My night of horror with Damian Thompson

By Milo Yourehopeoulos.

I'll never forgive my parents for naming me after a chocolate drink.

I owe a lot to Damian Thompson. Without him I would just be a talentless nobody who wears silly glasses and stands alone in the corner at parties. As it is, I am an internationally-renowned blogger with a keen following amongst the illiterate Tuttifrutti tribe of the Amazon jungle.

But there is a sinister side to Damian, as I discovered the night he invited me to stay at his castle in Notting Hill. Things began badly when he insisted on plying me with cupcakes and custard, no doubt in a vain hope that this would cause me lose control. He doesn't drink alcohol, and I didn't find that his home-made non-alcoholic hemlock wine "Château Blood-crazed Ferret" was much of a substitute.

Damian spends many weekends at the National Custard Museum.

"I've got a DVD called The Life of Brian," said Damian. "It's the in-depth story of Haversack Brian, the 103-year-old composer who wrote three symphonies before breakfast every morning. My friend Stephen Hough has arranged his longest symphony, the eight-hour Vandal Symphony, for playing on the piano with one finger."

We put on the DVD, but it turned out to be a religious film about some prophet called Brian, so Damian angrily ripped it from the DVD player and threw it at Cormac the cat. Resisting my host's increasingly aggressive demands that we should stay up all night singing Bach cantatas together, I retired to the spare bedroom.

"Dear Mr Cleese, I wish to complain..."

There were approximately 500 copies of Damian's magnum opus, "The Fix" in the spare room, so I picked one up and soon found myself sleeping peacefully. However, at around 3 a.m. I was woken by a knock on the door.

"Moli, I mean Milo," said Damian in a whisper. "Would you like to come and listen to my collection of Gladys Mills CDs?" I knew that my host had been a fan of Mrs Mills from an early age, and that he sometimes sobbed himself to sleep listening to her masterpieces. But at 3 a.m. this was really too much.

A young Jorge Bergoglio receives a cake from Gladys Mills, watched by Damian Thompson.

"Go away, Damian," I groaned. "I want to sleep!"

"Just one CD, Milo," pleaded Dr Thompson, and then, when it was clear that I wasn't going to take part in his disgusting rituals, "all right, you'll see. I'll ruin you. You'll never work again! You'll become a second Austen Ivereigh!"

So as you see, that perpetually-smiling face conceals the heart of a fiend.

I'm sorry to have to put all this on record, but people have started to forget who I am, and it's important for gay Catholics with no talent to stay in the news. Ask Fr James Martin.

It's the Wedding of the Millennium

London, 1533.

Yes, it's the wedding of the millennium, as dashing Prince Harry weds his new lifelong partner Meg-Anne Boleyn (having tactfully said farewell to his previous lifelong partner, Queen Katherine)!

Meg-anne previous acted in the Entertainment Doublet and Hose.

One religious difficulty will have to be overcome before the happy couple can be wed, namely that Harry (and indeed Anne) will have to leave the Catholic Church and become Protestant. Harry sees no problem with this, and has even offered to become the head of the new church.

The Vicar of Bray sends his congratulations, and angles for an invitation.

Further congratulations have come from the Lord High Chancellor, Sir Thomas More: "It is clear that Harry has really lost his head over this girl," he says, "and I am sure that Anne will be losing hers too! Indeed I may even end up losing mine! Well done all round!"

So far no reaction has come from Rome, but it must be remembered that the 16th century postal service is not very quick, and Pope Clement VII is always slow to respond to letters - indeed, some Dubia sent back from the New World in 1492 have still not been answered. Moreover, the Holy Father is currently lost somewhere in the Burmese Empire, desperately trying not to say the word "Rohingya", which is Burmese for "Can you direct me to the rest room?"

An awkward moment, when Prince William believes that Harry is marrying Anne Markle of Cleves.

The final word must go to Harry. "My family has always been keen on marriage, indeed most of hem have married several times. I don't think I shall have more than six lifelong partners, myself, though!"

Pope Francis says "stop loving your neighbour"

After 2000 years, the Catholic Church is coming to terms with yet another new development of doctrine, as Pope Francis has announced that the old "rigid" teaching "Love your neighbour as yourself" needs revising. After all, he pointed out, a few minutes' Ignatian discernment will tell you that you are not supposed to love yourself, and therefore you should not love your neighbour either.

This "love your neighbour" stuff is too exhausting.

The new doctrine, to be expressed in an encyclical Non Plus Benevolens ("No more Mr Nice Guy"), will be welcomed by many Catholics who find that loving their neighbours is really too difficult.

