Suicide of a marriage: how matt goodwin used ai to cheat on his wife by richard pantis

Thrilled to see this in Gower Street Waterstones today.

Marianna Spring: Your post has been fact checked and has been found to be fake news.

British London books logo

Matt Goodwin smiling

EXCLUSIVE: British London Books confirm that Matt Goodwin's book, Birth of a Nation, will be pulped following allegations that it was written entirely by ChatGPT.

Mock tudor building that's also a Turkish barber

I wonder if there's a connection between people who have been radicalised by social media misinformation and those stupid enough to believe that this is a medieval building.

Omid drinking from cup

🚨🚨🚨BREAKING: Omid Djalili has sipped the enchanted transphobia elixir that destroys one's ability to have normal opinions about anything ever again.

Hit that LIKE button if she left you for your views.

Zack Polanski is afraid to debate me in the discourse dojo. I've been following him around all day, but he refuses to engage. When I tried to speak to Green Party activists, one of them gave me a wedgie and called me Dick Pantpiss. Can these people be trusted in government?

Infrared image of Zack's home.

🚨🚨🚨BREAKING: infrared technology reveals that @zackpolanski.bsky.social's home contains no poppies or poppy-themed items.

Graham Linehan with cum on his top in the toilets.

EXCLUSIVE: Graham Linehan has learnt to live entirely without sleep, generating energy through a process known as indignation, whereby his bloodstream is continuously oxygenated through excessive rage tweeting.

Thomas Skinner with his cock out on the tube.

Look at this horrid man.

The men's toilets in the House of Commons has graffiti on the cubicle door that reads: "Mike Tapp tapped Scooby."

Not sure what this could mean.

Goosebumps on an arm

Starmer Bumps: those sudden gooseflesh eruptions when Sir Keir finds his cadence. Syllables striking like tuning forks, stirring marrow, thrilling blood. Not politics as usual, but politics as symphony. And you, the listener, are the instrument.

The left kicked my head in until I had to flee to the centre for my own safety.

Open AI: why ai won't take my job. The technology is no match for felt eexperience in the real world by me, Richard Pantis.

AI will never replace British journalists: they wield irony like a scalpel, dissect absurdity, and know instinctively when to be polite, or ruthlessly cutting. Algorithms can mimic words; they cannot summon the judgment of a newsroom anchored in sensible reason.

Gram with his big sweaty red head.

🚨🚨🚨COURT ADJOURNED: I've been told that the Father Ted co-creator, Gram Lineham, has suffered severe fit of psychogastrocolic expulsiosis in the middle of his trial, resulting in a premature end to today's proceedings.

🚨🚨EXCLUSIVE: A Labour insider tells me that Sir Keir Starmer has been at Trump's bedside for the past two hours, cradling his head and dabbing his brow with a cold flannel. Doctors have explained to Starmer that Trump, his good friend, is unlikely to make it through the night.

Toilet cubical with "shit" smeared in shit on the wall and a chocolate ring around the sea.

Me for The Telegraph: Former comedy writer Graham Linehan heroically smears own excrement on toilet walls and seat in the latest battle against trans activists.

It was, by all reasonable accounts, a line so mild it ought to have evaporated on delivery; an administrative quip about beds, hotel reservations, the clerical minutiae of conference life. Yet when Sir Keir, with that faintly episcopal gravity of his, raised an eyebrow and said, “They told me it was a double, but I booked a king size,” the room detonated. Applause, laughter, the full animal roar of relief. In that moment, he was less the lawyer-lab technician of Labour, less the dutiful scourer of footnotes, and more—astonishingly—something like a comic. The applause was thunderous not because the line was funny (it wasn’t, not really), but because it was him, Keir, showing he could land a punchline, showing he could inhabit the body of a man who could lead not just by argument but by timing, by wit. He stood there in the afterglow, a hero of hotel-room humour, while the party faithful shook with joy at the miracle: their leader had joked, and he had landed it.

