Ellie Slee emailed me yesterday, in response to a blog piece I’d written critiquing one of her recent blog piece published by HuffPo. Her first email:

If you insist on writing about me please get your facts straight. I have never modelled in my life. Where in god’s name are you getting this drivel from? And who is writing shit about who now? Remove it from this article:

http://j4mb.org.uk/2014/03/23/ellie-slee-being-schooled-in-feminism/

I replied in my customary polite manner, with a link to a photograph of her in what I’d taken to be a ‘model pose’. It was the final photograph in the series of photographs accessible through this link: 

http://www.nicelyturnedout.com/2011/09/featured-look-ellie-slee/

She replied:

That photograph is from an interview that was conducted with me. The photographs were taken explicitly for the interview. I have never modelled in my life. Why the hell are you pushing this?

Nor have I said that castration is a suitable punishment for a man sexually assaulting me. Although now you come to mention it, maybe its (sic) something we should look into.

You are the creepiest, weirdest jerk off I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. Every time you harass me, I am thankful that my father – who is younger than you, and nowhere near as twisted [MB: He’s be so proud to hear that] – is normal and sees the struggles that me and my sister face. I feel DESPERATELY SORRY for your children. I wonder what they think of their dad bullying young women on the internet.

[MB: Ellie, I’ve never bullied a man or woman in my life, young or old. I’m saying it’s time for you to grow up, and start acting like a civilised adult. I’m saying it’s time for you to stop being a permanently petulant hate-driven harridan, pathetically misrepresenting honest criticism as bullying.]

I’m blocking your email now so you will never be able to contact me again. [MB: Oh no!!!] Stop posting your pitiful comments on my writing. [MB: Er, no, Ellie, I won’t stop making whatever comments I like about your miserable, ridiculous, misandrous blog pieces. If you write utter nonsense – as you invariably do with respect to gender issues – expect to be called out on it vigorously and frequently, by myself and others. If you don’t want to be criticised, stop writing nonsense. Simples.]

So Ellie Slee was never a part-time model, and is demanding a correction of our assertion that she was. It’s a bit rich for the woman who misrepresented J4MB in a HuffPo blog post, then refused to retract the comment – it was only retracted after we contacted the legal team at HuffPo – to complain about being misrepresented herself. But such is the mindset of Entitlement Princesses. One rule for them, another rule for men.

An extract from her HuffPo blog piece:

Last week, my two best friends and I went out in a bar we’d never usually go to and were immediately reminded why not. [MB: So why didn’t you leave, and go somewhere else?] Walking in there was like that scene in the Wasp Factory. You know… with the maggots. It looked OK from the outside and then suddenly, we got in, and there were eight million stockbrokers swarming all over us, trying to buy us a drink (read: have sex with us).

[MB: Eight million stockbrokers. Now some London bars are quite large, but even so…]

One particularly awful man named Stefan took a shine to one of my friends and would not leave us alone. So I was rude to him. He wasn’t used to women being rude to him. He called me a cock block. I told him I resented the assumption that I was the only thing standing between his cock and my best friend. His face, dripping sweat and resembling a spit-roasted pig’s, contorted. I had stumped him. He leaned towards me so I could smell his stagnant breath and said, “Why are you so bitter?”

Ah, the eternal question. Why am I so bitter? Because that’s what this is, isn’t it, this woman-not-wanting-you-to-invade-her-evening thing? Just an outrageous dose of bitterness.

But, the lightbulbs come (sic) on!, Stefan had heard a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down – hmmm, something sweet… Could he buy me a pornstar martini? An amaretto sour? Would it soften the blow if he paid me some attention as well, bitter old bitch that I am? What about a –

Nah not really, I’m good. But touch my backside again Stefan, babes, and I will find some way of ensuring that you never procreate. [MB: my emphasis]

I remind you of two sentences in Ellie’s email:

Nor have I said that castration is a suitable punishment for a man sexually assaulting me. Although now you come to mention it, maybe its (sic) something we should look into.

Would HuffPo keep online an article by a young male blogger saying that if a woman in a bar touched his backside twice, he’d find some way of ensuring that she never procreated? Of course not. They’re giving exposure to misandry of the worst kind.