The Archbishop of Canterbury on… sure you've got enough Union Jacks, Yvette?

5th September 2025

WAKING up with a hangover that requires me to consume 42 gallons of water in five minutes to assuage it, I reflect on the week’s ecclesiastical events.

While no one is more alive to the need for ecumenical fellowship than myself, I do feel it is important, occasionally, to highlight the distinctions between the teachings of the Protestant and Catholic churches.

To this end, last Sunday, I dedicated my sermon to extolling the Church of England’s liberality on contraception. To emphasise this, I collected together boxes of condoms I keep about my chambers by way of precaution, and, at the climax, so to speak, of my sermon, distributed these to my congregation, flinging them with gusto and in great number from the pulpit into the pews.

Some of my more nervous staff warned that I might be deemed to be carrying out a ‘gimmick’ or stunt, but the sermon was a great success. It was marred only slightly by complaints from a few parishioners that several of the condoms were used, and they received them full in the face. That minor mix-up aside, I feel it was a triumph for safe sex.

With a wry smile, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that the situation comedy writer Graham Linehan has been in court on account of transphobic tweets. He has been the object of some sympathy in the media, who have described him as ‘controversial’ and a ‘campaigner’.

Fuck me with a stuffed badger, the media are really making a martyr out of this monomaniacal, bigoted slab of unmitigated cunt! He’s accused of harrassing a teenage kid online, but you’d be hard-pressed to find out from the fucking newspaper reports! Granted, he doesn’t belong in prison, more some sort of home. Maybe a 19th century Victorian funny farm where he shares a slop bucket with nine other weirdos and has to wear a wooden sign with ‘TERF’ written on it? Cut off from the world with a bunch of fucking oddballs babbling nonsense? Sounds like TERF heaven!

The Labour Party have announced their new slogan, which reads as follows: ‘Delivery, delivery, delivery.’

Jesus H Cockrot, how many fucking thousands of ackers did some spotty, vacuous little wonk get paid to come up with that? Was it the same suitful of shite who came up with that previous zinger, ‘Security, prosperity, respect’? It makes no fucking sense! Even less when you recall that Labour made a point of deporting migrant delivery riders in their last big racist-appeasing purge! Delivery, delivery, or a delivery two hours late because we’ve deported the poor fuckers who were actually prepared to do it for a fucking pittance!

It seems Liz Truss is just about managing to stay in the public eye, this week appearing on something called ‘The Master Investor Podcast’. Among other things, she said she had supported Remain because it was the best way of securing a Brexit victory, and the reason her tenure as PM lasted just 49 days was that everyone – from the Bank of England to judges to fellow MPs – were out to get her.

Forty-nine fucking days. The appointment of you was the lowest, weirdest, maddest fucking point in our fucking political history and that’s seeing off some serious competition! It’s been said that the Downing Street cat would have made a better PM than you, but no, one of the fucking Downing Street rats would have been better! Whatever your rewriting of history, you are one of the worst Britons ever, and a Queen-killing cunt!

Finally, when asked if she has a flag on display in her home, Yvette Cooper said she has Union Jack bunting, St George’s flags and bunting, and Union Jack flags and tablecloths.

Are you fucking sure that’s enough? What about St George’s curtains? St George’s toilet roll? St George’s bra and underwear? And I hope you’re doing your patriotic duty and painting your local roundabouts red and white! Or are you a woke communist who wants the country to be run by migrant paedophiles? Seriously, this fucking capitulation to shrieking, far-right madness has to stop. The saddest thing is you’re impressing no one! Labour voters are melting away in their thousands and even the fucking racists can smell your bullshit and don’t give a shit if you own a fucking Union Jack bog brush!

A white home counties roadman gets a ripped gym bod for da new term

4th September 2025

FIFTEEN-year-old Active J, known in his detached home as Joshua Hudson, has put on a little timber over the holidays and joins a gym to get buff for school, innit.

WAGWAN? Active J is habsent from school. You see, fam, Drilla threw shade an’ posted a rank photo on Hinsta of man chillin’ what said: ‘Inactive J! Did him eat all da pies?’ It got bare likes.

Active J woz turbo-vexed an’ da dickhead got a poundin’ for it. But da hidiot woz right, fam.

As you know, Active J flexes swag in habundance, an’ all dat is missin’ is a habs sixpack. Dis summer man ‘as been a badman at Maccy D’s an’ on da Hoober Heats app, an’ is bustin’ a onepack right now, innit. Active J would not be filmin’ him’s gangsta rap videos any time soon, fam. For real.

Man’s peng gyal, Lady G, sed for Active J to get buff at da gym before da new term starts. But bein’ a righteous roadman of da people, man thought gettin’ a full gym membership would be helitist an’ would compromise Active J’s street principles. So man honly got da platinum level wivout da rank jacuzzi ting, coz man is umble, innit.

Da first week of Active J’s shred regime woz taken up, as you would hexpect, sourcin’ peng gym drip. Man hobtained black North Face tops an’ hoodies, black Nike shorts and cold, boxfresh black Air Max 95s wiv a sporty style of laces. Man created a Monster helectrolyte protein shake an’ heven found a horange Lucozade-flavoured sport vape. Active J is a hathlete, fam. Nang!

Quickly though, man discovered da gym is not a natural henvironment for a bossman roadman, like da hastroturf. Man ‘ad to suffer da oomiliation of bein’ shown how to work da hexercise tings by a stiffman gymbot. You wot, bruv?

Da gymbot woz tellin’ Active J to take it heasy, use da toddler weights an’ build up man’s strength gradually. Are you jokes? Active J does not wanna get too hench, wiv da big rank veins poppin’ out like a chiselled Hulk muggle. Man still ‘ad a few days before school to get ripped, an’ ‘as not heven posted videos to TikTok or Hinsta yet.

So Active J went hyper-hard on da pullin’ an’ pushin’ machines. But machinedem mustn’t ‘ave been calibrated right, coz dis mornin’ man ‘ad to tell parentmum to phone school coz Active J couldn’t get out of bed, an’ him woz a bit sick.

Miss Jackson woz very hunderstandin’ an’ let parentmum set up a video link on man’s laptop in bed to join in da lessons. But dickhead Drilla went an’ took a photo of man an’ put another ‘Inactive J’ post on Hinsta. It got bare likes, hagain.

As soon as man can walk an’ make a fist dickhead Drilla is gettin’ another poundin’, but Active J does not know when dat will be. Not gassed, fam. Not gassed.