The Archbishop of Canterbury on... what sort of dick would pay £1,600 for a pint with Sting?

WAKING up with a hangover that, if it escaped from my skull, would probably melt through the earth to Australia like a nuclear incident, I look back on my campaign to establish a controversial new saint’s day.

We all know of King Canute, whose name was further rendered as Cnut – but scholars have now discreetly acknowledged that he would have been known in his day as King Cunt. Thus: St Cunt’s Day.

The purposes of St Cunt’s Day would be twofold – to re-establish the C of E’s frontline role in beatification, and to have a good laugh. On both counts, the Church council agreed to ratify my proposal, upon which I embarked on a 36-hour bibulous celebration.

Shrugging off my headache, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that Susan Hall, Conservative candidate for London mayor, has put up a robust fight in the campaign.

Fuck the fossilised skeleton of the donkey Jesus rode in on! Susan Hall? In a sane world, she’d be a mad aunt locked in a fucking padded attic with food and water slid under her door twice a fucking day! Are we going collectively senile as a nation? Are we so doolally we’d consider letting a pop-eyed, bigoted, transphobic Thatcher corpse like Hall run anything more complicated than a fucking bath? Only in batshit Tory circles would you get this certified loony tunes standing on the platform of getting herself and everyone else killed with fucking traffic fumes!

Sting and Stephen Fry have both declared, in the light of recent news stories, that they will quit the Garrick Club if it does not agree to accept women as members.

Well, I must say, that is very fucking liberal and decent of you, chaps. You must have been shocked to learn that they didn’t allow women. There’s no way never, ever seeing a female in all the fucking years you went there might have been a clue as to their policy! Well done for your admirable feminist stance – you’re certainly not a pair of ossified, publicity-conscious arses suddenly piping up on an issue you never previously gave a toss about! And more to the point, what sort of Billy No-Mates would pay a £1,600 membership fee for a pint with fucking Sting? 

Former football pundit Mark Lawrenson has bitterly complained that the reason he has been dropped by the BBC is that he is a white, 65-year-old male and the BBC is ‘woke, 100 per cent’.

Yeah, fucking right. I bet that’s why they got in a one-legged, lesbian, Save The Whale pundit who’d never watched football in their lives to replace you. Oh, they didn’t. They got Alan fucking Shearer. You were, by a long fucking distance, the most miserable, dispiriting, mirthless, witless, spacewasting twat of a pundit and co-commentator in the BBC’s history. You made a job some people would give a fucking kidney for sound like a fucking chore you were carrying out with a gun to your fucking head! Never mind being ‘woke’ – sounding like you’re actually fucking awake and not about to nod off from self-pitying boredom helps!

Finally, it seems that Boris Johnson was turned away at his polling station, having failed to bring along the necessary ID, in line with the new requirements brought in under his government.

If you scripted this it’d be turned down by the BBC Head of Comedy as being too fucking shit, and they made Mrs Brown’s Boys. It’s typical of the Tories – cynically ‘identify’ a nonexistent problem – voter fraud, immigration, trans terrorists – then take pointlessly excessive measures to ‘remedy’ it. So here you are, you irrelevant fucking buffoon, hoist by your own fucking petard! Except we wouldn’t put it past you to deliberately ‘forget’ your ID so you can write some shit about bureaucracy gone mad for the Daily Mail! Who knows how that amnesiac semolina slosh you call a fucking brain works?

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How I'll replace Klopp and rebuild Liverpool, by Billie Eilish

POP megastar Billie Eilish has announced an 81-date world tour. But she’s not bothered about that. Instead here is her plan for bringing the glory days back to her beloved Liverpool FC.

SINCE I’ve never mentioned them in public, never attended a game and never watched them on TV, it may surprise you to learn that I’m actually a staunch fan of Liverpool FC. The Liver Birds. The Scouse Army. The Mega Reds. As I call them.

I love Andy Robertson and the gang so much that I’m low-key hoping to replace Jurgen Klopp as manager myself. They won’t know what’s hit them once I get started with pre-season. I’m about to gegenpress myself into their hearts and minds.

It may look like Arne Slot has the job locked down, but I can pull a few strings. Imagine the hype an A-list megastar in the dugout would generate. Tutting and swearing at the fourth official while wearing a windbreaker with a cute lil’ ‘BE’ initialled on it. Shankly, Paisley, Dalglish, Eilish. It just makes sense.

Just like Ryan Reynolds, I can help put this lowly, shitty, beaten-down side back on the map. Klopp has tanked this final season. Eilish will pick up the pieces. Here’s my strategy.

Step one – our goaltender Alisson is out. I’m bringing back Jerzy Dudek. Sure, he’s over 50 and retired a decade ago. But BIG Liverpool fans like me will never forget his heroics in Istanbul. Sure, I was only four when it happened, but his crazy legs are seared into my memory and actually inspired a lot of the dance moves on my last tour.

Step two – clone Mo Salah. If one Mo can light up the EPL, then think about what three could do. We simply take a lock of his bouffant hair for the DNA and make a bunch of him in my secret lab. That’s worth 100 goals plus a season and we don’t have to play Darwin Nunez again. Because I think we all agree he’s a f**king carthorse.

Step three – install my creepy brother Finneas as assistant coach. Sure, he knows nothing about football, but he’s a born winner. Even if he’s useless, I reckon I can get him a seat on Sky’s Soccer Saturday where he can go on about what a good job I’m doing. Which would really piss off Matt Le Tissier, but he can f**k off back to his tinfoil bungalow and tweet about Mossad controlling the weather.

By this point I’ll have the fans and Jamie Carragher on board. Sew up the league by April. Bag the quadruple, bring home the Superbowl, nab the World Series and clinch Olympic gold just in time for my statue to be unveiled outside Anfield.

YNWA. LFC til I die. F**k Everton.

Billie x