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By Jason Michael
Let’s not be surprised that the little piggies of the British establishment feed on the vulnerability of young women trying to make ends meet. What we have seen in the President’s Club is a long tradition of British power.
Fair play to Madison Marriage; the Financial Times reporter who got inside the Dorchester and dished the dirt on the President’s Club dinner. She has done something few journalists have ever managed to do. She made the FT readable for the first time since the mid-1990s when rogue trader Nick Leeson – sometime CEO of Galway United – single-handedly brought down Barings Bank. Her story on the carry on of the super-wealthy establishment men at the fundraiser was many things – it was excellent journalism – but it wasn’t, however, anything new. She never told us anything we didn’t already know or at least suspect – the British establishment is grotty.
It comes as absolutely no surprise to anyone that the wealthiest and most powerful politicians and business leaders; people in the highest echelons of the British establishment, are entertained at annual – “men only” – fundraisers whereat exclusive agencies supply hostesses who are effectively there – whether the women know it or not – as prostitutes and sex toys. No one is shocked at this news. All she gives us is more hard evidence.
Ms Marriage went undercover as a hostess. She experienced first-hand the greasy porcine feeding frenzy-cum-orgy that is the high society lads’ night out. Young women were offered £150 for about seven hours of work. The women were vetted for their looks, told to wear short skirts and matching underwear, and asked to sign non-disclosure agreements – for not much more than £20 an hour. Absolutely, sex services were not in the job description, but when an employer tells any woman what knickers to wear alarm bells should start ringing.
What sort of event hires "tall, thin and pretty" young women as "hostesses," instructs them to wear short skirts, m… twitter.com/i/web/status/9…—
Jason Michael (@Jeggit) January 25, 2018
Over the course of the evening the hostesses – whose phones had been taken from them – were prodded by male minders to keep entertaining the rich men and timed on their toilet breaks. They were encouraged to drink and “have fun.” Almost immediately the male diners began assaulting the women; grabbing at them, holding them, and in some cased groping up their skirts. At the end of the evening, while some were shocked, at least some of the women were getting some overtime.
It was the full brothel experience at the Dorchester. Only for the fact that the women involved were not in on the full nature of their hostessing until they were trapped, this would be prostitution. As far as the organisers and guests were concerned these women were the main event, making them victims of a coercive ploy to lace them with drink, harass them, and ultimately pester them into bedrooms. This is a tradition of sexual exploitation.
When behaviour like this comes to light it makes me wonder: If secrets like this can be kept for three decades by an establishment like the Dorchester, what happens in their private flats and country houses? What sweeteners exist for people at the top of the tree? Can lords and billionaire political donors with certain proclivities have children thrown into the deal? Of course they can. These people can have whatever the hell they like.
Anyone remember Sir Philip Green? Hint: British Home Stores, £363m black hole in staff pensions, and redundancies.… twitter.com/i/web/status/9…—
Jason Michael (@Jeggit) January 25, 2018
This is not about the sexual antics of these people. This is about their power, their abuse of that power, and the obvious pleasure they take in using people as objects with which to amuse themselves. Their wealth, power, and influence afford them privileges. They can have what and who they desire, and what better way to celebrate their power than to have that which no one else can have; the forbidden, the taboo, the criminal?
When we consider the lives of these filthy fat little pigs the horrors of Britain begin to make more sense. Grenfell tower was possible because the lives of the people who lived in it were never worth the care or the attention of those in power. The same can be said for the entire project of state orchestrated austerity, the foodbanks, the homeless crisis, the housing crisis, the works – the lives of the poor and the vulnerable are meaningless to them. If you are not of any use to them; if you are not their peer, if you cannot serve them or be fucked by them, then fuck you.
Having been a hostess, I can confirm that you don’t have to sign non-disclosure contract unless there’s something a… twitter.com/i/web/status/9…—
Lizzie Walmsley (@LizzieGWalmsley) January 23, 2018
It is not harsh to point this out. Not in the least. These are people who take immense pleasure in watching dogs tear foxes and badgers limb from limb. Blood and violence against the defenceless excite them. They are aroused by the pain they inflict. It is difficult to think of them as human at all.
Monsters such as these are Britain. They are the masters; the ruling class, the sons and daughters of empire. Every line on every page of British history is dripping with the blood they have spilt. In every part of the world to where this cancer has spread it has violated and brutalised the defenceless for its own profit and pleasure. This is Britain. This is the Britain the people of Scotland, England, Wales, and Ireland have to flee. What we have seen exposed here in the Dorchester – this President’s Club – is but the symptom of a much greater, more dangerous disease, Britishness. However much they sicken me to my stomach, I am happy to see this brought into the light. But what we mustn’t now do is make the mistake of treating this as an aberration; a one-off, and exception. No, this is the rule. This is who they really are, and this is our enemy.
The Presidents Club charity dinner provokes outrage