending your existence. And say nothing other than perhaps a mild 'Oh, thank you. I do like daylight though, so you didn't have to trouble yourself'? That's lying.


That time when you get compliments about how nice you look, you smile and say thank you, but in reality, you're counting down the seconds until you can get those bastarding shoes and tights/socks off, get rid of the trousers with the waistband that you can feel touching you all the fucking time and just put on the lovely compression running leggings and crop top instead of the bra of evil? You're lying.


The time when somebody is ranting and raging at you and you're being all calm and professional, but in reality, you don't really understand why they are absolutely losing their shit at you when all you've done is your job and the Law literally says you have to do it this way? That's you lying.


How about when you get home to find that somebody has put the straightsided bowls on top of the teaplates in the cupboard instead of next to the curved sided bowls that took you ages to find because you needed ones that felt just right? And then they've gone on to put the teaplates in a random order instead of stacked in the perfect sequence? And you don't scream and yell at them because that would be somewhat unreasonable and unfair when you can just sort them properly yourself? That's you lying.


The time when somebody pushes in front of you at the bus stop and you let them go in front rather than call them a fucking arsehole, people were waiting before them and dumping them unceremoniously on their arse in the gutter? That's lying.


That glitch in the train station announcement when it cuts off the first bit of 'The train now approaching platform 2...' or even worse, the mispronunciation of the destination on the bus because it's done by computer generated speech from a bank of sounds, rather than what the locals have been calling the place for centuries? And you don't bang out a raging email to TfL because much as you'd like to, you know that 'normal people' aren't bothered by these things? That's you lying.


Every moment something happens that jumps right on every single nerve in your body, every single person that you pause and think why might they be responding in that way - and adopt a well rehearsed script that you've learned always works? Lying.


What about when there's something awful happening like a car accident and instead of fear taking hold, you find yourself focused and clear and able to follow the rules of first aid including checking your own safety before going to help? So you look like an amazing person when you just went onto automatic and did what needed to be done? Lying.


That time when you would really have preferred your line manager to fuck off to the far side of fuck and then fuck off some more rather than interrupting for the third time and you want to tell them that you'd get that urgent stuff done a whole lot faster if they would only stop fucking with your head and let you get on with it in your way? But you take a deep breath and pick up the phone, smile at them as they pitch up at your desk or yet another fucking email pops up when you're already trying to recompose your head and thought after the first two interruptions from them? That's right - you're lying.


And when you filled in that job application and went to the interview knowing that you had to convince people who don't know you that you're actually a functioning adult who is able to work well alone and as part of a team, you're organised, professional and committed to continuing professional development when you are so fucking drained at the end of the day, you just want to sit at the top of a hill and breathe in fresh air whilst looking at green stuff or lie down in a darkened room with no bloody TV, lights or even the knowledge of your OH existing because he's used that deodorant that makes you want to hurl? But you don't tell him that his presence is driving you to silently scream FUCK OFF AND HAVE A SHOWER YOU ACRID TOSSER, you try to tolerate it or take yourself off to the bath where you switch the light off to lie in the water, only to have him switch the fucking things on again 'because it's getting dark'? You've guessed it, you're lying.


If you haven't found those things drive you to absolute distraction, if you are thinking 'how can a parcel on somebody else's desk be a problem? Just don't look at it' or 'I get anxious at interviews as well' or 'why are you so angry? You're completely overreacting, there are still seats on the bus' or 'I like taking my bra off when I get in from work as well, you know' without comprehending just how a thousand of these items a day gets into your head so you're so wound up that you can't sleep or you make jokes about if anybody needs you, you'll be under the desk rocking for the next hour (and will tell somebody who makes that joke 'well, actually, that's very ableist, you shouldn't say offensive things like that'), you're probably not autistic.


Only it's not called lying. Which is annoying. The term people use isn't right. It's one that should refer to spray painting or something like a superhero movie baddie. The twee term that's used instead? Masking.



Masking is lying. And it's what you do when you're autistic and trying to get through every day without getting punched (as a kid, largely, but not always), fired or divorced.


Autistic people 'mask' means 'Autistic People Lie'. And we're fucking brilliant liars. We've been doing it our whole lives. It's how we stay under the radar as much as possible, how we just about survive school, getting jobs, having relationships. The cat knows us as we really are. A dog can spot us at a hundred yards. And if we like them and we've learned their body language and communication, the feeling is mutual. Because they don't fucking lie and we don't have to lie to them. Moreover, they don't fucking patronise us by saying shite like 'Austistic people don't understand jokes' and 'Autistic people literally cannot lie'. Fuck off. We just don't think that malice, cruelty and spite (which is the undercurrent of the majority of humour) is funny (we've been on the receiving end of it often enough) and we lie every single day of our lives.


