"Liz Jones Moans!" Blares a new headline, and below that: "Funny, outrageous and downright rude. Who's in Liz Jones's firing line this week?" We get the logic; the time has long passed when anyone could take Jones' rant seriously as, what? Social criticism? Memoir? Performance art? And indeed, the Fail's continued coverage of the bizarre rants had begun to border on the criminally negligent (or at least journalistically.) Casting the rants as theatre makes everyone feel a bit easier, probably.
The real question is, how much does she have left to condemn? Having decried every subset of humanity, and, by her own admission, alienated most of her friends and family (she knocks off two more in this week's column by describing them as "crashingly boring"), is there that much left to hate? This week, she's been reduced to decrying Special K (very sweet dust) and the women who love it - and who, in any case, are too weak-willed to keep the weight off. In other words, she's scraping barrel, and now that she's a professional crank, this is problematic. (Not that hating on Special K isn't a legitimate grievance, Hortense.)