It is hard to be shocked in 2019. Think about it – when did you truly last experience shock? Not a faint twinge of surprise, not a brief flicker of “Oh, really?” But proper, resonating shock. The kind of bone-deep surprise that vibrates through your body, as if you’re a gong that’s been struck. Shock that leaves you speechless. Like when Princess Diana died. Or when The Sun said Skepta and Adele were dating.
What I’m trying to say is: Coleen Rooney’s takedown of one-time WAG colleague Rebekah Vardy is perhaps the only incident I will remember of 2019 when I’m in my twilight years and trying to recall the heady days when it didn’t snow in July and the Trump dynasty hadn’t been Earth Leaders for a successive six decades.
In the words of Paul Joseph “Beta” Watson: IMAGINE MY SHOCK when I opened a link to a Coleen Rooney tweet – placid, quiet (in public at least), Coleen Rooney, wife of bald, adult-child, Wayne – to discover perhaps the greatest piece of investigative journalism of our time.
In no uncertain terms, Coleen laid out allegations that rocked me. There was a traitor in her midst, one with a direct line to The Sun and a gentleman by the name of Simon Boyle. This Brutus was selling Coleen’s private stories to the tabloids. But she, Coleen, was not born yesterday and had trapped the mole by planting five months’ (!!!) worth of false tales to see if said mole would pass them on. They did. Then the kicker (and a use of ellipsis so masterful that Adorno would have wept to see it).
“It’s……….. Rebekah Vardy’s account.”
It’s Rebekah Vardy’s account. It is Rebekah Vardy’s account.
In one fell swoop, Coleen Rooney showed the ass of every tabloid paper, dispatched an enemy with Cersei-like efficiency and reminded us all of one of the only adages to truly live by: keep your friends close but only Rebekah Vardy on your Insta story. Big Mood.