And in cross-dressing-men-relocating-faeces news:

Man pretending to be a woman says he wants “every trans person in the UK to be given a poo bucket” so they can cover the office of the Equalities and Human Rights Commission with their feces, as a protest against guidance preserving single-sex spaces pic.twitter.com/8JVFSFptgl

— Genevieve Gluck (@WomenReadWomen) August 9, 2026

For those of you assuming that the above is some cunning AI satire intended to diminish the credibility of cross-dressing men, I have news. Those of you wishing to keep track of the project’s success can do so here.

383 signatures at the time of writing.

The shimmering vision of womanliness seen above is Mr Lucy Rose Shaftain-Fenner, a filmmaker whose films are, it turns out, chiefly about himself, and whose interests include the “liberation” of Palestine, violating women’s boundaries, and “taxing wealth.”

When not declaring his personal hotness, Mr Shaftain-Fenner engages in many feats of radicalism, including cutting up Harry Potter DVDs in an attempt to reduce the number of future Harry Potter fans, intruding in women’s toilets, denouncing the misogyny and catcalling he allegedly endures, and listing his quite numerous mental health shortcomings.

So, hey, nothing to worry about, ladies.

Update, via the comments:

Readers may be amused by Mr Shaftain-Fenner’s repeated use of the word fantasy, which seems a bit rich, all things considered.

Noting Mr Shaftain-Fenner’s claims of injustice and persecution, Jen adds, not unreasonably,

Or of course the disabled toilets, which are both unisex and generally nicer. But chappie seems bent on using women’s toilets, thereby imposing his delusions on women. Which does rather suggest that the imposition is the goal. A key component of his mental drama.

Indeed, Mr Shaftain-Fenner seems remarkably uninterested in whether ladies might object to his intrusion, his violation of their boundaries. Or indeed in why they might do so.

For instance, some ladies may not wish to share an intimate space with weird, cross-dressing men who feel entitled to violate normal boundaries, and who, statistically, are much more prone to other, more serious kinds of boundary violation. Examples of which are not hard to find.

But to pull at that thread might unravel the whole frock. As it were.

Previously in the world of powder-room dramas.

The radical relocation of bodily waste by cross-dressing men – specifically, spraying children with urine – has, perhaps unsurprisingly, been touched on here before.

Confounding house numbers, 1961. || “Dad, you can carry big rocks.” || Dawn upwardsness. || It’s possible they went too far. || The formidable Miss Whiplash. || Boy Wonder, big pants, Batman in a jam, 1943. || “Photography not permitted.” || Japanese people encounter Marmite. || Mole relocation. || For manly striding. || “White empiricism” oppresses magic black womanliness, claims bint featured here. || At last, Star Wars… in Welsh. || Mauler parses the moral logic of the latest Spider-Man film. || It’s all in the neck. || Look away now. || The Englishwoman and the Horse, 1981. || Visible roots. || A tour of ancient Rome. || You want one and you know it. || I’m not sure what to call this. || For children of all ages. || Blinky. || And finally, the thrill of smoking toad venom. “Relax,” says he. “Feel the love.”

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Or, Discourse Was Attempted:

Perfectly normal. pic.twitter.com/AShv6sF3b0

— Gay Not Queer (@Gaynotqueer1) August 2, 2026

Now, ladies. About your changing rooms…

Update:

Our Bellowing Man-Witch shouts, theatrically, “I am the villain of this world,” as if he were a martyr, presumably in some attempt to elicit sympathy and thereby compliance. But in a non-trivial sense, he is a villain. As I said regarding this bestubbled maiden:

The demand for dishonesty, the demand that lies should be imposed, ain’t a virtue or a basis for applause.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Brendan O’Neill on life in an age of euphemism:

An assault. All cheered on by ladies of a certain kind.

Says Mr O’Neill,

At which point, the reliably ludicrous LBC presenter James O’Brien comes to mind.

With all of the earnestness he could conjure, Mr O’Brien described the intruders as akin to “climate refugees… moving from inhabitable to habitable,” before referring to Ceuta as “nowhere near as inhospitable” as Morocco. Despite Ceuta’s climate being indistinguishable from, say, Tangier or Tétouan.

“There was something about the footage that shook me to my core,” said he. Though the scenes of mass invasion and subsequent looting and disorder – described as a “wave of humanity” – were much less of a concern to Mr O’Brien than the prospect of some onlookers, and perhaps quite a few local residents, regarding the violation as less than ideal.

And clearly, these immensely vibrant young men, overwhelmingly of fighting age and remarkably unencumbered by women or identifying documents, are merely using other people’s cars to start fires of neighbourliness. Arson being the universal language of warm feelings.

It’s all one big expression of gratitude. Of common humanity. The ennobling effects of which can be found with little effort.

Because sharing and caring, right?

And when the uninvited newcomers swarming through your streets start desecrating your ancestors’ graves while hurling rocks at you, it’s just a sign that they want to get to know you better.

I’m reminded of the scene in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, in which Zaphod Beeblebrox visits the headquarters of the eponymous publication, which is under attack, being bombarded from orbit. Despite the thunderous explosions, he encounters obliviousness. In disbelief, and trying to be heard over the explosions, he shouts, “Do you know your building’s being bombed?!”

As a summary of our times, and in more ways than one, it does have a certain resonance.

Update, via the comments:

Chow Bag quotes this,

And replies,

Well, setting aside Mr O’Brien’s limited grasp of the Mediterranean climate, he did bring into relief one of the key ideological differences of our time, one that blurs into fantasy and psychodrama.

I mean, if you can watch the footage of the invasion and the almost immediate looting, arson, assaults, etc., and feel – or pretend to feel – an urge to indulge the invaders, to side with them over the people whose neighbourhoods, homes and businesses are being trashed and plundered, that’s… quite something.

It’s a line that divides, and in a significant way. It does suggest a rather fundamental incompatibility.

Blind taste test. || Lateral motion surplus. || Suboptimal scenario. || More magic cardboard. Previously. (h/t, Stephanie) || Adhesion detected. || The H-Man, 1958. Is there nothing atomic radiation can’t do? | Seeing, doing finger-math. (h/t, Tacky Raccoons) || Note to self. || The strange, grim tale of Britain’s “Hannibal the Cannibal.” (h/t, Neatorama) || Another day at the office. || Roadside ladies. || At last, cheating sneakers. || A critique of Nolan’s The Odyssey. Includes the words “boringly modern.” || Does yours do this? And should you be tempted. || Some punching required. || The progressive retail experience, parts 748, 749 and 750. || “First of all, those are not my pronouns.” || Complications multiply. || Sweaty pleasures. || On Mancini. || Not Marmite. || Things foreseen, and unforeseen.

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