The Archbishop of Canterbury on... dickheads dressing as crusaders

WAKING in the jungle, breath pungent with kangaroo’s testicles, surrounded by slumbering elderly and eminent men in cassocks, I dimly recall how I came to be here. 

Four men of the cloth and I resolved, two days earlier, to charter a private flight to Australia to hold our own contest entitled I’m an Archbishop… Get Me Out of Here! We may have taken a little drink.

The subsequent 48 hours are, I admit, something of a blur. I remember my friend, the roguish Archbishop of Matabeleland, putting me up to several trials all of which involved home-brewed bamboo liquor, and a wrestling bout with a crocodile.

Putting it behind me I abandon my colleagues and fly home, reading that Sir Keir Starmer has declared Labour to be pro-business, adding that ‘profit, success and enterprise are what drive Britain on.’

Christ’s bollocks in a Christmas sandwich, I bet Keir Hardie’s well pleased at how the party he fucking founded turned out! Resting well easy in his grave! At last, a political party that thinks of the entrepreneurs and fucking corporations. For too long, they’ve been at the mercy of greedy, overpaid workers having a laugh. Thank goodness one party has stepped up to defend capital against labour, and how fucking appropriate that that party should be the Labour Party! You useless, lying, slab-faced, dead-eyed fucking cunt! Cross the fucking Commons floor and join the bunch of cunts you actually fucking belong with!

At the Qatari World Cup, a number of England fans have been turned away for being dressed as crusaders. It seems that the costume, denoting as it does the historical rape and pillage of Arab lands, is deemed offensive.

I may have called the Qataris ‘a bunch of misogynist, homophobic, medievalist, slave-driving wankers and I’m saying that from the C of E’ in my latest sermon, but fuck me if they haven’t got a point. Fucking crusaders? Is there a bigger herd of bovine fuckwits on God’s green earth than England fans? If you’d done a second’s research into your fucking imbecilic cosplay, you’d realise the crusaders were mostly French! You might as well have shown your support for England wearing berets, hooped jerseys and a string of onions around your necks, you moronic arseholes! 

It seems that the inquiry into Dominic Raab’s bullying has extended to take in his time as Brexit secretary.

Don’t get me wrong, anyone ill-fated enough to have to call a vacant twat like Raab ‘sir’ deserves sympathy on those grounds alone. But am I the only one thinking, ‘tell you what pal, fancy a pop at bullying me and see which fucking way you end up afterwards?’ I’d kick your arse from here to fucking Christmas and back if you so much as raised your voice, you stoat-faced shitneck! 

Finally, Tory peer and former lingerie business owner Michelle Mone is under scrutiny after an investigation found her company PPE Medpro made millions during the pandemic supplying equipment that was ultimately useless.

Mother Mary’s left tit, do you ever get the fucking feeling that we don’t actually exist at all, that we’re all figments of the imagination of some shit novelist writing a potboiler about sleaze in British politics? I mean you’ve got Michael Gove, who’s barely fucking believable on a variety of levels but – Michelle Mone? What, she co-starred in porn movies in the late 80s opposite Henry Horny, or in hot girl-on-girl flicks with Louise Lubricated? Get the fuck out of here with your porn name bullshit! 

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My top hacks for cheating fruit machines, by Adele

BEGINNING her residency in the gambling capital of the USA, Adele explains why she only took the gig to make bank in the arcades: 

I love a flutter, but none of that blackjack, craps or Texas Hold ‘Em nonsense. No, I was raised in the amusements at good old Southend-on-Sea, where I picked up these tips.

Scope out the fruities

Take a table near your fruit machine of choice, and wait. Statistics: the longer it hasn’t paid out, the sooner it’s gonna. Spot your window and slide in while whoever’s playing is at the bar or nipped for a piss.

Yeah, you might get in the odd barney, but it’s worth it. I once cleared £40 on Aztec Tombs by nipping in when Fatneck Bob had popped out to feed the meter. He went f**king mental.

Lick your quids

Nadger to hygiene. You’ve got to lick your quids before you slot them in. It’s scientific fact it confuses the sensor and two out of seven times gives you unlimited nudges, which is as good as handing you the cash.

Has it happened to me? No, but that’s odds for you. It happened to my uncle and he won so much cash the amusements owner torched the whole place for insurance. They’re both neighbours now in million-pound houses on the Blackwater estuary, proving it’s true.

If in doubt, boot

The machine’s gone wonky? Then you, as a consumer, as well within your rights to give it a fucking kicking. I saw it on Watchdog. They get jammed up inside, so if you’re a couple of hours without a win take a run up from across the room and give it a proper boot. Did it once and got a jackpot two quid later.

Watch for patterns

Nothing’s truly random in this universe, as Brian Cox once told me while cleaning the fuck up on the 10p waterfalls. A fruit machine’s an artificial intelligence and they can’t beat human ingenuity.

So relax, centre yourself and wait for the patterns to show themselves. Whether it’s a pair of cherries heralding three’s-up on the gold bars or a nudge too far, they’ll be there and when you’re in the perfect zen state you’ll be up £3.50 in no time.

Get friendly with security

Uniforms hate a winner. You need them on your side, no matter whether you’re sending a two-year-old into the teddy picker for a Sonic the Hedgehog or scoring big on the Flying Aces fruitie.

Whether you’re paying them off with sell-by-date nougat, promising them a pint later or cutting them in on the publishing of Set Fire to the Rain, it’s worth paying out that bit extra to have them backing you up when the woman from the change booth storms over and starts laying in. Money you’ve won is sweeter than money you’ve earned, always.