Some of the key sentences from Non Plus Benevolens, which are expected to be tweeted interminably in parrot-fashion by Cardinal Napier, amongst others, are the following:

"If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. But only after giving them a good kicking."

"If someone asks you go a mile with them, give them a lift in your car, and drop them in the countryside ten miles from the nearest bus-stop."

"If a man demands your coat from you, then make sure you steal a better one from someone else."

"I'm finding it very hard to love those witless worms, Holy Father."

As one of the Pope's key advisers, Fr James Martin SJ, puts it, "Many New Testament scholars think that these were the messages Jesus was trying to convey, although being a Jesuit he left things completely obscure, which is only right."

Pope Francis also apologised for the recent Year of Mercy, which had not turned out as it should. Many Catholics had entered their local church through the Door of Mercy, not realising that the object of the game was to slam the door in the face of the neighbour following behind.

A Vatican-approved wrestling grip for making your neighbour surrender.

Non Plus Benevolens is expected to be a popular doctrine with liberal Catholics, and very much in line with secular "Every man for himself" practices. As the world's greatest theologian, Massimo Faggioli, points out, it is likely to evolve into "If I don't get my own way, I'll thcweam and thcweam until I'm thick," which is considered to be much closer to the Anglican approach to doctrine (see under divorce, women priests, etc.)

Fr James Martin Brown investigates

With apologies to G.K. Chesterton.

Through the quiet streets of Manhattan there walked a short, dull Catholic priest. Nothing about him suggested anything out of the ordinary, unless it was the rainbow-patterned socks that he wore. With him was a chunky, flamboyant man, also dressed unconvincingly as a priest. This was "Flambeau" Rosica, the communications expert whose Lightly Salted media empire had brought him worldwide fame.

The Innocence of Father Brown.

The two priests were discussing deep theological questions, and had come to an agreement that if, as the great theologian Spadaro had proved, it was possible to argue that 2+2=5, then many of the conclusions drawn in the Bible must have been wrong.

"It is an impenetrable mystery to me," admitted Flambeau. "How could the Catholic Church have been wrong for 2000 years? It was not until the era of Pope Francis the Great that we realised that the old Doctors of the Church were completely ignorant."

New York's got Talent!

Father Brown thought for a while, and, as they walked the dusty streets, he saw a sign, IGNATIAN GAY BAR. "Let us stop off there for a while," he suggested, "and perhaps build a few bridges."

They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but even luxurious inside. Once seated, Father Brown explained some of the other parables that had been misinterpreted for so long.

"The sower and the seed," he began. "It was always thought that the seed that fell onto fertile soil and grew was somehow the most worthy. But did not the seed that fed the gentle birds have a more sacred destiny? The farmer was clearly a capitalist, trying to exploit the workers, and he probably supported Donald Trump."

A mystery for Flambeau: how did this man ever become a cardinal?

"Then again, Jesus totally misunderstood the parable of the Good Samaritan. It was the Jesuit who walked past the injured man - stopping only to sell him a copy of his new book - who was the real hero of the story."

"Too true," commented Flambeau, sticking his leg out to trip up a passing waiter and roaring with laughter. "Then there was the Prodigal Son. What a wretch he was, deserting those happy pigs, who wanted him to feed them, and rushing back to stuff himself on fatted calf!"

"Talking of which, why don't you have another plate of fatted calf yourself?" urged Father Brown. "Your chair doesn't seem to be collapsing yet."

"When you practise Ignatian Discernment," he added, "you see all the parables in a new light. Take the rich man and Lazarus, for example. Obviously the villain here is Abraham, who refused to accept the rich man into his bosom. I would never refuse to accept a rich man into my bosom."

They left the tavern, and Flambeau drew Father Brown's attention to a photograph. "Can you explain this?" he asked.

No headscarf?

"It seems that this is Karen Oliveto, a Methodist Minister who accused Jesus of being a 'bigot'" noted Father Brown. "She is apparently a lesbian, so we should make her welcome. However, the Islamic connection is not entirely clear to me..."

Who is the real Pope?

In these troubled times, there seem to be four possible theories about who is actually the Pope:

1. Pope Francis.
2. Pope Benedict.
3. Nobody.
4. Someone else entirely.

So it's time for an in-depth analysis. Not that you'll get one here.

Sedevacantists see things this way.

1. Pope Francis is the obvious answer. Elected by a conclave in 2013; white smoke; goes around in white robes; sleeps in a humble broom-cupboard in the Vatican. After his private correction by Cardinal Burke, his correctio filialis by a bunch of wise men, and a telling-off from Fr Weinandy - with none of which has he publicly disagreed - he is now the most orthodox Catholic on the planet.

