None so blind...

The blind hypocrisy of our 'egalitarian elite'.

Catherine Deveny complains about trolls:
Enter the troll. Small pathetic little people hell-bent on getting attention by slagging off...
So which troll wrote the following?
Of her former editor, Paul Ramadge:
I wish him arse cancer.
Of Bindi Irwin, then 11:
I do so hope Bindi Irwin gets laid.
Of Tasma Walton, the wife of Rove McManus.
Rove and Tasma look so cute ... hope she doesn’t die, too.
Of Anzac Day soldiers:
Anzac Day. Men only enlisted to fight for the money, for the adventure or because they were racist.
Of Anzac Day:
Anzac Day IS a glorification of war. They didn’t die for us but because they were risktaking testosterone fuelled men with a pack mentality.
Of Opposition frontbencher Peter Dutton, a fellow Q&A panelist:
Had nightmare they sat me next to a chinless, ex QLD cop with a face of a rapist who refused to go to the stolen generation apology #qanda
Of Dutton, inventing what he said:
Peter Dutton in the green room, ”I don’t like those abos. They come to our country, steal our jobs, marry our women.” #qanda
Of blue-collar workers:
...blue-collar Australia has no imagination...
Of people in the outer suburbs:
The reality is that it is impossible to watch these brainless retards belt the crap out of each other without enjoying it just a little.
Of people in Northland:
Why am I banging on about bizarre human anomalies? Well, I’ve just arrived home from Northland. Love freaky medical conditions, that’s me. We’re all up with webbed feet, conjoined twins and Tourette syndrome … everything I know about human abnormalities I learnt at Northland.
Of her priests as a girl:
Being Catholic, the ‘70s meant rock masses, liturgical dancing and clapping to Rock My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham until you lost all will to live. When you heard the word ‘priest’  you didn’t immediately think ‘child molester’ - you thought of that guy with sideburns and shocking breath who played the guitar badly and wanted to be ‘down with the youth’. Or alternatively an old Irish bloke with dandruff who wanted to be ‘down at the pub’.
Our family went to church every Sunday unless the car wouldn’t start and in that case we’d watch Mass for You at Home: just as soul-destroying and mind-numbing as the real thing, but it took half the time and you didn’t have to shake hands with that weird guy with the eczema.