We're just so fucking good at it that you don't notice us 90% of the time.
Sheesh, that really resonated with me and I’m not Autistic.
 
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Opinion Piece;

Austistic People Lie. It's Kind of Our Flex.


Don't believe me? Offended? Well, listen...


You know when you're surrounded by irritating noises from colleagues, children, the photocopier making that slight screeching noise as it draws from the A3 drawer or fails to complete the full eight bars because somebody has thoughtlessly set it to copy an odd number of pages? And you have to ignore it and continue to answer the queries of the person on the phone who is talking outside, so you can hear that they're turning into the wind direction every few words? That's you lying. Lying that it doesn't set every nerve on edge and you don't really want to take a twenty pound sledgehammer to the fucking thing just to make the sounds stop.


You know when you look across your office to see the other person has just ripped a parcel open and let the contents poke out, rather than opening it properly, disposing of the horrible textured parcel tape that you know is making that packet a trap full of evil stickiness, clinging and noise, but you pretend it's not there because it's frowned on to tell then 'For the love of Christ, deal with the shit on your side of the room!'. That's lying. Lying that you don't hate every bit of the sound, look and remembered texture of a fucking parcel and it's making your skin crawl just at the knowledge that it's ten foot away from you being awful.


That person you wish would just disappear into a puff of smoke because they insist upon switching the sodding fluorescent lighting on when there is a perfectly adequate window that doesn't buzz, flicker or cast that yellow nastiness upon your retinas? But you keep quiet and wait until they go home before switching it off with a sigh of relief? Or you work on your blissful own and the tube goes, you conveniently forget to notify the site manager and are absolutely gutted when the cleaner or senior manager reports it so you come in to find the nastiness offending your existence. And say nothing other than perhaps a mild 'Oh, thank you. I do like daylight though, so you didn't have to trouble yourself'? That's lying.


That time when you get compliments about how nice you look, you smile and say thank you, but in reality, you're counting down the seconds until you can get those bastarding shoes and tights/socks off, get rid of the trousers with the waistband that you can feel touching you all the fucking time and just put on the lovely compression running leggings and crop top instead of the bra of evil? You're lying.


The time when somebody is ranting and raging at you and you're being all calm and professional, but in reality, you don't really understand why they are absolutely losing their shit at you when all you've done is your job and the Law literally says you have to do it this way? That's you lying.


How about when you get home to find that somebody has put the straightsided bowls on top of the teaplates in the cupboard instead of next to the curved sided bowls that took you ages to find because you needed ones that felt just right? And then they've gone on to put the teaplates in a random order instead of stacked in the perfect sequence? And you don't scream and yell at them because that would be somewhat unreasonable and unfair when you can just sort them properly yourself? That's you lying.


The time when somebody pushes in front of you at the bus stop and you let them go in front rather than call them a fucking arsehole, people were waiting before them and dumping them unceremoniously on their arse in the gutter? That's lying.


That glitch in the train station announcement when it cuts off the first bit of 'The train now approaching platform 2...' or even worse, the mispronunciation of the destination on the bus because it's done by computer generated speech from a bank of sounds, rather than what the locals have been calling the place for centuries? And you don't bang out a raging email to TfL because much as you'd like to, you know that 'normal people' aren't bothered by these things? That's you lying.


Every moment something happens that jumps right on every single nerve in your body, every single person that you pause and think why might they be responding in that way - and adopt a well rehearsed script that you've learned always works? Lying.


What about when there's something awful happening like a car accident and instead of fear taking hold, you find yourself focused and clear and able to follow the rules of first aid including checking your own safety before going to help? So you look like an amazing person when you just went onto automatic and did what needed to be done? Lying.


That time when you would really have preferred your line manager to fuck off to the far side of fuck and then fuck off some more rather than interrupting for the third time and you want to tell them that you'd get that urgent stuff done a whole lot faster if they would only stop fucking with your head and let you get on with it in your way? But you take a deep breath and pick up the phone, smile at them as they pitch up at your desk or yet another fucking email pops up when you're already trying to recompose your head and thought after the first two interruptions from them? That's right - you're lying.


And when you filled in that job application and went to the interview knowing that you had to convince people who don't know you that you're actually a functioning adult who is able to work well alone and as part of a team, you're organised, professional and committed to continuing professional development when you are so fucking drained at the end of the day, you just want to sit at the top of a hill and breathe in fresh air whilst looking at green stuff or lie down in a darkened room with no bloody TV, lights or even the knowledge of your OH existing because he's used that deodorant that makes you want to hurl? But you don't tell him that his presence is driving you to silently scream FUCK OFF AND HAVE A SHOWER YOU ACRID TOSSER, you try to tolerate it or take yourself off to the bath where you switch the light off to lie in the water, only to have him switch the fucking things on again 'because it's getting dark'? You've guessed it, you're lying.


