Showing posts with label Tom Chivers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tom Chivers. Show all posts

Sunday, 27 January 2013

Rent-a-troll

Phil Broadhurst

Hello, Damian. Speak later...

Many people only write blog posts when they have something interesting to say, and they are not too concerned with the number of hits they get. Others, however, are under contract to write 1000 words each week, and they lie awake at night worrying about their hit count.

Things are particularly bad at the Daily Telegraph, where the influx of a new generation of unreadable bloggers has made the blogs editor look very foolish. Some bloggers have been very successful - for example, cheeky Tom Chivers knows precisely what his largely conservative audience wants to hear, and writes exactly the opposite. Although he tries to give the impression that he spends his days discussing Che Guevara while drifting along in a cannabis-induced haze, the fact is that he is a stalwart of his local Conservative club; most days he takes the 7.53 from Surbiton, wearing a pin-striped suit and carrying a rolled-up umbrella.

Tom Chivers

Tom Chivers and his friends on their way to work.

Other bloggers recruited have been less successful. William Handsome, the etiquette correspondent, recently hit the scene with a fascinating post on "Should you blow your nose on your neighbour's sleeve in the Underground?" however, his follow-up post, "Dropping your trousers in church is only for Harrovians and other oiks," was rejected for being too Catholic.

Harrovian in church

A Harrovian is removed from the Brompton Oratory.

Which brings us to poor Damian Thompson, author of a book on addiction called Apologia Pro Vita Suaor, in the English translation, I'm sorry, I can't stop eating Ryvitas. Reduced to writing Saturday columns of ever-increasing fatuousness, he took the unusual step of hiring Phil Istine, a professional troll, in order to keep discussions going on his blog.

Phil Istine is a solitary man, whose main hobbies are snooker, drinking, and stealing underwear off people's washing lines. But he has a dazzling array of anti-Catholic sockpuppets, designed to provoke the traditional readership of the "Holy Smoke" blog into paroxysms of rage.

On-line presence

"I like to maintain an on-line presence," says Phil.

Among Phil's 100+ sockpuppets are such memorable characters as Phil, the lapsing Catholic, who hates traditionalism; Daryl, the faithful post-Vatican II Catholic, who hates traditionalism; Deborah, the liberal Anglican, who wants women bishops and hates traditionalism; Pau, the homosexual priest who stalks other posters and hates traditionalism; and Wendy, the lovestruck girl who wants to seduce a monk, but - and this is a neat touch - hates traditionalism.

Phil is of course immune from banning, as he is on the Telegraph payroll; moreover, anyone who criticises him or points out what he is doing is also banned. "I've had a good bag recently," boasts Phil. "Two Anglican priests, one retired schoolmaster, a young wife, and a Welsh anaesthetist. The more respected they are, the harder they fall!"

Geoffrey Sales

J.B. Priestley - banned because his writing put Damian's to shame.

Others who are immune to banning, as their witless remarks make Damian look good in comparison, are the notoriously senile Australian harridan "Anti Moly," or molybdenite (herself a skilled user of sockpuppets), and her sidekick MickyRoss the biologist, who recently pleaded guilty to 24 sample charges of mollusc-molesting.

But Damian's days are surely numbered, and, if so, then Phil will be looking for a new outlet for his trolling skills. If you can, please offer him a job on your blog.

Stalkport

Stockport bus station. Hang around here, and you'll soon find Phil.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

The Da Mian Cod, and others

An excerpt from Dante Brown's new novel Infernal Cheek:

Renowned blood-crazed 50-something Telegraph blog supremo Damian Thompson was standing energetically in Berlin's famous Louvre Museum, at the heart of Piccadilly Square, admiring Michael Angelus's 1504 marble sculpture "David," which portrays the Arabian King David on the point of biting into a cupcake.

David and cupcake

David. Note the cupcake in his left hand.

"Cupcakes," thought Damian pensively, meditating in a contemplative fashion on the highly addictive edible foodstuff, whereupon which he had written so movingly in his book on addiction, The Fix, which he himself had written. And this reminded him, it was the day on which the aforementioned memoir on addiction was to be published in paperback (his contacts at the heart of the publishing world had told him that this would be something like a hardback, only with softer covers).