A snippet from The Competence Trick. Chapter V: Birth of Leader.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - The Guardian
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - The Times
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - The New European

"Pantis packs a hell of a punch!" - Kelvin Knox

A snippet from Chapter III of The Competence Trick - Starmer: The Great Reformer.

There’s a kind of English elegance in his restraint. A QC’s mind, a football manager’s patience, a civil servant’s allergy to melodrama. You can practically hear the nation sighing, relieved to have someone who knows where the stapler is, who can speak in sentences that don’t self-detonate halfway through. Starmer is not thrilling. Thank God. Thrills in politics are always preludes to hangovers. What he offers is better: the grainy dignity of getting on with it, of remembering the point of the whole enterprise, that government is not performance art, but administration. In this Age of the Clown, Starmer is the straight man. And that, right now, is greatness enough.

A snippet from my new book, The Competence Trick, a deep dive into the sensible world of Sir Keir Starmer.

Tiny Tommy Robinson with cat

BREAKING Tommy Robinson fled scene on the back of a cat after assaulting man, staff at St Pancras have revealed.

I was at The Spectator garden party when I found out about Corbyn starting a new party. Beth Rigby literally shat herself and an elderly man's SS hat fell off.

As a British journalist, I pledge my allegiance to the ancient scrolls of Sensible Grown-up Politics, hereby renewing my duty to do whatever is necessary to ensure that chaos with Corbyn is avoided.

Peter Cardwell @petercardwell · 20h Factually, kneecapping someone who is under 18, which the IRA and other terrorists have done frequently, is a form of child abuse. Kneecap are named after something which has been used as a form of child abuse. Quote Dr. Tomato @DocTomato · 20h Replying to @petercardwell and @TalkTV lol "child abuse"? The fuck you even talking about.

Congratulation, Peter Cardwell, winner of the highest honour in British journalism. It's the job of the British journalist to search through the bins of undesirables and expose their depravity, however tenuous the accusation may be: "Toploader have never driven a lorry."

Open wheelie bin full of rubbish

Well, well, well, Mr Bob Vylan. Let's see what we have here, shall we? The box from a Planty Sweet 'N' Sour Tempeh ready meal? Bit pricey, I bet. And what's this? A load of flyers for local takeaways? How's that going to solve global warming, eh?

Beth Rigby tweet reading: This interview with @TomBaldwin66 draws out the private Starmer that those of us who follow him about and see when the camera isn’t rolling & he’s not in public view. He is, of all the PMs I have covered the most ‘ordinary’ and down-to-earth & yet the public perception of him is often that he’s posh, lofty, out of touch. I think one of the most revealing segments about Starmer is that he delayed his family holiday - his first in a year after that mad election period & early days of govt - to go to to Leeds clean out his brother Nick’s home after he died from cancer, throwing away the rotting food from the fridge, picking up dirty clothes and cleaning out the bath & loo. Why didn’t he get a cleaner in? “I didn’t want anyone else there. He was my brother – I didn’t want to let him down.”

The Pantis Prize featuring my face and a wheelie bin. "For excellence in British journalism"

Congratulations, Beth Rigby, winner of the highest achievement in British journalist, The Pantis Prize. Your personal insight into Starmer, the man behind the blue suit and quiff, is in stark contrast to how others see him - as a tireless supporter of anti-disabled policies.

Benny Butterworth looking normal

Tragically, I've just been told by a colleague at whichever publication Benjamin Butterworth is pretending to write for this week that he was hit by a ballistic missile last night. A dark day for British journalism.

Thermal image of a rocket in a living room

New thermal images of the interior of Jeremy Corbyn's Islington home seem to suggest that he's harbouring weapons of mass destruction.

Tom Skinner drinking a Stella and saying "Morning, noon and bloody night. I'm always grafting, selling me pillows."

🚨🚨🚨EXCLUSIVE: Despite constantly insisting that he's always grafting, I've been unable to find any evidence that Toma Skinner has ever worked a day in his life, just footage of him eating runny meals while he stares geezer-like into a camera.