The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the vote of no twatting confidence

10th June 2022

I AWAKE up in a one-star hotel in Dewsbury, naked and caked in various of my dried body fluids – the entire gamut, if the truth is to be told before the Lord.

Piecing together the events that led me from a light dinner at a Northallerton seminary to my present pass I make a solemn vow to forsake Northern ales, for the next day or so at least.

Washing myself down and returning to London, I tune into my wireless to hear that Prime Minister Boris Johnson has vowed to stay on despite 41 per cent of his MPs going against him in a vote of confidence.

Roast my balls like chestnuts on an open fucking fire, what is it with you, Johnson, you galumphing psychopath? What unimaginable fucking sense of entitlement keeps you so desperate to cling to a job you can’t fucking do, don’t want to fucking do and which sees you daily mocked, lambasted, cuckolded and parodied as the melting lump of rhino shit that you are? If you’re getting booed by that crowd at St Paul’s you might as well be booed by your own fucking Dad! And yet the only way you’d leave 10 Downing Street is if it were on fucking fire, even then dragged out screaming by two firemen, fingernails dragging across the pavement, squealing like a pig en route to the abattoir! You really are an enigmatic cunt!

Prince William went undercover this week, selling copies of the Big Issue, drawing praise for his down-to-earth quiet support of a good cause.

Mm. Or as I said in my morning sermon, to which hardly any bastard came incidentally, ‘undercover’, my mottled arse! Not exactly a master of fucking disguise, are you? If you want to help the homeless, fuck stunts like this which do bugger all but glorify the class system and sell six of your fucking homes, you slack-jawed leech!

The Rolling Stones have garnered fine notices this week for their concert in Anfield, Liverpool, which saw them perform many of their classic hits including ‘Gimme Shelter’.

Gimme Shelter? Gimme fucking strength! Do you realise what am embarrassment you are to anyone and everyone outside of the whooping cult of age denialists who pay actual money to watch you perform your fucking geriatric gyrations from 200 yards away? They should have broken you on that wheel like a fucking butterfly when they had a chance if you ask me! Look, between you and me, religion’s mostly a load of bollocks but one thing they get right is fucking death! Death! We’re all gonna die, soon! Even Cliff Richard! Prepare for fucking death! Don’t prance around like you’re a perpetual 25 year old! Death! Death!

Finally, Boris Johnson has announced that he wishes the NHS to provide a blockbuster service for the age of Netflix.

Fuck me with my ceremonial curly stick, what the fuck is it with you twats and Netflix? That mad pissed cunt Dorries too? Have you seen it lately? £7.99 a month only to spend an hour scrolling through shit you watched it ten years ago or obviously formulaic box set bollocks in which you won’t fucking find out what happens until the year 2030! Shall we watch Murder By The Lake, Lakeside Murder, Lake Deaths – A True Story, or Lakes Of Blood? People are streaming all right – streaming away from it in fucking droves, to watch fucking wood warp instead! Netflix! Cuntflix, more like!

He's not acting like a dead man walking. He's acting like he's untouchable for the next year

9th June 2022

From the diary of Carrie Johnson, Britain’s First Lady:

DEAD MAN WALKING, the headlines said. He wasn’t a dead man back here. More like a man given a punishment-free year.

He rolled in pissed Monday night, so much so that he only got through Tuesday’s cabinet by finishing my Prosecco at 8am. By that afternoon he was in a fantastic mood.

‘It’s a free pass,’ he said. ‘Anything they catch me for over the next year, whether it’s the cost of your wallpaper or grabbing Penny’s arse, it’s priced in. I’ve got a licence to do whatever I bloody well like.’

‘I don’t think that’s how they see it,’ I said. ‘And? Who’s the prime minister? Who’s the fucking daddy? Who can’t have another vote of no confidence against him until June 5th, 2023?

‘By which time it’ll be too late to kick me out. I just got given carte blanche for the rest of this parliament. I can do whatever I fucking want and I’m starting right now.’

I nod, while trying to think of where he’s operated with restraint so far and coming up blank. It’s not like he wants to take political risks. He couldn’t give a fuck about politics.

‘Does that mean we don’t have to holiday in shitty Cornwall?’ I asked, hope rising. ‘Can we fuck off the press and go to Mustique again?’

‘Exactly, darling,’ he said, ‘now you’re getting it. They can bleat all they like. Lobbying, hanging out with fascists, big wedges of oligarch cash. There won’t be a rule of politics I don’t break. They’ll talk about this bender for years.’

‘You won’t break your marriage vows though,’ I said. ‘That’s behind you, you said. That was only because your wife didn’t understand you.’

‘Oh absolutely,’ he said, but with a pensive look, like something had just occurred to him.