'Get stuffed you scroungers': A first look at Rishi Sunak's Spring Statement

RISHI Sunak is to announce his mini-budget today. Will it ease the fears of worried British citizens or basically just tell them to get f**ked? Here he explains what to expect:

You’ll either freeze or starve

Do you want to wear several jumpers while you eat your meagre dinner of half a cracker with a morsel of cheese, or would you like a hot meal but shiver so much you can’t get the fork in your mouth? Neither? Well, tough shit. We all have to make difficult choices. I’m torn between a new holiday home in the Seychelles or a really massive one in Cornwall.

Inflation is going mental

Currently at 6.2 per cent, it will beat the previous record of 8.3 per cent and could even reach 10 per cent, which means everything is going to get a lot more expensive. No buying fancy new gadgets to cheer yourself up anymore. Although you won’t be doing that anyway, because you’ll be saving up for a month for a pack of tendony budget sausages.

We’ll cut petrol prices but it’ll be naff all help

I know you’re worried about petrol prices, so I’m going to knock a bit off the cost of a litre. Unfortunately it’s already so eye-wateringly expensive that a couple of pence is going to make bugger all difference. Also, we’re going to recoup that money by introducing toll roads. Why not keep warm today by burning your car, cooking a meal on the flames and saving a fortune in the long term?

Old people can piss off

The state pension will rise by less than inflation, meaning the elderly will have less money but much higher bills. However this is more of a problem for poor pensioners, and affluent homeowning ones who vote Tory are likely to get some sort of bribe before too long. The government is already toying with the idea of bringing back the triple-lock on pensions, in the meantime maybe they could have some nice terracotta pots for their sizable gardens?

You’re all f**ked but it’s not our fault

The bottom like is: we’re all f**ked, but it’s nothing to do with the government, it’s all due to the war in Ukraine. You might even call the invasion ‘well-timed’ or ‘lucky’. And ultimately it’s all your own fault for not being a billionaire, frankly.

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Six sports that aren't sports because you play them pissed in the pub

THINK you’re sporty because you once beat your dad at arm-wrestling? No sport you can do after eight pints really counts as a true athletic endeavour. For example: 


Throwing tiny spiked missiles at a board is the height of sophistication if you’re a delinquent 10-year-old, but a sport? One played by professionals who are also professional drinkers? You can get every dad in the pub to watch your mate’s tepid attempt at a triple twenty only when there’s no football on telly.


A crowd-pleaser, but there isn’t much skill behind flinging a ball into fancy sticks. Especially as even the most hammered person in the room can throw it in the right direction and win a few points by sheer drunken force. It’s knocking things over. That’s not really a game.


There is no good reason for leaning over a table with a long stick unless attempting truly imaginative DIY. A cousin to snooker, which involves complex colour-coding and still attracted some truly epic alcoholics, pool is simple, pointless and dull. Best used to see if your smashed friend has double vision.

Table football

If table tennis can be recognised as a sport, why can’t table football? Because swivelling poles wildly is only notable for being the last remaining coherent movement you can perform after five Jagerbombs. You might as well be a toddler learning new muscle skills.


The perfect pub sport because it can be played by two men too inebriated to stand up. They shove at each other, grunt, sweat, and then one wins because the other was momentarily unsure of where or who he was. Runs a high risk of spilling someone’s pint, leading to the final sport.

Bare-knuckle fighting

Technically done in the pub car park, this sees two shitfaced men face off against each other and swing their fists at blurs in the hope that one will connect. The first to fall over is declared the loser. The winner’s prize is to put the boot in and stagger off for a kebab.