The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the heinous crime of early twatting Easter eggs

WAKING and recovering from a temporary alcohol-induced loss of eyesight, I am astonished to espy two police officers and a fellow in a mitre, the spitting image of myself, standing by my bed. 

‘There he is!’ cries my doppelganger. ‘Two years ago he abducted me, tied and bound me and locked me in the cellars of my own palace. This man is an impostor!’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ I ask the officer in charge.

‘Well, his story seems very plausible. I must say, Your Grace, if that is indeed your honorific, your behaviour has at times struck me as un-Archbishop-like. The swearing, the drinking, the sermons promoting atheism, the booty calls to Gloria Hunniford…’

‘What is your name?’ I ask the man in the mitre.

‘Justin!’ he replies.

‘Justin who?’

‘Justin Timberlake! I am Justin Timberlake, Archbishop of Canterbury, King of Malta and Emperor of Uranus! Bwahahaha!’ Upon which he makes a strange clucking noise before being escorted from my chambers by the police, with their profuse apologies.

That little incident over and done with, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that Conservative MP Jake Berry has expressed shock that Easter eggs were on sale in the Haslingden branch of Tesco. ‘What is going on?’ he asks.

Mary Magdelene’s fuckflaps, what’s going on? Fucking capitalism is what’s going on, you silly cunt! The system that lines the pockets of you and your arsehole mates while slowly killing the rest of us! Seriously, have you nothing better in your poxy, shrivelled, narrowcast, walnut-in-vinegar right-wing mind to get up in arms about than this? Always looking at the fucking smaller picture, eh? Tell you what, never mind Easter coming early, what can’t come early enough is a general fucking election where you and your parasites are exterminated as a viable political party until the end of time!

Edwina Currie has spoken out against striking junior doctors, suggesting they measure value by the ‘smiles on the faces of those people that they’re able to help’ and ‘not by looking at their pay packets.’

Because when it comes to paying rent and utility bills, landlords will willingly take the smiles of patients in lieu of fucking currency! And let’s have a look at your pay packet while we’re at it, shall we, you very-much-less-than-key-worker! I’ll tell you one hospital worker who didn’t always bring a smile to the patients unlucky enough to be visited by him: your dear old mate Jimmy fucking Savile, to whom you gave the run of Broadmoor!

Former Mayoral candidate Baron Bailey of Paddington has lambasted Carol Vorderman, stating on GB News that her political commentary was incompatible with her possession of physical features. ‘If you look at her Instagram it’s all pictures of her bum and her boobs,’ he said, ‘so what is it, here? She can’t be both.’

Fucking hell. You howling, sexist, tit-hungry ignoramus. If Lord fucking Lucan were still alive he’d be embarrassed to share ermine with a cunt like you! It’s as well you’ve got a fucking arse as without it you’d have nothing to talk out of, you total, fully-comprehensive, no-claims-bonus-insured big-faced twat!

Finally, it seems Prince Andrew is mentioned in court documents in relation to the late Jacob Epstein, including the lurid claim he involved a puppet of himself in his activities. There is concern that these revelations could undermine attempts to rehabilitate the Prince.

Fuck, yeah, that’s my big concern – the maintenance of the fucking facade that the Royal Family aren’t a wretched, grasping, dysfunctional, barely-human bunch of cunts, and in one case, and I’m not saying it’s Prince Andrew, a nonce! Learned how to fucking sweat yet, Andy? Because if not, it’s high time! A fucking puppet of yourself! I bet even fucking Savile never whipped out a puppet of himself! Fuck upon fuck!

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Stick to these New Year resolutions, Rishi, and you'll win the greatest victory since the sinking of the Belgrano

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who believes hanging’s too good for junior doctors.

SO Rishi has called an election in precisely six to 11 months. I smell a landslide Tory victory in the air, or it might just be the £450 panini press I got for Christmas. 

Yes, another 13 glorious years of Conservative rule is within our grasp if we just give the electorate even more of the successful Tory policies they’ve come to love.

Luckily I’ve compiled a list – call them New Year resolutions if you will – that guarantee victory over Starmer and his hard-left fanatics. You might find them ‘controversial’. You might find them ‘harsh’. You might find them ‘mentally ill’. But this is what you must do, Rishi. 

Bring back Boris

Your first act should be to bring back Boris as PM, for he is the blond ubermensch with the common touch every true Conservative loves. That’s not to say that you, Rishi, should be tossed aside like a used condom. You could still perform a vital role for the Tories, perhaps taking Boris’ lunch orders or acting as a foot stool. 

And Liz Truss

The only problem with Liz was that we didn’t give her visionary free-market economics a chance. As the new chancellor she could oversee genuinely radical, popular policies like privatising air. I’ll be first in line for my pay-as-you-breathe mask, I can tell you!

Close down the transgender factories

Or ‘schools’ as people sometimes call them. It’s now on the National Curriculum that there are 500 genders and it’s normal to marry a cat. Let’s have a traditional education bill where children are taught to memorise the square root of every number up to 1,000 and use a bayonet for their six years of mandatory ‘Imperial Service’.

No more Mr Nice Guy over Rwanda

I think we’ve all had enough of asylum seekers living the life of Riley at our expense, with their free institutional food and luxurious detention centres. We need to get tough with these layabouts, by which I mean kneecapping them. If they want to proceed with their asylum claim, fine, but they’ll have their hands cut off with a circular saw. It’s just the sort of firm, sensible action that Home Counties Tory voters want to see.

Stop being so wishy-washy about Gaza

It’s time to get off the fence and show the brave Israeli bomber pilots and artillerymen we back them 210 per cent with a late Christmas gift of chemical weapons to flush the Hamas vermin out of their tunnels. My idea was warmly received by members of my husband’s golf club, so let’s get the mustard gas factories running again!

And that is just the beginning. I foresee even more radical steps, such as daily televised hangings of Remain traitors still holding Brexit back. Prison sentences for anyone suspected of gender crimes, such as men who wear pink shirts. The final destruction of the NHS, by RAF cluster bombs if necessary.

I’m confident every last one of my readers will be voting Conservative, along with at least 95 per cent of the general population. Rejoice, as our greatest leader once said, because tomorrow belongs to us. I’m not sure who said the second bit, but I’m sure it was someone I’d agree with.