Jack Monroe #567 Wibble wibble, little mouse, thief who tried to grift a house

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Obviously, I'm a real witch, and am known and feared around West Byfleet where I live in a spooky cottage with my familiars. Whenever the local farmers annoy me, the next day their milk sours and they start vomiting up pins. If I turned guest into a frog do you think a rich OH would kiss her?
Ah! You’re from Room on the Broom! How are the cat, the dog and the frog doing?
 
She hasn’t been using this downtime to work on her internalised weight stigma and ableism then, if it is her. It doesn’t even occur to her (if it is her) that a lot of the people calling her out on her body shaming belong to those marginalised groups she’s so bleeping terrified of ie. the fat and disabled. Refusing to buy into how she sees herself/wants the world to see her is not body shaming - pretty much everything she’s ever said about her body and ED issues is incredibly shaming of the bodies she hates though. bleep.
 
This spree of “that’s not my real name/picture, it’s my chubby lil avatar” has been most enlightening for those of us who didn’t quite get half of the references before 🙂
Now, doxxers, doomsters, and FBI dudes, have at it!
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She has distended ribs apparently. Which is a thing, but not a thing she has.
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I’m not sure whether it is Jack, as at this point any one of the canal could write a passable sad-fish post on MN with a Jack-adjacent name, and others would think it’s Jack.

Also why do people think “Tattle” is like a corporation or something. Tattle does this, tattle sent people. It’s just a forum.

classic mumsnet, someone “outs” tattlers on insta so they say. It’s easy to do because posters here use their real names. The example given “Karen1990” is a woman called Karen born in 1990 🤣🤣🤣🤣 ok not that exactly, see screenshot.
This is why Tattlers identify fraud on the internet and mumsnetters… don’t.
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Goddamn my cheesy tits
 
I could tell her my real name.

Seeing as I have never had an account on any social media platform or used my real name anywhere in the twenty-odd years I've been on the internets, I'd be surprised if she sussed me out.

Most likely she'd land on the first "My real Name" she found on Google and claim it was me.

"Completed it mate".
 
I’ve been here so long I forget my origin story. I think I may be a black t-shirt that was worn for three consecutive days, along with some jeans that had also been worn so long they could walk to the laundry basket by themselves. I may have been born around the time Old Harold realised that guest was a manky git who wore clothes day in and day out on the pretence of being a quirky smol pixie but it was actually because she’s a soap-dodging grimmer. If guest wants to locate me, she can furtle about in the wardrobe she shares with SB for a wrinkled and smelly old garment. Good luck with that, the wardrobe is full of us.
 
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