Chick-fil-A starts donating to the Catholic Church

Following pressure from LGBT activists, who have forced their first ever British restaurant (in Reading) to close, Chick-fil-A have surrendered further, and will no longer be giving money to the "anti-gay" Salvation Army and Fellowship of Christian Athletes.

However, all is not lost, as in looking around for other Christian organizations that could be worth their support, and which might be found less offensive by the Gay Mafia, Chick-fil-A have stumbled across the Catholic Church.

A top LGBT activist and part-time priest shares a joke with Pope Francis.

"We don't know much about this organization," said their Managing Director, Mr Jack Chick (memo: check this), "because apparently their top man tells them to keep quiet and under no circumstances try to convert people. Still, we see that in the U.S.A. they are very hot on gay rights, and this should please the gay Mafia chaps."

Said Algy Beattie, an activist in the GLAAD Pride Mafia, "This seems like a good choice to us. We have excellent relations with Sweetie Cupich, Nighty-Night Tobin, and James Martin LGBTSJ the famous bridge-builder and organizer of LGBT retreats (know what I mean?) They have assured us that the bits in the Bible condemning homosexual acts are never read out in church these days, and certainly never preached on. Also that fat chap in New York, the Grandmaster of the St Patrick Pride March who hates Fulton Sheen. He backs us too."

And are the English bishops doing their bit for gay rights, and fighting the battle against bigots, such as the now totally discredited St Paul? Of course they are: many dioceses now have LGBT Pride Masses: Clifton, Salford, Northampton, Nottingham, ... the list is fairly predictable really. It is expected that they will insist on Chick-fil-A providing the catering for their regular LGBT activities. That should keep the gay Mafia happy! Well done, lads!

Salford. Inevitably.

The Telegraphies

Who can resist the jolly antics of the Telegraphies - Molly, Micky, Marky and Pau? With their silly catch-phrases and their crazy games, they have become an instant hit on the Telegraph blogs.

* We giggle as Molly, the senile one, thinks up more revolting insults than ever before. We chuckle as she tells us about her tolerance for all religions except orthodox Catholicism. We fall asleep as she tells us anecdotes about her "rels". Molly's the one who drinks all the hair-restorer.

* We smile as little Micky, the one who may be male or female (or something in between), pastes dozens of links to anti-Catholic articles on dodgy websites and says "ROFL" whenever challenged to debate an issue seriously. Weep with Micky when she (or perhaps he) tells you how dreadfully unfair life is. Micky's the one whose only friend is a llama.

* Then there's Marky, the intellectual of the group, who has read Dawkins and Einstein, and thinks they are theologians. However, Marky really prefers to curl up with a good story about child abuse.

* Finally there's creepy old Pau, the "gay icon," who trawls the internet, looking for information about his victims. Pau likes religion, but not the serious bits.

And now Damian Thompson says "Bye-bye."

A guest blogg from Prince Chalres

Good evening, some of you will have seen me on television recently, reading the weather forecast: indeed, I told the nation that the Queen was facing a lot of "heir pressure" right now, but she had said she was still "long to rain over us." Being a great fan of the Goons, one is delighted to help out Mr Eccles Cake while he is suffering from a writer's block thingie, although one realises that he is only a pale imitation of the intellectual giant created by the late Spike Milligan.

Well, as Defender of All Faiths, one is of course anxious to encourage all faiths, and besides achieving Karma and earning the 72 virgins that one is promised in Paradise, one does indeed wish to be a saved person like Mr Eccles. So, er, "One has been saved, yeah."

Crikey, how did that picture of Mater get there? Eccles, could you remove it, please? Oh, it's your Auntie Moly, is it? What a startling resemblance she bears to the old Monarch, eh?

Of course, there is a limit to this "Defender of all Faiths" business, and it would not do to be seen endorsing the Catholic faith - not if one is looking for a spot of promotion in a few years time, perhaps to a job with a crown of one's own as part of the benefits package.

Damian Thompson, the UK's leading Catholic, is a close friend of mine, and he shares many of my passionate interests. When I attended his party in Castle Thompson last week, we had a lively discussion about the prayer book, the use of organic bread and wine at Mass, and of course, the weather.

Thompson was also telling me about the "Gay Mafia" which is so influential in Catholic circles these days. Alas, we don't really have any "gay" members of the Royal Family apart from my cousin Prince Hemd-Heber of Lustigstadt, so one cannot really advise him there.

Well, one was rather hoping to get some sort of message across in this blog - after all, one's subjects do rather expect a few words of wisdom - so let's tackle a subject dear to the heart of Damian Thompson: the correct naming of people. Obviously, it is a solecism to refer to "Lord Peter Mandelson" when his real title is "The Dark Lord of Gehenna," but not many people know that Damian's blog should really be published under his formal title "His Grace The Honourable Doctor Damian Thompson of that ilk." Standards are indeed slipping.

Damian has asked me to mention his new book, "The Fix," which is the tragic story of the decline and fall of a Catholic journalist into secularism and mediocrity. Will that do?

A Lattin Mass

Anti Moly and me we is still stayin wiv Damain Thopmson, who is a really luvvly man. But on Satturday mornin I woke up in my bed in Castle Thopmson to find a pink horse's head in it, which I is fiarly sure wasn't dere de night before.

I summoned Will Heaven de butler, who shimmered in wiv a tray contianing a glass of milk for me and a hair-restorrer and gin cocktail for Anti Moly, what sleeps in de next room. "I sees dat Sir has been contacted by de Gay Maffia," explaned Mr Heaven. "Dey is very poppular in de Cathlic churhc nowaddays, especailly in de Plymouth diocese. No duobt dey is invitin you to go to de Church of de Assumption and St Gregory in Soho for a gay Mass. Dis may be an offer you can't refuse. Play your cards rihgt and Vincent Nichols will give you de kiss of peace."

Damain, howevver, had uvver plans, and on Sunday we trailed into de London Horrortree. I had planned to wear a togga, as dey say dat when in Rome you gotta do what de Romans do, but Damain said it wasnt usaully done. He hisself wasnt wearing a togga, just his superman costume. In de week he is mild-mannered Damain Thopmson, but at weekends he is like a blood-crazed ferret.

Anti Moly disgraced herself almost immediately. "Why has dat woeful priest got his back to us?" she screeched. "Aint dat typical traddy Cathlic rudeness?" Damain explaned in hushed tones dat traddy preists doesnt like to look at de congreggatoin, especailly when Anti Moly is among dem, as it makes dem feel ill.

De preist was wearing a beretta, which he took off to make annuoncements, e.g. "Will you keep dat old bat quiet please, Dr Thopmson?"

After a while, I got fed up, cos I didn't understand wot was goin on, so when de preist puased for breath, I stood up and sang "I am de Lord of de Dance, said He," which is a famuous hynm about Jessus dancin wot we sings in de Calumny Chappel. Anti Moly had been drinkin Damain's hair-restorrer since 8 a.m. and she jioned in de Dance wiv me.

But apparently in de Lattin litturgy, dis is not what dey does, so I got one or two funny looks from de traddies. Sometimes deys sings de Gregorrian chant, "Ego Dominus saltationis sum, dixit," but dat's all.

After de Mass we went back to Castle Thopmson, where Muvver Odone, de cook, was doin us raviolli for lunch. She alternates between passta and piza, she aint got much imaginatoin. After all dat dancin, Anti Moly said she was so hungry she could eat a horse, and so I left her chewin her way frew de pink one I was givven.