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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Vladimir fucking Putin

THIS week, as I relaxed at Lambeth Palace with the newspapers, I noted that Vladimir Putin has caused something of an international stir with his decision to invade Ukraine on the pretext that it is not a real country and therefore should be subsumed into a Greater Russia.

Fuck me with the pointed end of a fucking ceremonial stick, this has got right in among my fucking chasuble and no mistake! My morning’s usually nicely straightforward – worship, Wordle, a wank. Now all that’s out the fucking stained glass window and I’m fucking doomscrolling thanks to you, you jumped up, psychopathic little needledick! ‘Not a real country’? Well, you don’t have a real fucking face so why not start by invading that, preferably with your own fucking fists? Get the fuck out of Ukraine, you rancid, titfaced little twat! No one, but no one gives a fuck about the Russian empire any more, except you! Fuck off back to your dacha in your fucking judo robes and throw yourself around a fucking sandpit if you want a fucking fight because you’re the only cunt in the world who fucking wants this one!

Foreign Secretary Liz Truss has had quite a war so far, posing next to Ukrainian and British flags and adding to the diplomatic effort by encouraging Britons to go join the Ukrainian resistance.

Jesus fucking wanked, the only fucking reason that odious, piggy-eyed fatberg Johnson is still fucking Prime Minister is that you’d be up for the job if they kicked him out and next to you, he’s Nelson fucking Mandela! Of all the feathered neo-Thatcherite, primly-coiffured fucking ninnies who ever bottled chutney for a fucking Tory fundraiser, you are the fucking worst! Do us a fucking favour, Truss: go home, lock yourself in your fucking cellar while this Ukraine shit plays out and don’t fucking come out till someone knocks to give the fucking all-clear. I’d take enough food to last several fucking years if I were you!

Adrian Chiles writes a regular column for The Guardian, the paper edited, as coincidence would have it, by his partner Katherine Viner. A recent one was titled, ‘Who’s the most underated (sic) person in TV? The chap who changes my batteries.’

Christ on a shitstick, look upon the works of Chiles, Cunt of Cunts and fucking despair. A tedious, tenth rate hack who couldn’t let a fucking slice of toast land fucking butter side down without writing a fucking column about it! Seriously, I could smear a lump of fucking fresh dogshit across a sheet of fucking A4 paper and it’d be more fucking readable than the deathly fucking bollocks you dare to serve up on a weekly fucking basis, you dozy, porridge-faced, oxygen-sucking waste of fucking space!

Finally, it seems that rail fares are set to rise by 3.8 per cent this week across England and Wales.

Well, of fucking course they are. As sure as night fucking follows day and a dose of the shits follows fast food, train fares shoot up like fucking Lou Reed in the fucking Seventies! Tell you what, Putin and his fucking oligarchs could take an online fucking course from the UK train companies in rampant fucking gangsterism! You’ve no fucking shame, have you? If you were caught masturbating outside a fucking infant school you wouldn’t so much as blush! Criminal cunts!

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Mash Blind Date: 'He made a woman out of me, like the Heart song, up against a toilet wall'

Millie, who works in a shit job for wankers, meets Christian, who is rightly terrified. 

Millie on Christian

First impression? 

Bit inexperienced. He hadn’t had pre-drinks and commented that I seemed ‘unsteady’, which isn’t very gentlemanly. I had to explain I’m out for a piss-up and a fuck.

How was conversation? 

Initially we focused on what a boring bastard he was, and did he think he was better than me sitting there judging me, and how I’ve had loads better than him and he was like shit on my shoe. But after that he warmed up.

Memorable moments? 

He helped get the fork out of the back of my hand after I accidentally got it wedged in there. But he can’t chug a whole bottle of wine so I don’t know what twat brought him up.

Favourite thing about Christian? 

He responds really well to constructive criticism. After our initial awkwardness he was completely smashed.

A capsule description? 

Tall, male, maybe Irish? I’m not great with faces when I’ve had a few.

Was there a spark? 

He made a woman out of me, to quote the Heart song. Which means that he fucked me good and proper against a toilet wall.

What happened afterwards? 

I blacked out at that point. But it wasn’t his I woke up at.

What would you change about the evening? 

I like to think I could have drunk more. If I had, I would have won that fight with that bitch.

Will you see each other again?  

I’m not really a planner. I live in the moment, spontaneously, floating like a leaf in the wind. Also I doubt I’d recognise the fucker.

Christian on Millie

First impression?

She was absolutely shitfaced. Like staggering shitfaced. We’d only set up the date at lunchtime but somehow she’d managed to squeeze in a three-day bender.

How was conversation? 

Slurred. She seems very bigoted but I couldn’t make out who against. She told me she’d fuck me as the bread arrived, though, which I found refreshing.

Memorable moments?

She took a bottle of Rioja from a stranger’s table and poured it in her soup. But did then finish the soup.

Favourite thing about Millie? 

I’d have to say her open-door sexual policy. And I was really impressed she managed to get back from the loo on her own.

A capsule description? 

Pissed, belligerent, slutty. Repeats herself a lot.

Was there a spark? 

We had full penetrative sex.

What happened afterwards? 

We went on for a bar, I bought her a drink, she went out for a cigarette and never came back. The police came in asking about her and I feigned ignorance.

What would you change about the evening? 

I would not go to a restaurant where they know me.

Will you see each other again?  

No. But it’s now no longer been 22 months since I had a shag.

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