The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the firing of tosspot Williamson

WAKING with a start, I find myself looking up at familiar rafters. I am in Westminster Abbey, lying on a slate altar, and a queue of luminaries are paying their respects. 

Dimly I recall breaking in here with Aled Jones when, much refreshed, we needed a lie-down and here I must have been found. I sit up with a start and break wind wetly as an prelate screams before fainting.

I proceed down the aisle, to cries of ‘He has risen’ which I make a note to later correct, and settle down to peruse my periodicals where I read Gavin Williamson has resigned after allegations he told an official to ‘slit his throat’. It is his third dismissal from office.

St Peter wanking up the road to Damascus, I shouldn’t fucking worry, pal! With this fucking government you’ll be back in a job in a fortnight, probably as the Anti-Bullying Czar. Just sweat it out in the fucking sin bin for a few days, cunts like you always land the right way up! And when I say cunt, I don’t mean your common or garden cunt. I mean a grade-A, porky-prime rugger-bugger of a cunt, an 800 pound alpha cunt, the cunt all the other cunts wish they could be! In the meanwhile, very temporarily, fuck right off, you cunt!

Bono has written his autobiography, described as an ‘honest and irreverent, intimate and profound’ memoir.

Has it? By one of your retinue who live rent-free up your arse ensuring you never spend a penny on bog roll? A tome rehashing all the wind you’ve generated over the decades, which could have been used to power half of Dublin rather than be wasted on your gaseous, embarrassing self-glorification and sucking up to the fucking powerful! I still haven’t managed to get that fucking album you planted on my iTunes off my fucking phone! That turd hasn’t flushed for ten years! And don’t pretend you wear those fucking sunglasses all the time because of an eye condition, you wear them because of a twat condition!

The BBC undertook an eight month study into abuse sent to MPs, analysing three million tweets for ‘toxic’ content. However it counted tweets which used the word ‘stupid’ as potentially abusive, concluding that Tory Ben Bradley MP suffers most from online abuse.

Fuck my dog, eight fucking months and that was your conclusion? Ben fucking Bradley? That’s like building a homemade computer in your workshop, crunching the data and it claiming Dewsbury was the most desirable place to live in Britain. I mean you’d have some fucking doubts about your methodology and your machinery, wouldn’t you? Eight months! You stupid, timewasting, clueless wankstains. And yeah, that’s toxic, I hope you fucking choke on it, it’s all you gaslighting arseholes deserve!

Finally, it seems that in US midterm elections the Republicans have fared rather less well than expected raising the ire of former President Trump.

Well, you despicable, pouting, pompadoured lump of fascist dog excrement, it’s finally sinking in with even the thickest Americans that you are a fucking liability! Still, don’t get mad, get even! Start a civil war in the Republican party! Go on, mate, we’ll hold your jacket! Get in there! Do the fucking world a huge favour and tear this parasite on the ignorant, this piece of moneysucking, shitflinging, earth-destroying machinery that is the GOP, in two! Then go throw yourself in a lake of boiling piss to celebrate!

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David Bowie: are we ready to admit he was wank for 30 years?

SIX years since the world lost David Bowie, are we ready to admit that the bulk of his career was a pile of crap? The evidence: 

Tonight, 1984

Bowie’s 16th studio release is when the rot began. Let’s Dance the year before alienated longtime fans; this told them to fuck off. The best it has to offer is Loving the Alien, which is the track you skip on your Best of Bowie because it’s boring.

The Glass Spider tour, 1987

An infamous and extravagant worldwide tour set up to flog units of a bad album to mums that wanted Ziggy Stardust back. So bad Bowie took great joy in burning part of the set when it mercifully came to an end. A dark chapter of his life and career with a really stupid name.

Too Dizzy, 1987

Never Let Me Down: a shit album, promoted by a shit tour, containing this shit track of middle-of-the-road pop rock. Bowie pulled the song from reissues of the album, making original pressings something of a collector’s item. An abominably bad collector’s item aficionados wouldn’t actually want to listen to.

Tin Machine, 1989

Following the commercial and critical failure of Never Let Me Down, Bowie formed rock band Tin Machine. You remember Tin Machine? Their studio albums sold over two million copies on the momentum of Bowie alone. Can anyone name a single Tin Machine song? Can they fuck.

All the industrial electronic bullshit, the 1990s

You can only coast on reputation for so long, and this largely ignored period is when Bowie’s credit ran out. The man who’d created banger after banger experimented with electronica, industrial noise and junglist beats but failed to be down with the rave kids. Better to lose a decade to being out of your mind on cocaine than to this.

Whatever the fuck he was doing for years until Blackstar, 2016

Entering the late-career period where every release is hailed a ‘return to form’ until the next one, Bowie largely stopped trying. Until Blackstar, released two days before the icon’s death, the sound of an artist confronting their mortality with poise and dignity and is actually good. But 30 wasted years? Count them…