Bonnie Blue’s latest depraved sex stunt is sick even for her – here’s why it MUST be spoken about in schools

WHEN Netflix drama Adolescence came out, there was a national intake of breath.

Its terrifying depiction of what drove a 13-year-old boy to murder a female schoolmate was chilling.

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“Could my teenager turn into a hate-filled killer like Jamie?” many of us fretted.

At the heart of the story was the dangerous influence of online porn and the “manosphere”, a nebulous internet community of misogynistic morons.

And, as we know, the poster boy for the manosphere is Andrew Tate, a cigar-chomping Neanderthal who calls women “hos” and thinks manliness is measured in supercars.

Kids know about foghorn-voiced Tate because, sadly, he is everywhere (he still has 10.7million followers on X, having being banned from Instagram and Facebook). 

But kids are also aware of him because their teachers talk about him in school in an attempt to challenge his toxic brand of masculinity.

Which is a good thing.

The more that can be done to stop children worshipping at the abhorrent altar of Tate, currently facing rape and human trafficking charges in Romania, the better.

But, of course, Andrew Tate is not the only person leading to a rise in misogyny among young people. Others are at it too. And they don’t necessarily exist in the manosphere. Indeed, some are not even men. Like Bonnie Blue.

If you don’t know Bonnie Blue, then you’re lucky. But I bet 1,000 V-Bucks your teenage son will. Mine does. He’s 13.

Bonnie Blue is a bottle-blonde, self-styled “porn star influencer” who can typically be found on a wipe-clean mattress having sex with as many men as possible (some “barely legal”, as she likes to boast).

Her record, she claims, is more than ONE THOUSAND in a single session.

Or as she charmingly puts it at the head of her X page: “I’m the slut who slept with 1,057 men in 12 hours.”

The 25-year old, from Derbyshire, posts the grisly results of her exploits all over social media, where her fans whoop and holler at her degradation as she pretends to enjoy it.

Bonnie is certainly insatiable — for attention as much as sex.

So of course her next stunt was bound to be even more eye-popping. And so it came to pass.

She announced this week that she is going on a nationwide “dogging tour”, where she will engage in “public sex acts” with provincial perverts in such salubrious locations as Bradford and Skegness. Cue the kind of outrage she thrives on. “It’s horrific!” etc

Bonnie thinks it’s all a bit of harmless fun. She’s a woman in control, blah blah blah.

But I don’t think she is in control any more. She is lost in a world of extreme porn that dovetails far too neatly with the warped worldview of Andrew Tate.

A place where women are nothing more than, as Bonnie has it, “sluts” to be passed around by horny, amoral men.

It is a deeply depressing existence but it is also concerning. The antics of her and her kind are damaging impressionable young boys, 50 per cent of whom have already been exposed to pornography by the time they are 13.

They urgently need teaching that Bonnie Blue’s behaviour is anything but normal. They must learn that the “sex” she peddles is just misogyny dressed up as men’s fantasy.

British schools have taught sex education since 1889. Back then, lessons were somewhat coy and only focused on what married couples did between the sheets.

The idea of teachers discussing someone like Bonnie Blue with their pupils would have been unthinkable.

But perhaps now it’s time they did.

END OF ERA ON BAIZE

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FAIR play to China’s Zhao Xintong for winning an impressive snooker World Championship final and channelling a bit of the old Hurricane Higgins flourish (so hasty was he, he mucked up the last black).

Not only is he the first Asian to win the contest, he is only the sixth non-Brit to take home the Silver Lady since the first tournament in 1927, won by Joe Davis, who ruled the roost for a staggering 15 years straight.

Much has been said of how this 28-year-old lad – one of a record ten Chinese players in the televised rounds of this year’s tournament – will go on to transform the game.

He’ll do for snooker what Luke Littler has done for the darts, is the thinking.

And yes, fresh blood in an old man’s game is no bad thing.

But I can’t help feeling a little misty-eyed at what may well be the beginning of the end of Britain’s dominance in yet another sport we invented.

NOW FIX ROADS, NIGEL

A QUICK trip up north to see the family recently and I felt like I’d ended up on the moon rather than in the Peak District.

The atrocious roads have got more craters than Tarmac, some of them so big they would have given Neil Armstrong a fright.

Thankfully the cavalry are on their way in the shape of a brand- spanking-new Reform-led Derbyshire County Council.

Nigel Farage’s posse secured 42 of the 64 seats last Thursday, giving the sitting Tory council a serious kicking.

But as newly elected councillor Stephen Read admitted: “We have a big job ahead of us.”

They really do.

Let’s hope Reform now put as much energy into fixing the roads as they dedicate to burnishing their anti-woke credentials.

WOKE’S ATTACK ON ART

SO now even the art world has been hobbled by the cult of woke.

Artists are so petrified of falling foul of the PC police they are refraining from saying anything too provocative, according to a Freedom In The Arts report.

Only ten per cent of those surveyed said they felt free to express their opinions, especially if they happened to be the viewpoints decreed verboten by luvvies.

You know, outrageous stuff like supporting Israel, backing Brexit or suggesting “women” with penises aren’t actually women at all.

This paranoia will feed into their work, leading to a self-censoring generation producing safe, derivative crap that wouldn’t look out of place in the frame aisle at Dunelm.

Fuelling this climate of fear has been the crashingly right-on Arts Council England, which hands out £458.5million of our money each year.

Last year it warned “overtly political work” would break its funding agreements.

It was later forced to do a U-turn on that heavy-handed Big Brother approach after a backlash from artists who accused it of censorship.

That’s your Arts Council England, folks – another publicly funded quango hopelessly out of touch with the people whose money it spends.

PINTS are going up by another 20p this month, according to the boss of ’Spoons.

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A night out with the gang will soon cost roughly the same as a week-long package holiday to Lanzarote. Full board. It’s enough to drive you to drink.

But spare a thought for us poor denizens of London, where some pints already cost TWENTY POUNDS.

I discovered this fruity number, called BA Thundercurrant, at a boozer near the office the other night.

Curiosity got the better of me so I scraped together some change and ordered a ⅓ pint, a snip at just £6.70.

I would describe the taste of this 7.7 per cent tipple as a cross between Ribena and methylated spirits.

Save your money.

PRINCE LOUIS, FIRST IN LINE TO ROYAL RAVER CROWN

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LET’S hear it for the hero of the week, Prince Louis.

His teasing of brother George at the VE Day parade was Gallagher-esque trolling.

You can already tell from Louis’ mischievous vibe that the fourth in line to the throne will be the one to watch. Good.

Because that’s the thing about the royals – they go all boring the nearer they get to the Big Job. You always need one of their ilk to wear the maverick crown and keep us all interested.

And we need Louis more than ever. All the other royal ravers have either disgraced the family or grown up and gone a bit dull (sorry Zara).

So in the young prince we trust. Keep up the good work, lad.