Yellow Fix

The Fix, in new Hide-de-Vomit(TM) yellow covers..

Damian had not blogged on addiction recently. His protège (a Latin word meaning "dogsbody"), slightly-renowned 30-something leftie atheist blogger Tom Chivers, had been promoted from his key job of assistant deputy strategic events supremo, a position in which he had been mainly responsible for making the tea, and was now allowed to write the occasional Telegraph column in the Saturday "moron" slot. This in turn freed up more chronological time for Damian, in which he could blog about religious matters from a Catholic - and sometimes papist - viewpoint.

Or - and here Damian crossed himself religiously, making a cross symbol familiar to all Christians since Pope Pius XII - there was another possibility. He could use his blog to plug his terrible book again!


Father Xylophone writes:

I had a great day today with a Texas military firing squad.

Firing squad

Father X joins the liturgical Firing Squad.

I was delighted when the Texas militia contacted me, saying that an army chaplain had been court-martialled and found guilty of three capital offences, namely, (i) being a liberal; (ii) reading the National Catholic Reporter (aka Fishwrap); and (iii) arguing with me on my blog. The penalty for these was execution by firing squad, and as a priest in good standing who understands the importance of a well-armed priesthood, I was delighted to assist. (Aim at the black cassock, and stain it red, as I always say.)

I had of course been practising my sharp-shooting beforehand, so as not to let the side down by missing the target: the colonel complimented us on the unerring way in which we exercised our liturgical duty, blasting the renegade priest to smithereens.

QUAERITUR: Should one aim for the head, or the heart? Generally, Cannon Law says that one should aim for the head from Advent to Easter, and otherwise aim for the heart.

Liberal Catholic

Don't mess with Fr X, unless you want to end up like this.


Ordain a Lassie!

A new video has been released by the campaign for the ordination of dogs, called Ordain a Lassie. We do not have space to discuss this in detail, but the campaign is based on the observation that in some churches dogs are already being allowed to act as altar-servers.

Dog server

"Bark!" the Herald angels sing.

Saturday, 1 September 2012

De weddin of Tom Chivvers

Tom Chivers

Tom Chivvers in his weddin graments

Anti Moly and me is still stayin at Castle Thopmson in Notting Hell, but we doesn't see much of our host Damain Thopmson, as he is lockin himself away in his studdy to work on his new book, de definitive boigraphy of Glayds Mills, de concert painist.

Damain is very fond of paino music, especailly de classics. De great Stehpen Huogh was round here recently playin a meldey of his favuoite concert pieces, such as "Where did you get dat hat?" (arranged by Rachnaminov) and "We wish you a merry Christmas," wiv de immortal lines about "We all likes figgy puddings," which was condenmed by Paul Inwood as bein thoelogically too complex for de modern Cathlic chruch.

Stephen Hough

Stephen Huogh

Anyway, Damain looked up from writin his definitive account of Glayds Mills's weight probblems, to tell us, "By de way, my colleageu Tom Chivvers is gettin married on Satturday." Anti Moly has got a bit of a crush on Tom Chivvers, because he is pollite, charmin and non-Cathlic, and she put down her gin bottle and fainted dellicately.

Damain went onto explain dat de lucky bride was called Pat, but, because Tom is in de forefront of libberal thinkin, and likes to shock de traditoinalists, he wasnt sure whevver it was a man or a woman.

When my dere Anti recovered, she decided dat she would emullate de story of young Lockenvar, wot is a Scots chap who interrupted a wedding to carry off de bride on his horse.

Young Lochinvar

Young Lockenvar on a horse

Since Tom is an athiest, he wasnt gonna get married in a chruch, althuogh dere is chruches in Soho and de Plymuoth diocese dat will do same-sex marriages (we saw a card in a tellephone box, "Kinky Cathlic weddins, all tastes catered for. Ask for Farver Muriel"). Instead, he had hired de Allbert Hall, as dere was gonna be quite a lot of poeple attendin. He was gettin Stephen Hawkin to conduct de weddin, a proniment atheist wot knows all about big bangs; he has also been competin in de Parrylympics.

