It was no surprise to me that manic exhibitionist Clementine Ford had sensationally resigned from her role as an opinion columnist at Nine Newspapers.
What was even less surprising was her series of childish tweets announcing her resignation, (which stunk of, dare one say, privilege).
Fairfax (now Nine), who had given Ford a platform for seven years, were now receiving a vitriolic reaction that Ford usually reserves for white men. Ford spoke of a “shitty” salary; “shitty” work conditions and “eating shit” every week in her Twitter tirade.
Aaaw, diddums, Clem.
I’m sure every freelance writer who is sleeping on a couch right now and surviving on green beans is shedding a tear for you.
It must have been traumatic for Clemmie to be asked by her employer to treat the office of prime minister with general courtesy and respect. For most of us, that’s just considered common decency.
Why is the notion of treating anyone with respect a foreign concept to Ford? One can disagree with a politician and criticise their policies without descending into a sewer of abusive language, name-calling and personal insults via a tweet.
Wouldn’t Ford’s vomitous spiels be best channelled into a column, where she can give some context to her endless anger?
But let’s face it, that’s what Ford’s entire career has been founded on. Like a mental patient who has no understanding of personal boundaries, Ford rises from her bed every day, loads her gun with ammunition and starts firing.
Most adults can disagree with someone without launching a personal attack on them. It’s called maturity. It’s called being a grownup.
But not Ford. No one is safe. Whether you’re a 15-year-old schoolboy or an intellectually disabled man on a tram. Nothing can protect you from Ford’s wrath. She doesn’t discriminate.
A few days ago, it was Kerri-Anne Kennerley that Ford was dropping acid on. Obviously, she didn’t appreciate Kennerley’s controversial Indigenous comments on Studio 10. But instead of acting with civility she decided to jump on Twitter and attack Kennerley as a human being.
Yes, Clemmie. That’s a really evolved comment about an Australian Television personality who has courageously survived domestic violence, breast cancer and the paralysis of her husband John, who she cares for. How about having some – to use your favourite word – fucking respect!
Clementine Ford describes herself as a bestselling author, widely read columnist and champion of women on her Facebook page.
Yet bizarrely, much like Ford leeches off the trauma of raped and murdered women the world over, she is now leeching for cash from her readers.
Ford is seeking donations on Patreon to fund her life. Shouldn’t a ‘best selling author’ be able to support herself?
Is Clemmie Australia’s greatest con artist, perhaps?
Forget supporting a kid from Ethiopia. Pour your well-earned smackeroonies into Ford’s bank account.
Vanessa de Largie is a freelance journalist and sex columnist who divides her time between London and Melbourne. You can find more of her work here.
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