RETURNING to consciousness face-down on the pavement just yards from the front door of Lambeth Palace, golden key in my outstretched hand, I reflect on just what a bender that was.
After a busy two weeks commemorating Her Majesty, I joined in sorrow with a delegation from the Little Sisters of the Poor and while Catholicism and I have our differences, I have a renewed respect for their capacity to imbibe spirituous liquor.
I gather myself and return to my chambers, where I learn that Kwasi Kwarteng has cut the top rate of income tax in an act of charity to 629,000 super-rich who will now be some £30 billion better off. It is the Chancellor’s belief this money will ‘trickle down’.
Christ’s cock on a rotating kebab skewer, there’s as much chance of that money trickling down to the poor as there is a fucking modicum of intelligence trickling down into Liz Truss’s skull! It’ll trickle fucking nowhere except to an offshore account! Is that what you were laughing about at the Abbey? ‘Hee hee, wait till they say the priceless twat’s trick I’ve got lined up for the fucking mini-budget!’ Jesus, if you were in the fire brigade and turned up to a fucking blaze, would your first thought be to direct the hoses at the nearby duckpond for a top-up? I’ll give you three weeks in office, you insane cunt!
The Labour Party conference is set to begin in Liverpool this Sunday. While the press officers of certain trade unions have been denied passes, reporters from the Sun newspaper have experienced no such inconvenience.
Great move there, Starmer. Read the fucking city, you perpetually-startled, dough-faced twat! Seriously, why the fuck did you choose Liverpool? It’s full of left-wingers, the people you’ve been fighting your entire pitiful time as party leader! It’s like Putin hosting a party conference in Khiv! You’re not fucking well liked there, you dead-eyed fucking toady! Last time you showed your face there you got an absolute bollocking from some old woman – you were lucky she didn’t drag you across her lap and spank your arse – and unless you’ve got security ten deep you’ll get worse this time, you fuckfaced streak of shite!
Liam Gallagher turned 50 years old this week, and pronounced himself ‘buzzing’ to still be here.
Liam, you’re not 50. You may have lived 50 fucking years, but you’re neither mature, reflective, or a little wiser with age. You’re fucking 13, hanging out down the precinct, monkeying around in a fucking kagoule like the slack-jawed, lairy, rickets-walking cunt that you are! 50! Fuck off!
Finally, Vladimir Putin has introduced ‘partial’ mobilisation in an attempt to improve the fortunes of his ‘special military operation’ in Ukraine.
You’ve fucking blown it, haven’t you, you inside-out-faced prick! You can only find your arse with both hands because it’s been handed to you on a fucking plate by Ukraine! I bet Luxembourg’s thinking it could take you after the shambles you’ve put up so far! You’ve got the world’s most useless army, equipment the military equivalent of broken fax machines in the age of the internet and a population that would rather live as fucking rodents in a neighbouring Baltic state than fight for whatever you think you’re doing, nobody knows or cares. The sooner you’re hanging by your fucking gonads in Red Square, the fucking better!