Great hates 5: Charlie Brooker

Almost everything you need to know about Charlie Brooker's forthcoming book, Dawn of the Dumb, can be inferred from its index, which sublimely combines functionality with art. Where else could you find an alphabetised list that includes entries like these:

Blair, Tony, 21, 39, 163, 224; enjoys fictitious threesome, 269; 287; glorious bloodsoaked legacy of, 290-91

God, conclusive proof of non-existence of, 73-4

Walliams, David, enjoying sexual intercourse with potato, 72

Amusing, yes, but also very handy, as the 338 pages of Brooker's latest offering form a veritable Bible of hate for modern times: a withering compendium of put-downs, snap-judgements and satirical sideblasts. For those unfamiliar with Brooker's history, he moved from writing misanthropic, sarcastic reviews for video games magazines in the 1990s to writing a sarcastic, misanthropic website called TVGoHome from 1999 to 2003, and thence to the pages of the Guardian, BBC4 and beyond. He is a modern hate master, and a proper satirist (i.e. unafraid of being puerile, sentimental, unfair and inconsistent, often within the space of a single paragraph; but always with proper and passionate intensity). And boy does he loathe most of what passes for modern entertainment. Here's a sample of him in action, on the topic of TV psychics:

If I walked into a single mother's house and said I could read her baby's mind, then started shouting four-letter words, claiming I was simply voicing her offspring's thoughts, I would expect to be arrested the moment I stepped outside.

And if, during my "psychic reading", I also speculated about the mother's sex life, and a potentially abusive relationship with a former boyfriend, claiming her toddler was concerned about "men who want to touch mum's privates", and I went on and on in this vein until the mother burst into tears, there in the living room, in front of her child, I'd expect to be arrested, sectioned, and beaten in the back of the van.

And if I allowed a TV crew to broadcast what I was doing, I'd expect to be attacked by a mob, who'd pull me apart and kick my remains around the street, pausing only to spit on any bits of my face that got stuck to their shoes.

But no. In fact the outcry would be muted at best and Ofcom would turn a blind eye—as it did last week, while clearing Channel 5's unbelievably disgusting Baby Mind Reader of any wrongdoing.

Read more here, if you dare.