If you haven't found those things drive you to absolute distraction, if you are thinking 'how can a parcel on somebody else's desk be a problem? Just don't look at it' or 'I get anxious at interviews as well' or 'why are you so angry? You're completely overreacting, there are still seats on the bus' or 'I like taking my bra off when I get in from work as well, you know' without comprehending just how a thousand of these items a day gets into your head so you're so wound up that you can't sleep or you make jokes about if anybody needs you, you'll be under the desk rocking for the next hour (and will tell somebody who makes that joke 'well, actually, that's very ableist, you shouldn't say offensive things like that'), you're probably not autistic.


Only it's not called lying. Which is annoying. The term people use isn't right. It's one that should refer to spray painting or something like a superhero movie baddie. The twee term that's used instead? Masking.



Masking is lying. And it's what you do when you're autistic and trying to get through every day without getting punched (as a kid, largely, but not always), fired or divorced.


Autistic people 'mask' means 'Autistic People Lie'. And we're fucking brilliant liars. We've been doing it our whole lives. It's how we stay under the radar as much as possible, how we just about survive school, getting jobs, having relationships. The cat knows us as we really are. A dog can spot us at a hundred yards. And if we like them and we've learned their body language and communication, the feeling is mutual. Because they don't fucking lie and we don't have to lie to them. Moreover, they don't fucking patronise us by saying shite like 'Austistic people don't understand jokes' and 'Autistic people literally cannot lie'. Fuck off. We just don't think that malice, cruelty and spite (which is the undercurrent of the majority of humour) is funny (we've been on the receiving end of it often enough) and we lie every single day of our lives.


We're just so fucking good at it that you don't notice us 90% of the time.
So well explained @TheDragonWithAFlagon . Thank you. And as a parent to two autistic boys, one of who faces struggles daily due to sensory processing disorder, thank you for explaining exactly what the struggle is like. I wish I could share this with teachers, relatives and HCP to help them understand what he is going through x
 
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I was thinking about Jack and the MN thread and her thread here, and it occurred to me she’s bloody lucky she doesn’t have a thread on the bad site you’re really not allowed to mention on tattle.
She is very lucky, but I honestly don’t know how exactly she’s escaped the agriculturalists’ attention!

Opinion Piece;

Austistic People Lie. It's Kind of Our Flex.


Don't believe me? Offended? Well, listen...


You know when you're surrounded by irritating noises from colleagues, children, the photocopier making that slight screeching noise as it draws from the A3 drawer or fails to complete the full eight bars because somebody has thoughtlessly set it to copy an odd number of pages? And you have to ignore it and continue to answer the queries of the person on the phone who is talking outside, so you can hear that they're turning into the wind direction every few words? That's you lying. Lying that it doesn't set every nerve on edge and you don't really want to take a twenty pound sledgehammer to the fucking thing just to make the sounds stop.


You know when you look across your office to see the other person has just ripped a parcel open and let the contents poke out, rather than opening it properly, disposing of the horrible textured parcel tape that you know is making that packet a trap full of evil stickiness, clinging and noise, but you pretend it's not there because it's frowned on to tell then 'For the love of Christ, deal with the shit on your side of the room!'. That's lying. Lying that you don't hate every bit of the sound, look and remembered texture of a fucking parcel and it's making your skin crawl just at the knowledge that it's ten foot away from you being awful.


That person you wish would just disappear into a puff of smoke because they insist upon switching the sodding fluorescent lighting on when there is a perfectly adequate window that doesn't buzz, flicker or cast that yellow nastiness upon your retinas? But you keep quiet and wait until they go home before switching it off with a sigh of relief? Or you work on your blissful own and the tube goes, you conveniently forget to notify the site manager and are absolutely gutted when the cleaner or senior manager reports it so you come in to find the nastiness offending your existence. And say nothing other than perhaps a mild 'Oh, thank you. I do like daylight though, so you didn't have to trouble yourself'? That's lying.


That time when you get compliments about how nice you look, you smile and say thank you, but in reality, you're counting down the seconds until you can get those bastarding shoes and tights/socks off, get rid of the trousers with the waistband that you can feel touching you all the fucking time and just put on the lovely compression running leggings and crop top instead of the bra of evil? You're lying.


The time when somebody is ranting and raging at you and you're being all calm and professional, but in reality, you don't really understand why they are absolutely losing their shit at you when all you've done is your job and the Law literally says you have to do it this way? That's you lying.