Anti aint gotta horse, so I suggested dat, bein Austrialan, she could ride to de Allbert Hall on a crocodile, or maybe have a cart pulled by a team of wombats. But in de end she managed to borrow a donkey, and rode off on her heroic missoin.

Old Lochinvar

Old Molyvar on a donkey (note de bridal bouqeut)

Well, I went dere by more traditoinal means, gettin Dan Hannan, Damain's chuaffeur, to drive me to de Allbert Hall. He refussed to obey de "Keep Left" signs dat David Cameron has been puttin up everywhere, so we was nearly late.

As you can see from de pitcher bellow, de weddin was well attended. Is dat Edwina Curry in de photto bellow?

Tom Chivers Wedding

Tom Chivvers Weddin. De geusts is very happy.

Well I has been keepin you on tenterhocks, but now I can reveel de identtity of de blushin bride, Pat. Well, Tom he is wot dey calls a geek or a nerd, and it turns out dat PAT is a laptop computter (PAT is Personal Applied Technology). Dis explanes a certian cryptic remark dat Damain's butler, Will Heaven, made, when he told Muvver Odone de cook, "I saw Tom wiv PAT on his lap again." Tom got de idea from a flim of Walt Sidney, and I fink dis is what de Chivvers fambly will look like in 15 years from now.

PAT

Tom Chivvers fambly, 2027

When Anti Moly learnt dat her successfull rivall was a computter, she said "Dat's reely woful," and decided to cancel de elopment. So Tom's weddin went ahead as planned. I aint often sentimenttal on dis blogg, which is normally written to provide spiritaul nuorishment, but I do fink de happy couple is made for each uvver. Readin his blogg, I has sometimes even wondered whevver TOM is de name of a computter, as well. Thinking Opinion Machine, maybe.

Thursday, 26 July 2012

A day in the life of Damain Thopmson

Damian Thompson

A blood-crazed ferret

I shudder into wakefulness as my alarm clock rings (today it plays my friend James MacMillan's cantata "The Lord smote Glasgow Rangers"). Giving my teddy-bear, Benedict, a quick hug, I leap out of bed and get dressed. Breakfast is a simple affair of cupcakes and coffee.

Cristina Odone, Tim Stanley and Ed West

Telegraph cupcakes. Can you spot Cristina Odone, Tim Stanley and Ed West?

Of course on Sundays I omit breakfast and go straight to the Oratory to look for liberal and modernist tendencies in the Latin Mass, but on weekdays I go to Telegraph Towers where I hold the highly important job of Editor of Telegraph Blogs. This means that all the bloggers kow-tow to me, bring me cupcakes, and laugh at my jokes. The only person I have to fear is the Telegraph's Editor, Tony Gallagher, who is a West Ham United fan, and regularly says things like "I don't like your face, Thompson, you little squirt. Beat it!" But now I've stopped blogging on religious topics, he doesn't kick me so often.

Telegraph bloggers

One big happy family of bloggers

Like most journalists, I spend most of the morning reading the papers, insulting people on Twitter, and swapping silly jokes. But Friday is my big day, as I have to write a Saturday column for the Telegraph's distinguished readership of London lawyers and retired colonels. So I look for pictures of fat people with silly hair or strange clothes, and weave a hilarious (or as my brainy friend Tom Chivers says "an hilarious") narrative about them.

Arthur Roche

Arthur Roche, always good for a laugh

Lost sheep

The lost sheep?

My Telegraph column also provides the material for a very witty blog. It attracts comments from the intellectual elite, who post under names like GI Joe, Mahatmacoatmabag, An Aussie Carrot, Chap With Wings, Molybdenite, Cutley in Florence, Ernest Chaussette, and The Great Stalin. Most of these names are real, but I suspect that one or two may be made up!

Well, the day draws on, and in the evening there are many options open to me. Sometimes I stand outside Victoria station selling copies of my new book The Fix to commuters. "Big issue!" I shout, as I think that addiction is indeed a big issue for all of us. Many commuters agree, and some are so impressed that they give me 50p, saying "Get yourself some tea, young man," without even taking a copy of my book.

