This is me, Eccles

This is me, Eccles
This is me, Eccles

Thursday, 30 November 2017

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.

National custard museum

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.

Life of Brian

"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.

Morecambe and Wise with Gladys Mills

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.


  1. Hilarious. Our Catholic homosexuals are a cultured lot,singing Bach Cantatas before bedtime and composing symphonies before breakfast. This post is a fine tribute to Catholic education ( I think?)

    Not sure about the one note one finger eight hour piano concerto...a bit too Protestant for my taste:)

  2. Wait. What? Oh, never mind. I don't want to know.

  3. My morning has been uplifted!

  4. I'd not normally link to the following website, but my, here's what sort of company Thompson enjoys ...

  5. Using the term "gay" to describe homosexuals is offensive as it implies a happiness that they do not (generally) experience.

    1. Yes, they are happy!! You got that!? And if you haven't, you'd better run.

    2. If you don't you risk being accosted by the Gay GB