Of course he has a few blind spots as regards how to run the Church. Whatever made him think that Blase Cupich was worthy of doing any job more spiritual than emptying the dustbins? Does he really think we've forgotten his Anschluss with the Order of Malta? When the newspapers carried headlines ELDERLY DICTATOR UNDER HOUSE ARREST, who thought of Mugabe, and who thought of Francis? Still, otherwise he's played a blinder. Well, apart from... no, let's move on.

Two litres of Amoris Laetitia, please!

2. Pope Benedict? Well, he was apparently forced out after undue pressure from his enemies in the Church. They kept sending him copies of the Tablet and essays by Austen Ivereigh. After such relentless persecution, who can blame him if he decided to spend more time with his beer, I mean prayer? On the other hand, it's not entirely clear that popes can resign.

Still, he says he's not the Pope, and he ought to know.

3. Nobody. There are two groups here. One is the group that believes that all popes since Vatican II (or possibly since Pius V) were invalidly elected. This viewpoint is supported by the prophecies of St Malachy, Nostradamus, and Mystic Meg.

The second group - more interesting - finds something distinctly fishy in the story of the 2013 conclave, where, thanks to the St Gallen Mafia, or Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, or British intelligence, or perhaps Batman's arch-nemesis the Joker, some skulduggery took place. In which case the cardinals need to go back into the Sistine Chapel and try again. Good luck with that one.

The Soros twins.

4. Someone else was secretly elected by the conclave in 2013. Pope Francis is merely a "stunt pope" who does all the dangerous things like driving the Popemobile at high speed, flying in aeroplanes, and making the odd speech, indeed very odd speech. Somewhere in the background is an Eminence Grise who is pulling the strings. This may be:

i) George Soros, who appears to have a finger in every disreputable pie;
ii) Vladimir Putin, who is blamed for everything;
iii) The Habsburgs, who seem to be making a come-back;
iv) Richard Branson, who seems to be everywhere (except that I have never seen him on one of his delayed trains).

Alternatively, Douglas Adams suggested that the man who rules the Universe sits in a shack somewhere, with no companions except his cat. Well, he was nearly right: it's actually the Catholic Church that he rules.

Or could this saved person be the power behind the throne?

Eccles just can't be bothered

There are too many villains, idiots and heretics in the world, and how can I possibly keep up? Perhaps I should have a month or two off blogging, and let the world continue to satirize itself.

The dreaded Huq the Rupa.

In Victorian London, many innocent boys and girls were slaughtered on a daily basis. In an attempt to stop the flow of little corpses, men and women would aggressively pray outside abortion clinics, using the offensive words "Hail Mary, full of grace...", and desperately trying to save innocent lives.

But London was a dangerous place to pray, and in those foggy streets, people dreaded the sinister tread-tread-tread that denoted the approach of Huq the Rupa...

The USA's captain for the "Silliest Cardinal" World Cup hits a server with his crozier.

With their sacking of Fr Weinandy, for the offence of being confused by Pope Francis and scandalized by his bishops (isn't everyone?), the USCCB made it clear that they were expecting to field a strong team for the "Silliest Cardinal" World Cup.

Captain of a team that includes Farrell, Tobin, Wuerl and Dolan, Cardinal Blase expects his boys to meet some tough opponents, such as Rhino Marx's Germans, the Belgians, the Italians, and the Maltese. "But we'll show them that we can distort Catholic teaching with the best of them!" said the cardinal defiantly.

Let's consign Simon Jenkins to history.

The churches, the British Legion, and in fact most decent people, have decided that now is the time to consign to history "Sir" Simon Jenkins, writer of tedious and badly wrong Guardian articles.

"Sir Simon was essentially a 20th century phenomenon," said one commentator. "His views never did make much sense, but now that he apparently believes that we should drop Remembrance Day, it is really time to send him off to the Dunrantin Retirement Home for Potty Journalists."

Sir Simon today was unrepentant. "Since we have had no wars anywhere in the world since 1945 - well I haven't seen any in my agreeable mansions, apart from when my first wife left - it is clear that there is nothing to remember any longer. As I always say on November 11th 'Let me forget!'"

Sorry, Salman, the game's up. Go and read a good book instead.

Next, the third Global Atheist Convention, planned for Melbourne in 2018, has been cancelled for lack of interest. It looked like being a real humdinger of an event with Salman Rushdie (gosh, is he still alive?) talking about the book he wants to sell, and Richard Dawkins (yes, we know he's alive) talking about, er, the book he wants to sell. And with everyone trying to avoid mentioning God.

When the news was broken to Professor Dawkins, he said "It's all over with atheism. And I was hoping to stock up on duty-free honey. But Bin Laden has won."

And finally, the CofE approves of little girls pretending to be boys.