Your Astrological Week Ahead With...

Psychic Bob

Cancer (21 JUN-22 JUL)
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree? Because Olivia Newton John completely fails to mention it.

Leo (23 JUL-22 AUG)
Your date goes downhill when it becomes obvious that the strange smell overpowering the Thai curry she has ordered is coming directly from your groin.

Virgo (23 AUG-22 SEP)
When I tap on the dashboard, I want you to perform an emergency stop. And when I come sprinting out of HSBC, firing my shotgun indiscriminately, I want you to floor the fucker.

Libra (23 SEP-23 OCT)
Now that England have been knocked out of the World Cup, that St George flag in your window is starting to make you look a bit right-wing. As is the life-sized cardboard cut-out of Herman Goering on your lawn.

Scorpio (24 OCT-21 NOV)
This week you are called out in the middle of the night to investigate a power cut but end up being violently intimidated by an enormous space ship. After several weeks of abusing your mash potato and filling your living room with mud, you eventually make for a big mountain in Wyoming where luckily the government is planning a musical evening with the aliens who ruined your life. After looking a bit confused and desperate a Frenchman says you can join the aliens on board their mother ship which then takes off, seemingly never to return. Well done for abandoning your kids, you deadbeat weirdo.

Sagittarius (22 NOV-21 DEC)
Well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man – no time for talk. Actually, that came out a lot more rapey than I’d planned.

Capricorn (22 DEC-19 JAN)
If you’ve got vegetarians coming to your barbecue this weekend, try to make an extra effort on their behalf by closing the curtains, turning the music off and pretending you’re not in.

Aquarius (20 JAN-19 FEB)
Shed 7, Maroon 5. End to end stuff.

Pisces (20 FEB-20 MAR)
Your boss is renowned for calling a spade a spade, which is why he’s been up before the Racial Equalities Commission 28 times.

Aries (21 MAR-19 APR)
Your natural revulsion for shellfish is heightened this week after somebody points out that prawns are merely woodlice with swimming certificates.

Taurus (20 APRIL – 20 MAY)
While the authorship of many of Shakespeare’s sonnets has been questioned, he definitely did not write the one about the girl from Nantucket. So stop saying he did.

Gemini (21 MAY-20 JUN)
The next time you’re hurling abuse at somebody on television, just remember they have more money, work satisfaction and memories in the wank bank than you could achieve in 87 lifetimes. Even James Corden. Would you like to be alone now?


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BT Adverts Cause 40% Drop In National IQ

THE BT adverts featuring that bastard couple are causing Britain’s average IQ to fall off a cliff, according to new research.

Median British IQ has dropped 46 points since the launch of the campaign which follows the relationship between a ginger streak of piss, his slightly older, dead-eyed girlfriend and the simpering offspring she has with a Jigsaw jumper-wearing silver fox who looks like a baddie from Bergerac.

Experts now believe Britain is being made even more dense by the campaign’s toxic combination of hateful characters, ‘storylines’ and criminally pointless dialogue.

Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: “We have recently been treated to a scenario where streak-of-piss and his ethnically and demographically-diverse, but equally insufferable friends, are enjoying ‘beers’ and ‘banter’ while struggling to watch some banal, vanilla internet porn.

“When the black guy says ‘your software’s pants’ you can feel everyone in Britain dying, just a little bit. But because of what the BBC has done to British television, this is now regarded as a quality drama serial.

“Our society has become so conditioned to being treated with such utter contempt that we no longer have the will or strength to get out of our chairs and pull the entire bloated, festering carcass to the ground and hack it to pieces with scythes and chainsaws, before painting our naked bodies and performing a sexually charged pagan dance ritual around the dismembered chunks while holding burning torches and singing Debaser at the top of our lungs.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

But mother-of-two, Nikki Hollis, said: “I really like those adverts. It’s the whole will-they-won’t-they thing, isn’t it?

“Will they contract the ebola virus from an infected BT hub and bleed horribly and graphically to death, haemorrhaging from every orifice as they twist and contort in the throes of unimaginable agony?

“Or won’t they?”