The Archbishop of Canterbury on... JK Rowling doing time in Wizard Prison

WAKING up naked atop the tomb of Mother Teresa, clutching an empty bottle of overproof rum and boasting a raging erection which I think impressed even the nuns who flocked to the scene, I realise I have a little explaining to do in order to preserve ecumenical harmony. 

Standing up, I give thanks and praise to the work of the Albanian nun, overlooking some of her flaws, which is to say, practically everything she ever said or did. 

I explain to a strangely agitated young priest that, while other, baser men might be moved to tumescence by godless supermodels or sleazy pornographical stars, I, flesh and blood that I am, find my member engorged with blood by Mother Teresa’s selfless piety and devotion to the poor. Yes, I took rum – but only because the sacrament of drinking mere wine was inadequate for the Saint of Calcutta. 

Accepting a round of applause and offers to kiss my ring, I make a dignified departure and take the next flight back to London, to my chambers, there to take breakfast and peruse a periodical. I read that Jeremy Hunt has announced cuts to National Insurance – cuts that will be more than wiped out by stealth tax rises, especially for those on lower incomes.

Fuck my dead budgerigar, is there anyone who thinks that this pop-eyed, perpetually startled waste of a blue suit, who in any previous era would be an unsuccessful door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman, is competent on any fiscal matter beyond buying a tin of Whiskas for the fucking Downing Street cat? His sole contribution to anything is providing a way of saying the really bad swear word before the fucking watershed, the fucking Jeremy Hunt!

A raft of Labour candidates have been announced in the last few days. Among them are Tom Gray of 1990s Mercury Music Prize winners Gomez and Dave Rowntree of Blur. 

Christ on a fucking cockstick, is this the future? Britpop’s dregs and also-rans running the fucking country? How about Bonehead as future chancellor of the fucking exchequer? The Bluetones’ roadie as fucking home secretary? Coldplay’s Chris Martin as minister for doing fuck all about the environment? And you can bet the same fuckers who blanded out British music will be wanking on about not being able to do anything because ‘the credit card is maxed out’, the fucking Cool Britannia cock-garglers!

President Joe Biden has announced plans to establish a port on the coast of Gaza to receive large ships carrying humanitarian aid to the besieged region, it has emerged. 

Call me a cock in a fucking cassock, but if you want to do something useful, Biden, you ice cream-eating arse, maybe pick up a phone to that jug-eared fascist Netanyahu and tell him he can stop flattening Gaza now or the aid tap gets turned off? And I may be a wanker in a mitre carrying a pointless fucking stick, but even I can see you could stop the food drops by not giving these fuckers the weapons that necessitate the food drops in the first place. Can you see that, Joe, or are you too busy waiting for a nice cup of tea and Countdown at the fucking care home?

Finally, JK Rowling of Harry Potter fame has said she would ‘happily’ spend two years in prison for misgendering a trans activist.

Yeah, we’d all fucking happily spend two years in prison there’s no chance of us spending! I’m cool with 20 years in solitary confinement for saying anyone over ten years old caught reading your fucking books should be kneecapped. Because that’s gonna fucking happen, isn’t it? The Harry Potter Police taking me into fucking custody so Hogwarts Court could send me to fucking Wizard Prison? Pull the fucking other one Joanne, you’re bigger than the fucking Bible and you live in a castle, so lay off the bigotry and do something a bit more fucking magical with your time!

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Five great two-month breaks for secret lizard people, by the Princess of Wales

KATE’S absence from public life has led to dreadful tittle-tattle and rumours, but the mundane truth is simply that she’s reverted to lizard form. Here she reveals her favourite places to visit as a reptile.

A cruise on the Med

The Royals have a suite booked all year on a Mediterranean cruise ship for whenever disaster strikes. Been papped dressed as a Nazi? On the boat you go. Done a car crash Newsnight interview about Epstein? Pack your swimming cozzie. I love it – we stop in Barcelona every Tuesday, there’s a free bar, and Gareth Gates is the guest act. Plus the cabins go up to a balmy 70F. Perfect for when you just want to kick back and lick your own eyeballs.

A staycation

Hunkering down in Kensington Palace is perfect for some R&R when your body transforms back into its standard 6 foot 7 inch lizard size. We have a vivarium out the back so I can lie on a hot rock to regulate my body temperature while still being served by my staff of 20. Also, whenever I click my fingers, my personal chef releases a thousand live crickets into any room of the house. Bliss.

Center Parcs

Center Parcs is great for the kids but pricey. Wills is worth over a billion quid but we still can’t afford starters when we eat out, and hiring bikes is a no-no. However if we watch our spending we can book a place with a hot tub. I like to lie motionless on the side with my three lizard children, occasionally dislocating my jaw to eat a live rat like Diana from V. Luckily we have snipers surrounding the site in case anyone tries to take a snap and sell it to the papers.

Las Vegas

The hot weather and the mantra ‘What happens in Vegas…’ makes Sin City a wonderful place to disappear to for months without causing too much fuss. A huge walking lizard blends into the background in a place like this. People just think I’ve escaped from a Siegfried and Roy-style show. But don’t get me started on how hard it is to hold gambling chips in your scaly, dry lizard claws.


Ah, the Caribbean, my holiday location of choice. The laidback atmosphere means men, women and shapeshifting Illuminati lizards alike can relax over a boozy pina colada, so long as you don’t eat anyone. It’s here on the beach I do my best evil plotting. Covid, Galloway winning Rochdale, your mind-control chip, the disappointing Willy Wonka Experience in Glasgow – I came up with all of those here. See you in June, sheeple.