The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the Dalai Lama? Dalai Paedo, more likely

WAKING up slumped over the top of the railings at Buckingham Palace, I blearily recall visiting King Charles to let him know I would not be attending his coronation as I was working the next morning and fancied having Saturday off.

‘You’re the Archbishop of Canterbury, you have to be there,’ spluttered Charles. ‘Attendance isn’t mandatory, is it?’ I said. ‘Your daughter-in-law’s not coming, is she?’

‘That’s different,’ he replied. ‘Look here, is there any way to change your mind?’ Upon which he instructed a footman to fetch up a case of vintage Chateauneuf du Pape from the cellars. After six bottles, I acquiesced to the Charles’ drunken, desperate, grovelling request out of pity. 

It being dead of night, and Charles having fallen asleep in his own piss, I let myself out of the Palace, making for the railings and successfully shinning up them, at which point I must have dozed off. 

Winched to safety next morning by a fire crew, I strode back to my chambers to peruse the periodicals. The Spectator magazine has published a cover story about the ‘new elites’, depicting Just Stop Oil protestors and the like in aristocratic garb.

Castrate me then serve me a dish of bollocks on toast, if Victorian fucking London had had as much gaslighting as this article, it’d have been visible from fucking space! Our new overlords aren’t the people with all the fucking power, money and media ownership but Earl Crusty of Smellington and his best fucking mate the Duke of Dogstring! Do you people actually believe this product of an incontinent horse’s arse? Because if you do, I suggest you visit a place you may not have been to lately. It’s called ‘the real world’, you far-right fucks! 

Meanwhile, the journalist Petronella Wyatt has argued that if golliwogs are banned, then it will be teddy bears next, as they are named after Teddy Roosevelt, deemed by some to be insufficiently left-wing. Surely it won’t be long, she reasons, before the police are called to confiscate our teddy bears.

Jesus H Cock, this fucking golliwogs business has sent some of you people round the fucking bend, hasn’t it? Teddy bears? Sure, and after that they’ll be seizing our rubber ducks, because ‘duck’ rhymes with ‘fuck’ and it breaks the obscenity laws! Tell you what, since nothing is offensive or racist except in the minds of the do-gooders, I’ll turn up at the coronation with a huge great fucking swastika on my mitre. See how that goes down with the fucking Daily Telegraph, eh?

The Dalai Lama has been in hot water this week, after footage emerged of him inviting a boy to ‘suck my tongue’. 

Fuuucccking hell! I mean I know he’s the opposition and all that, but mate, snogging a fucking small boy? Fucking gross. As someone who’s been doing this shit for years, the first rule of spiritual leadership is don’t ask any of them – especially the kids – to suck any part of your fucking body. Your tongue, your finger, your cock, whatever, capiche? You’re the Dalai fucking Lama, not a 1970s Top Of The Pops presenter.

Finally, there has been upset at an incident in last weekend’s fixture between Liverpool FC and Arsenal FC in which the linesman, one Constantine Hatzidakis, appeared to elbow Liverpool player Andy Robertson in the face.

Hahaha, is this the best fucking thing that’s happened anywhere this year, or what? And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving, shithousing little twat than Andy Robertson! I’m fucking all for it! Match officials dishing some out to whiny footballers, preferably when they’re least expecting it! Elbows, right-handers, nuttings, knees to the bollocks – smashing. And when they’re done with the players they can leap over the hoardings and have a go at the fucking fans! These are the fucking scenes we want to see, eh?

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Mash Blind Date: 'What do I do? Recently I've been texting my exes with the less-than-ideal news they might have VD'

MARKETING executive Lucy Parry, 29, is looking for love. STD victim James Bates, 30, is looking for a cream that will make it less painful to urinate. Will romance blossom?

Lucy on James

First impression?

He seemed a bit awkward. He couldn’t still in his seat and had this nervous tic of scratching his crotch. I think it was butterflies, which is quite sweet. Also he smelt really nice, sort of creamy. He must moisturise.

How was the conversation?

Great. We talked about everything under the sun! Long-term career plans. The ending of The Last of Us. What time the pharmacist round the corner closes and whether it sells doxycycline over the counter.

Memorable moments?

James is quite the expert on chlamydia, genital herpes and gonorrhoea. Common symptoms. Chances of transmission. Which antibiotics work best. It’s a bit of a weird hobby, but it’s all relative. I once went out with a guy who was in the Sealed Knot.

Favourite thing about James?

His off-the-wall sense of humour. One minute he’s talking about the chicken tagliatelle, the next minute he’s talking about genital sores. Hilarious!

A capsule description?

Some people might find him twitchy, but I think he just has this boundless energy – like Robin Williams. But he’s got a serious side too. He’s very passionate about people practising safe sex. I really respect that.

Was there a spark?

Oh definitely. James couldn’t sit still with excitement. I didn’t know I had that effect on men. I’m clearly underestimating myself.

What happened afterwards?

I said I’d like to see him again, but it was clear I was going home that night. He looked disappointed, but also relieved. Like, really relieved. Almost ecstatic. I got a cab and he walked to the late-night chemist’s. Well, I say ‘walked’. More ‘sprinted’.

What would you change about the evening?

You know, maybe I should have slept with him? He’s quite a catch.

Will you see each other again?

I texted him and he said we can meet ‘once he’s got the all-clear’. Putting two and two together that can only mean one thing – he’s getting over a previous girlfriend. What a lovely, sensitive guy.

James on Lucy

First impression?

Difficult to tell. I was itching like fuck. There was definitely a tingling in my groin, but that was probably just the bacteria.

How was the conversation?

Surprisingly chill. When I hinted that I’ve got a dose of clap, Lucy didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. She’s either very non-judgmental or a bit thick. Sadly I suspect it’s the latter.

Memorable moments?

The wave of panic when Lucy said the Boots round the corner shuts at 11. I was willing her to eat faster, but she was weirdly keen to talk about STDs. And Robin Williams. No idea where that came from. Thankfully there was a nouvelle cuisine small-portion vibe, so I managed to get there before it closed. 

Favourite thing about Lucy?

She’s a really good listener. You’d think someone would get sick of talking about chlamydia, but she hung on my every word. To be honest, I reckon she’s a keeper. If you haven’t got the pox.

A capsule description?

Astonishingly accepting or incredibly dim woman with a refreshingly different interest in STDs.

Was there a spark?

More a burning sensation in my groin. And I definitely felt an attraction to her. Mainly the burning though.

What happened afterwards?

We had the perfect end to the evening – I got to Boots before it closed. Normally I’d have been delighted to have sex after a date, but it’s nothing compared the orgasmic pleasure of not feeling like a million demons with flamethrowers are running around your urethra.

What would you change about the evening?

Not having VD. 

Will you see each other again?

I’d definitely like to, but really that’s up to Lucy and the antibiotics.