The Big Issue

Did I mention that I have written a book?

This is the book of which the great Clive James, writing in the prestigious Wallamaloo Possum-Breeder's Gazette said "Some wonderful books have been written on the subject of addiction. If you want something totally different, try this book instead." Praise indeed, I'm sure you'll agree!

Another thing I may do in the evening is go home to Notting Hill, and play one of my 50,000 CDs. I am a very cultured chap, and I have 94 recordings of James MacMillan's Orchestral Variations on Donald, where's yer troosers? Often I lie in my bath, playing games with my plastic duck, Donata, and singing along to James's immortal music.

Before I know it, it's 9 p.m. and time for bed. A quick anonymous phone call to one of my enemies (e.g. Austin Ivereigh or Johann Hari), with a burst of demonic laughter, and we've reached the end of a perfect day. Off to bed with my teddy-bear!

Benedict the Bear

Good night, Damian!

Saturday, 30 June 2012

Carry on Blogging

I'm scraping the barrel this week

Damian Thompson
by Damian Thompson

Where does Rowan Williams stand on gay marriage? He keeps giving out contradictory signals. Last week I went round to Lambeth Palace and asked him straight out "Are you in favour of gay marriage?" and he replied "That's sweet of you, Damian, but we can only ever be good friends." This is not the sort of moral leadership we expect.

It's in contrast with the Catholic Church. When I asked the Pope the same question, he threw a bucket of holy water over me and kicked me out of the Vatican. No messing about there!


Pax Vobiscum

Paxman, not afraid to ask difficult questions

As Chloe Smith discovered this week, Jeremy Paxman is something of a blood-crazed ferret, and does not hesitate to ask badly-briefed girls difficult questions about government policy, such as "Do you ever think you are incompetent?" Of course he would never ask such a question of someone really useless who might fight back, such as a Prescott or an Osborne.

I met him recently in the showers at my health club, and asked him "Do you have the balls to take on a real heavyweight?" He hastily covered himself with a towel and ran away, but not before I had seen more than I wanted to.


Not Gay Pride and Prejudice

Vicar! Put thy clothes back on, we implore thee!

My colleague Tom Chivers has written a blog posting mocking the use of the words "Yes" and "No." These are the sort of words one associates with Jane Austen, and he is right to point out that in contemporary usage the forms "Yeah" and "Nah" are considered to be more correct. The sort of person who would say "Yes" is almost certainly an atheist or, worse, a Protestant.

I phoned up Rowan Williams and asked him "You would never say 'No,' would you?" and he replied "Damian, I told you, we can only be good friends." Sometimes his pronouncements are a little hard to understand.

Saturday, 23 June 2012

Song from Twelfth Night

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Rain

Or, as portrayed by the Seven Ages of Man...


Young Knowles

When that I was but a little boy called Knowles,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
They found my childish essays full of holes,
For the rain it raineth every day.


Tim

When as a young man, known to all as Tim,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I told Obama what I thought of him,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Stanley

Sir Henry Morton Stanley in Africa


Nerd

Then as a young-ish nerd by name of Tom,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I split infinitives with great aplomb,
For the rain it raineth every day.


Baldy

When that I was but a balding chap called Dan,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I spoke and all the Europeans ran,
For the rain it raineth every day.


Dame

When that I was an addiction-crazy Dame,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote six blogs essentially the same,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Plug

The Fix: How book-plugging is invading our lives and changing our world


Tebbo

When that I was but an aged man called Norm,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
My trolls were lefties from the lower form,
For the rain it raineth every day.


Old fool

When that I was but a basket-case called Lean,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote no facts, just propaganda green,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Enough power here to run a washing-machine

A nuclear power station. (Are you sure you've got that right, Geoffrey?)

Saturday, 9 June 2012

Summer quiz

Send your answers to the following questions to Bruvver Eccles, c/o Castle Thompson, Notting Hill, London by 8th June 2012. The winner gets a copy of Damian Thompson's latest book (can't remember the name right now). The judge's decision is final.

