WAKING up with a hangover so excruciating it has a hangover of its own, I imbibe two gallons of water with a slice of lemon and reflect on the week’s events.
I was invited to the Palace by Prince Charles, who this week visited President Trump in his temporary capacity as King of the UK, and wanted my ‘input’ into his speech before the trip. I advised him to deliver the following.
‘I’m glad you invited me over here, you disgusting, racist rapist because I wanted to say to your big fat pelican face that you’re an out-and-out cunt of the first water and like everyone else I want you to fucking die, slowly and in fucking pain.’ I advised him to then drop his microphone.
On the big day, I settled down to watch Charles speak, only for him to deliver a lot of convoluted, oblique drivel. On his return, I headed straight to the Palace, barged past courtiers and made directly for his rooms. He gulped as I strode up to him.
‘What the fuck was that?’ I yelled, prodding him in the chest.
‘I… I got cold feet,’ he gibbered.
‘Cold feet! You’re a cowardly, capillary-faced cunt!” I declared, before slapping him on the side of the head and exiting the building.
With a sigh at that memory I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that ex-Chelsea footballer John Terry has, along with Dennis Wise, endorsed Rupert Lowe of Restore Britain, who called for ‘foreigners’ to be banned from claiming benefits and the deportation of ‘migrants who are incapable of financially supporting themselves’.
Well, colour me fucking gobsmacked, who’d have thought it? Someone who ended up in court for on-the-pitch racism turns out to be pretty fucking racist! And his little chump mate agrees with him! It must have been hell for you, Terry, back in the day with Chelsea, playing with all those foreigners! Them coming over here and taking our full-back and centre-forward positions, helping you win a shit ton of trophies which you got to celebrate even when you didn’t play in the fucking games! Face it, if it had just been you, Wise, Lampard and eight other white British Herberts you’d have been battling it out in the lower leagues with fucking Shrewsbury!
The Daily Mail has been continuing its obsession with the Duchess of Sussex, who they refer to as ‘Meghan Markle’. Over 19 days in April, the Mail published 70 news stories using her as a hook, including one criticising an oversized shirt she wore on a trip to Australia.
Jesus fucking cockrot, this wouldn’t be connected to the impending judgement on the landline bugging and voicemail hacking you’re alleged to have used to source stories about her husband, would it? For which arses should be in fucking jail if it’s proven? Or is it just the usual fucking unhinged vindictive weirdo behaviour? Could this be the first time a national newspaper is issued with a fucking restraining order? You’re not allowed to come within 200 yards of her, contact her, or write weird, madly obsessive shit about her on a near-hourly basis? I mean, fuck, what next? Chloroform and duct tape?
The biopic Michael, about singer Michael Jackson, is likely to have a sequel after massive box office success, despite it ignoring the multiple accusations of child abuse against him, for which he paid out millions to stop charges being filed.
Fucking hell, what the fuck is this sick bucket of fucking nauseating whitewash? I’m sure the film went down well with his fans, who, trust me, are the biggest bunch of nutjobs in the pop world, but holy shit, the child abuse was hardly a minor detail of his life! What excellent biopics are coming up next? ‘Gary’ and ‘Gary 2’? The ‘Jimmy’ franchise coming to Disney+ and cinemas near you?
Finally, a shooting incident at Donald Trump’s Washington press dinner was thwarted by FBI agents, despite the assailant smuggling several weapons into the high-security venue. Trump said the incident had precipitated a wave of ‘national unity’.
Yeah, I’ll fucking say it did. International unity, even. Many, if not most, people on Earth saying: ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! Can no fucker in gun-happy America shoot straight when it matters?’ I mean, you metaphorically shoot yourself in the face every time you open your fucking mouth, but if you don’t think there’ll be mass cheering and fucking in the streets when they finally announce your death, you are sadly wrong. Never mind reading the room, read the fucking planet!
