The Archbishop of Canterbury on… Hulk Hogan: legend, scab, reincarnation racist

WAKING up with a hangover so intense that the hangover itself has a hangover, I reflect on another tumultuous week in ecclesiastical affairs. 

For an appropriate fee, I occasionally officiate at marriages at the Abbey for non-royal personages. I did so last week for a well-known property developer and his partner. I spoke as I customarily do on these occasions:

‘Well, you’re getting hitched and I know you’re feeling lovely dovey and enjoying the fucking, but trust me, the sweetness’ll go out of that chewing gum soon enough and in 18 months’ time you’ll be bored shitless of one another and divorced. But hey fucking ho, eh?’

Afterwards I was approached by the property developer. ‘An interesting ceremony, Your Grace. I was wondering if you might be interested in a proposition? 

‘The Abbey sits in a prime central London location. For a suitable fee, might you be prepared to sell it off, to be converted into luxury apartments? After all, as a known atheist you will agree that the building has no religious significance. So, what do you say?’

I considered the matter. ‘It’s true that the Abbey is the architectural symbol of a gross delusion,’ I said. ‘And that I hate God. However, I hate parasitic, civic soul-sucking motherfuckers like you even more. So my answer is as follows. Fuck off, you fucking piece of fuck.’

The fellow melted away looking a little rattled. Chuckling at the thought of his discomfiture I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Essex Police have denied untrue claims by Nigel Farage that they ‘bussed’ counter-demonstrators to a protest outside a migrant hotel. Farage called for the force’s chief constable to resign over this.

Fuck me with a dead hamster on a stick, why in the name of fuck do the media crowd round this frog-faced fascist with fucking microphones and cameras, recording every lying, bigoted, racist, stilted, stupid, pigshit-ignorant, idiot-stirring, violence-inciting remark he makes? From now fucking on, every story involving this swindling cunt should read as follows: ‘Nigel Farage Opens Mouth, Shit Pours Out’. Stick it in a fucking corner on page 38!

The Board of Deputies of British Jews has called for broadcaster James O’Brien to be taken off air for making ‘highly offensive comments’ on his show. These consisted of reading out a message from a listener which claimed Jewish children in the UK are taught to hate Arabs. 

Hahaha, and the grovelling centrist twat fucking well apologised to these Trump-endorsing, genocide-supporting fuckers, who go ballistic over a probably true personal account from someone who actually went to a Jewish school while ignoring the daily spectacle of children unquestionably being starved, burned alive and emaciated by the Israeli government! Maybe you should have shown a bit more solidarity when the same nutjobs came after your LBC colleague Sangita Myska, eh James? Not that it would make much difference; these people won’t be happy until you bomb a fucking hospital!

Musical artist Ryan Adams is currently on a global tour, entertaining his fans with his mix of country and rock tunes.

Fucking hell, what kind of fucking cheek have you got, setting yourself up as fucking Ryan Adams? It’s like some fucker calling themselves Ruce Springsteen! It’s not like you’re even called Ryan – your first name’s fucking David! I bet half the people who turn up to see you think they’re gonna get ‘Everything I Do I Do It For You’. You’re lucky you don’t get sued, you cunt!

Finally, American wrestler ‘Hulk’ Hogan has died of a cardiac arrest at the age of 71.

Aw, there’s a fucking shame. But let us be honest. Hogan made his name in professional wrestling, a meatheaded spectacle that’s contributed hugely to American mind shrinkage over the last 50 years. And when the WWE tried to unionise he scuppered it with his influence as its biggest star, the roided-up scab! But most notably he was thrown off the circuit for being a massive fucking N-word-spouting racist after saying his biggest fear was him and his family being reincarnated as black people! And of course until recently he was mobilising his mono-braincelled mass of followers to support Trump. One hates to speak ill of the dead, but fuck you, you dead cunt, you should’ve died years ago!

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A confused millennial tries to… understand the complex majesty of Labubu dolls

By Josh Gardner, whose parents lost £8,500 on Beanie Babies

I’M NOT smooth-brained. I know that the marketplace of ideas regularly blesses consumers with overpriced crazes, and it’s our civic duty to buy into them.

Nor am I immune to the charm of a passing fad. I’ve been rinsed by Tamagotchis, Pokemon cards and Funko Pops in my time. All of them were enriching experiences, forming my personality just as books did for Boomers.

And while I can appreciate trends like Fortnite and Minecraft, I have to admire them from afar. They’re not for me because I don’t have the reflexes of a 14-year-old wired on Monster and ADHD meds.

But I still find it heartwarming to see the next generation get brainwashed by IPs that will form the foundation of their relationships and spending habits for decades.

So imagine my disgust when celebrities promoting Labubu dolls tainted my immaculate Instagram feed of cosplaying OnlyFans models jumping in slo-mo. Their shameless sponsored content has no place on social media.

Yet after hate-watching Labubu ads for two hours until 3am, my interest was piqued. What was their lore? Does the Rizzler own one? And most importantly, would having one make me cool?

I headed over to the Pop Market website to learn more, but instead of products that would fill the aching void in my soul and give me something new to covet, all I saw were spooky Hello Kitty rip-offs.

I scrolled frantically. Surely there was more to this than viral popularity and blind box distribution? There has to be some deeper meaning. Violating every norm my generation has placed faith in, I began to wonder if they were just a cash-grab.

Maybe this was how older generations felt, seeing their first Transformer. Left behind by a world that had invented a dazzling new splendour. Confused, sad, yet compelled to participate because Orson Welles was doing the voice for the movie.

So while I may not understand what Labubu dolls are, why they’re popular and whether or not I even want one, I’ve bought a dozen using Klarna. The alternative would be not populating my corner of the flatshare with weird dolls. That would be ridiculous.