1. When Richard Dawkins appeared on Mastermind, his special subject was:
(a) chickens;
(b) theology;
(c) Dr Who assistants;
(d) manure.

2. The title of Damian Thompson's new book is:
(a) The Fox;
(b) The Fax;

The Fecks, a biography of Fr Jack?















(c) The Fecks;
(d) The Fix.

3. Which of the following is not a Catholic in good standing?
(a) Tina Beattie;
(b) Sr Margaret Farley;
(c) Hans Küng;
(d) All of them.

4. Vincent Nichols prays nightly for:
(a) red shoes like the Pope has;
(b) a red hat like Cormac Murphy-O'Connor has;
(c) a red revolution;
(d) a red-shirted football team.

5. Which addiction is NOT mentioned in Damian Thompson's latest book?
(a) cupcakes;
(b) cannabis;
(c) hair restorer;
(d) the Internet.

6. Which Telegraph blogger is this?

Could it be Cristina Odone?



















(a) Nasty Norman Tebbit;
(b) Cheeky Tom Chivers;
(c) Magnificent Mary Riddell;
(d) Dashing Damian Thompson.

7. Sr Margaret Farley's next book will be called:
(a) More abortions, please! A Catholic looks at pregnancy.
(b) Did we misjudge King Herod? The Massacre of the Innocents reappraised.
(c) Go and sin some more: a new look at good and evil.
(d) Why the Pope is not saved, but I am.

8. Polly Toynbee's real name is:
(a) Polly Technic;
(b) Beelzebub Toynbee;
(c) Mary Louisa Toynbee;
(d) Polyphema, Gran Signora de Toscana.

9. John Sentamu will not be the next Archbishop of Canterbury because:
(a) he has rather traditional beliefs;
(b) he's, well, er, slightly dark-skinned;
(c) he's got some front teeth missing;
(d) his dress sense is, well, er...

Costume holy man



















10. Damian Thompson's next book will be:
(a) Gladys Mills, the official biography;
(b) How I learned to love the Magic Circle;
(c) Celebrities and their hairstyles;
(d) 1,000,000 essential CDs.

11. What is the solution to the "Vatileaks" mystery?
(a) The butler did it.
(b) The Pope did it.
(c) The Reverend Green in the chapel with the lead piping.
(d) Father Brown will tell us.

12. What does this picture show?

Is that the Vulcan death grip he's doing?



















(a) a rather plain woman bishop in the Church of Scotland;
(b) a licensed killer about to finish off the notorious Rosa Klebb;
(c) a typical resident of the Bahamas;
(d) an entrant for the "wrestling the old lady" event in the Highland Games.

Saturday, 21 April 2012

We is comin to Enggland

We was rellaxin in Anti Moly's huose in Stickybeak Street one evenin. I was queitly readin Damain Thopmson's blogg and wonderin whevver UKIP was saved, and Anti Moly was watchin her favuorite programm on de telly, which is Benny Hill cos he does de Yakety-Sax music at de end where he gets chased by lotsa girls. She fuond it much more soothin dan de prevviuos programm, which was an interveiw wiv Cradinal Pell abuot de menttal probblems dat old ladies suffer - when she saw him she screemed "Woeful!" and frew her flase teeth at de telly.

We gotta knock on de door and a strangley familair cosstume lawman was standin there.

 P.C. Benjamin Hill

 "G'day, g'day, g'day!" he said, dis bein wot Austrialan police is trained to say. "Molly Badnite alias Judy Headache, we has been gettin dozens of compliants about you bein a  public niusance. Why doesnt you go away for a while, so dat we aint forced to arrest you?"

So my dere Anti decided dat we wuold vissit Enggland, which is where Anti's ancesstors came from until dey was sent off to Bottany Bay. We made a list of all de poeple we wuold try and visit, dat Moly has said she reely admires, such as Damain Thopmson, St Cuttley, Richard Dakwins, Tina Beattie, de Duchess Camila, Tom Chivvers, and so on. We got a good range of celebritties dere, includdin de devuot and saintly like Cuttley and Thopmson, de loonies like Beattie and Dakwins, and de braney types like Chivvers and Camila.