How about when you get home to find that somebody has put the straightsided bowls on top of the teaplates in the cupboard instead of next to the curved sided bowls that took you ages to find because you needed ones that felt just right? And then they've gone on to put the teaplates in a random order instead of stacked in the perfect sequence? And you don't scream and yell at them because that would be somewhat unreasonable and unfair when you can just sort them properly yourself? That's you lying.


The time when somebody pushes in front of you at the bus stop and you let them go in front rather than call them a fucking arsehole, people were waiting before them and dumping them unceremoniously on their arse in the gutter? That's lying.


That glitch in the train station announcement when it cuts off the first bit of 'The train now approaching platform 2...' or even worse, the mispronunciation of the destination on the bus because it's done by computer generated speech from a bank of sounds, rather than what the locals have been calling the place for centuries? And you don't bang out a raging email to TfL because much as you'd like to, you know that 'normal people' aren't bothered by these things? That's you lying.


Every moment something happens that jumps right on every single nerve in your body, every single person that you pause and think why might they be responding in that way - and adopt a well rehearsed script that you've learned always works? Lying.


What about when there's something awful happening like a car accident and instead of fear taking hold, you find yourself focused and clear and able to follow the rules of first aid including checking your own safety before going to help? So you look like an amazing person when you just went onto automatic and did what needed to be done? Lying.


That time when you would really have preferred your line manager to fuck off to the far side of fuck and then fuck off some more rather than interrupting for the third time and you want to tell them that you'd get that urgent stuff done a whole lot faster if they would only stop fucking with your head and let you get on with it in your way? But you take a deep breath and pick up the phone, smile at them as they pitch up at your desk or yet another fucking email pops up when you're already trying to recompose your head and thought after the first two interruptions from them? That's right - you're lying.


And when you filled in that job application and went to the interview knowing that you had to convince people who don't know you that you're actually a functioning adult who is able to work well alone and as part of a team, you're organised, professional and committed to continuing professional development when you are so fucking drained at the end of the day, you just want to sit at the top of a hill and breathe in fresh air whilst looking at green stuff or lie down in a darkened room with no bloody TV, lights or even the knowledge of your OH existing because he's used that deodorant that makes you want to hurl? But you don't tell him that his presence is driving you to silently scream FUCK OFF AND HAVE A SHOWER YOU ACRID TOSSER, you try to tolerate it or take yourself off to the bath where you switch the light off to lie in the water, only to have him switch the fucking things on again 'because it's getting dark'? You've guessed it, you're lying.


If you haven't found those things drive you to absolute distraction, if you are thinking 'how can a parcel on somebody else's desk be a problem? Just don't look at it' or 'I get anxious at interviews as well' or 'why are you so angry? You're completely overreacting, there are still seats on the bus' or 'I like taking my bra off when I get in from work as well, you know' without comprehending just how a thousand of these items a day gets into your head so you're so wound up that you can't sleep or you make jokes about if anybody needs you, you'll be under the desk rocking for the next hour (and will tell somebody who makes that joke 'well, actually, that's very ableist, you shouldn't say offensive things like that'), you're probably not autistic.


Only it's not called lying. Which is annoying. The term people use isn't right. It's one that should refer to spray painting or something like a superhero movie baddie. The twee term that's used instead? Masking.



Masking is lying. And it's what you do when you're autistic and trying to get through every day without getting punched (as a kid, largely, but not always), fired or divorced.


Autistic people 'mask' means 'Autistic People Lie'. And we're fucking brilliant liars. We've been doing it our whole lives. It's how we stay under the radar as much as possible, how we just about survive school, getting jobs, having relationships. The cat knows us as we really are. A dog can spot us at a hundred yards. And if we like them and we've learned their body language and communication, the feeling is mutual. Because they don't fucking lie and we don't have to lie to them. Moreover, they don't fucking patronise us by saying shite like 'Austistic people don't understand jokes' and 'Autistic people literally cannot lie'. Fuck off. We just don't think that malice, cruelty and spite (which is the undercurrent of the majority of humour) is funny (we've been on the receiving end of it often enough) and we lie every single day of our lives.


We're just so fucking good at it that you don't notice us 90% of the time.
This is excellent. Have you/will you publish it anywhere? I’d love to be able to share it with some of the ignoramuses at my work.
 
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Grunking but I just want to say thank you to all the fraus (autocarroted to fraud, lol) and herrs who are provided the excellent commentary and screenshots. It's been a tough time as some F&Ders know and this epic chaos has been a great distraction. So I suppose I should thank Jack too...
 
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