Several English girls have come forward in a documentary to claim that they were raped by the late English eccentric media personality and philanthropist Jimmy Savile while they were underage.

The BBC has gotten itself in a real crisis over the matter.

If, like me, you’re not a Brit, you’ve might’ve been Googling the hell out of Jimmy Savile to find out just who this guy is.

And if you’re anything like me at all, you’ve ended up tearing tufts of hair from your head while shouting, “What the fucking hell took you so long, you limey gits?! The guy was obviously more pedo than Pedo Pedoson from Pedoville!”

Come on! Just look at the guy:

Jimmy Savile looked like what everyone thinks a pedophile should look like. A perfect stereotype of a kiddie-fondler. If you showed a picture of Savile to Chris Hansen, he’d just shrug and say “Nah. Too obvious.”

So the whole of Britain is now raging over the disgusting Jimmy Savile, and the rest of the world is catching up—except the Belgians, of course. To those guys, child abuse is a lifestyle.

Savile’s odd behavior while he was alive certainly doesn’t help his reputation postmortem.

Starting his career as a DJ pioneer in the 40s, Savile’s occupations would always see him surrounded by young girls. He became the face of Top of the Pops, then later he would host Jim’ll Fix It, a show where he’d help children for one brief moment to live out their dreams. One of those shows featured a girl in her early twenties having her dream of performing with Gary Glitter come true. Ouch!

Now a claim has surfaced that Glitter had sex with an underage girl in Savile’s dressing room.

When interviewed by the smug prick Louis Theroux, Savile was asked why he’d once said that he hated kids. Savile’s answer:

“[We] live in a very funny world. And it’s easier for me, as a single man, to say, “I don’t like children” because that puts a lot of salacious tabloid people off the hunt….How do they know whether I am [a paedophile] or not? How does anybody know whether I am? Nobody knows whether I am or not. I know I’m not.”

Oh, dear. That’s not a terribly reassuring answer.

In 2007, Savile was questioned by the police about an alleged indecent assault he committed at the Duncroft Approved School for Girls in Surrey where he’d been a regular visitor. No charges were brought.

Then there’s the Jersey child abuse investigation of 2008.

And then there are his clothes, and his hair, and his ridiculous goddamn face…

Even his catchphrases (“How’s about that, then?” and “Now then, now then, now then…”) suddenly have a dark ring to them.

Jimmy Savile was practically begging for perv rumors, and perv rumors he got, even before his death. He made himself into a national clown, but as most of us know, clowns are sinister.

We’re talking about a man who, when his mother died, locked himself inside with her corpse for five days, later saying that those were the “best five days of my life…She looked marvelous. She belonged to me. It’s wonderful, is death.”

Fuck me, that’s dark!

I really wanna jump on this bandwagon of Savile-hating, folks. I really do. I really wanna take part in this primitive and irrational bloodlust that’s raging in Britain. I can feel the dark black rays of pure English hatred for the man, from all the way over the North Sea to where I’m sitting in Oslo. Where there’s hate and anger, there’s often a bit of fun to be had.

But I’m afraid I think this whole situation stinks too much, and it’s not only Savile that’s responsible for the stench. This case is darker than that.

Britain has weird history of pedophile hysteria (or “paedophile” as they write it there). Now Jimmy Savile is the great boogeyman that everyone is furious over, even though the guy is quite clearly long-since dead.

Mob mentality is a weird thing.

The real nightmare would of course be a mob of child molesters.

For all I know, Savile really was a pedophile and a scumbag extraordinaire, and from what I’ve read about him the last days, I admit I think there’s some truth to all this. It’s not like the allegations thrown at his rotten corpse are that implausible. Who am I to call his alleged victims liars? What if these girls actually experienced those painful situations? How can I know the truth?

Well, I can’t. But neither can you, turnip.

Yet lack of knowledge has never stopped people from marching to war.

Reading about this case on the Internet makes me dizzy and uncomfortable. A website called Dangerous Minds—funnily enough a site devoid of any real danger or any real minds—is claiming Savile was also a necrophile and even compares him with legendary French satanic serial -killer Gilles de Rais. Easy now, folks.

Checking what Dangerous Minds has previously written about Savile, I notice that they hailed him as a pop-culture icon not that long ago.

Of course the British tabloids are going mad over this, as they’ve always done, but as the website Spiked points out, the real surprise here is that this time, the Chattering Classes, the Guardianistas, and the academics are taking part as well.

Spiked, by the way, seems to be the only site which urges people to calm the fuck down. Seems like sage advice to me.

All this directionless rage and hysteria right now is making it increasingly hard to separate myths from truth.

And I’m sure the truth is out there somewhere in this growing sea of shit. But fuck if I’m gonna dive in and have a proper look. There are too many sharks in those waters. Too many predators of all kinds.

One person who has no opinion about Jimmy Savile at all right now is Jimmy Savile himself. Clad in his beloved tracksuit, safe and protected by a concrete-encased coffin, Savile is now just a worthless piece of rotting flesh.

Probably in an advanced stage of decomposition, Jimmy has been swallowed by the great, dark nothing.

He got what everyone else gets.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It’s wonderful, is death.

—LASSE HOLMBERG JOSEPHSEN

No related posts.