The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the twatting Tories' anti-strike laws

WAKING in a police cell, my left sock pulled over my head for some unfathomable reason, I am brusquely informed through the bars that I am being held on a string of charges. 

These include drunk and disorderly behaviour, arguing with a tree, vituperatively resisting arrest and impersonating the Archbishop of Canterbury. Fortunately, I carry about my person at all times incontrovertible proof that I am indeed the Archbishop – ID, DNA records, certificate of bishopric and so forth.

The officer profusely apologises, the Chief Constable himself gives me a lift back to Lambeth Palace, and issues orders that the 300-year-old oak with which I had an altercation be sawn down forthwith.

My honour satisfied, I repair to my chambers where I read that Rishi Sunak has said that he cannot guarantee that nurses who strike following his proposed anti-strike legislation will not be sacked.

Christ’s bloodied anal ring, you Tories are on it in 2023! Anti-strike legislation? Literally the first fucking thing Hitler introduced when he came to power! And I bet that makes one or two of you fuckers feel pretty good about yourselves on the quiet! If you’re a fucking Tory, you should be grateful as fuck that anyone enters the nursing profession, since you’re approaching senility and won’t be able to wipe your own arse! You’ll think twice about legislation which sees nurses leave the profession in bigger droves than they already are when dried faeces begins to coagulate and accumulate around your arseholes, you fuckers!

Andrew Tate, the self-styled ‘alpha male’ who has a large social media following, has been arrested in Romania due, it has been claimed, to a pizza box pictured during an online spat with Greta Thunberg.

I was conducting a service when my phone pinged with this news. I relayed it to my congregation and added ‘There’s a fucking aisle there. You know what to fucking do! Roll in it!’ And they fucking well did! You are one bicep-brained shitrag of a human being, Tate! Still, some feat to be a fucking needledick and an enormous cock at the same time! Enjoy the social life of a fucking Romanian prison, you desperately thick cunt!

Keir Starmer has set out his plans if and when the Labour Party win the next general election. He has warned voters ‘not to expect Labour to open its big chequebook’.

First up, you waste of a space where someone remotely fucking left-wing should be, anyone under 30 is saying, ‘What the fuck is a chequebook?’ I’ve still got one somewhere but I haven’t used the bastard in years! Not that you give the slightest shit about anyone under 30, you flagshagging fuck, you’re too busy sucking Brexit pensioner cock! You are one frightened fucking rabbit of a man, Starmer. Not going to open your chequebook? What you’re basically saying is while the country is a binfire you’re not going to throw your big bucket of water on it! You’re going to do fuck all, aren’t you? I’ll be surprised if you outlast Liz Truss! 

Finally, it seems that by Prince Harry’s account, he was the subject of a physical assault by his brother Prince William, who grabbed him and threw him to the ground following an argument.

You call this fucking news? The fuckers are always having a pop at each other. You should have seen them at the funeral! Obviously, there was a time delay in the coverage so it wasn’t on the BBC but they started pushing and shoving, some kicking in the bollocks and before long they were on top of the fucking coffin, Harry with his hand round William’s throat. I had to go in and pull him off, my cry of ‘Leave him, Harry, the wanker’s not worth it!’ ringing around the abbey! All fucking covered up, of course, but everyone knows the score!

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Sushi, sashimi, excuse me if they're bloody different: the gammon food critic goes Japanese

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who thinks LGBTQ+ is a TV shopping channel

I’M going healthy in 2023. Got to. The doctor’s been unequivocal about it. So I’m only smoking in the pub, I’m cutting the pub to five nights a week, and I’m eating Japanese. 

They said the Nipponese cuisine is up there with the healthiest in the world. There’s always one of the buggers living to 115 so it must be true. So I’m booked in at this place with no idea what I’m getting, except rice.

First surprise? Sushi isn’t raw fish. Apparently that’s sashimi. Sushi’s vinegared rice wrapped in seaweed, so suddenly raw fish doesn’t seem so bad. Honestly I can’t decide which I want less. If God had intended me to eat raw fish he’d have made me a fucking seal.

There’s also another variation combining raw fish and rice called Nigiri, which sounds racist to me. They are, of course, over there. Most racist nation on Earth I’ve heard. The woke keep that quiet.

Second surprise? The portions are laughable. There’s not a bite in them. Given I’m gagging on raw mackerel it’s a blessing in diguise, but how they had the strength to bomb Pearl Harbour I’ll never know.

I wash it down with saké, which is at least alcohol, but it’s utter filth. A surreptitious under-the-table Google reveals it’s bloody rice as well. Rice? To make wine? How’s this supposedly ancient culture never heard of grapes? I pour it into a plant that’ll be dead by morning.

There’s also katsu curry on the menu, which I recognise from the ready-meal chillers at the Co-op. In fairness it’s not bad, like a McChicken sandwich with half a jar of chip shop curry sauce. That’s how I’ll make it at home. Still it’s all that saved this from total disaster.

I leave hungry – of course I do – so I stop off for a kebab on the way home, musing as I go that some cultures have proudly earned their place providing food for hungry Brits, and others are shit. There won’t be a fucking Wagamamas around in ten years. They’ll be pound shops.

Positives? I ate raw fish, so I’ve got the necessary skills to survive complete societal breakdown such as we’ve got coming. But would I enjoy it? Would I bollocks.