However, Anti gave me a warnin about Enggland, as we walked down de street to de shops: "Dem Pommie bastards is all racists, Eccles. Dey aint multicultured and tollerant like we is." Kickin a passin abboriginal wot had strayed onto de pavement, she continnued: "Look at dere spellin, for instance. Dey is racist cos dey tells off Americans for spellin baddly." Pussonally, I aint never had a probblem wiv spellin, so I didnt reely understand wot she was gettin at.

Grumpy Moly

Dat's a pitcher of my Anti Moly in a bad mood, some poeple says dat she ressembles Dr Jonhson slightly. Sometimes I feels like Boswell takin down de immotral words of Jonhson, cos my Anti never reely stops producin purls of wissdom, like de epiggrams above. I admits dat dey is a bit repettitive, like when she says "ROFL" half a dozen times. I don't fink Jonhson said "ROFL" except on specail occasoins. Also dere is a limmit to how many times you can prettend dat "Such is life" is a new and strikin obversation on de humman conditoin. De way of a boigrapher aint so easy.

Our freind Damain Thopmson have got a new book out soon, which Bosco and me helped him write when he visitted us in Lost Angels. Anti Moly finks we mihgt go and see him sing coppies of it, but she promissed she wont take a few locks of his hair as souvennirs, like she did wiv poor old Cuttley.

Moly cake

In Enggland dey got a delickacy called an Eccles cake. I hopes it is better dan de Austrialan delickacy known as de Moly cake, which is pretty repullsive, frankly. Eatin dem widgety grubbs is an acquirred taste.

Sunday, 15 April 2012

Some uvver Tellegraph bloggs

Geoffrey Anel
Holy Water Shortages
By Geoffrey Anel








As the world's oldest environmental correspondent, and the sole survivor of the 1913 conference which found that the sinking of the Titanic was due to atmospheric carbon dioxide, I was invited to a prestigious Climate Change congress in Rome this week. There I discovered that Pope Benedict XVI is so concerned about water shortages that he will be banning the use of Holy Water in Catholic churches so as to minimize the Holy Spirit's "Hydrogen footprint".

For many years the Catholic Church has been known for its indifference to green issues. Indeed, the carbon dioxide produced by this Easter's Paschal candles has caused sea levels to rise by no less than six feet, and (so I am told) the town of Adelaide has completely disappeared underwater. Will Benedict XVI go down in history as the Green Pope? We can but pray to Gaia that it will be so.

Ban these fonts now

For our children's sake, stop this waste now!
 


Stephen Oh-Hug
It doesn't matter what notes you play
By Stephen Oh-Hug








Occasionally, when you are performing a concerto at the Carnegie Hall, or possibly the Royal Albert Hall, your attention will wander for a moment and you will think, "Am I supposed to be playing Rachmaninov or Tchaikovsky right now?"

Well, you'll be pleased to know that it doesn't really matter. The great pianist Alfred Brendel said that under such circumstances he would wing it for a while, perhaps simply playing an embellished version of Pop goes the weasel until the orchestra gave him a clue what he was supposed to be doing. Then he would come back to the score as if nothing had happened. Provided that he kept a straight face, none of the audience would ever notice.

Alfred Brendel

Alfred Brendel in conversation with André Previn
 




Tom Vichers
Why we owe so much to Chris Huhne
By Tom Vichers








As a fully-paid-up pro-Gay Liberal Atheist, I see it as my duty to wind up the Telegraph's largely conservative readership. So today I am focussing on the achievements of Chris Huhne, one of my real heroes. Who can doubt that if he had been prime minister, he would have legalised cannabis, heroin and opium, which, after all, are no more harmful to the teeth than coffee with sugar? Then again, there are some parts of the British countryside that do not yet have their own wind turbines - why oh why should the Yorkshire Dales be deprived in this way? It can only be attributed to the fact that Chris Huhne was forced out of office by the forces of reaction (Inspector Norman Plod).

Unfortunately our picture editor could not find a photo of the great man, but here is a photo of his ex-wife going for a spin.

Mrs Huhne

I was only doing 30 m.p.h., officer.


Continued here.