The Archbishop of Canterbury on... who's cancelling Lee Anderson's breakfast? Black Pudding Matters?

WAKING up with a hangover emitting a stench worse than pilchards left to rot on a gym changing room radiator for a fortnight, I reflect on a personally momentous Wednesday. 

I had an announcement to make of great import, of tremendous constitutional significance to the country in terms of the relationship between church and state. I would make it at 5pm outside Lambeth Palace. 

Up I stepped to the lectern, only for the Heavens to open. Upon which I fucked off back indoors because I’m not a silly little cunt. The announcement can wait till there’s a guarantee of no rain. Early August, or something. 

And so, following a tabasco ‘pick me up’, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that Rishi Sunak has announced an election for July 4, 2024.

Blowtorch my fucking red end, this makes no sense – unless you’re saying, ‘Fuck this, they can give the job to Count Binface as far as I’m concerned, I’m gonna sit atop my giant fortune like a badly-trousered goblin for the rest of my days!’ Who knows? I’d say I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw up except I could probably throw you about 50 yards, you pop-eyed little runt! Great start to your campaign, by the way, asking Welsh people if they were excited about Euro 2024! Wales didn’t fucking qualify! Oh, and thanks for bumping Pointless to make your announcement, you sodden little shit!

Paula Vennells, part-time ordained priest and former Post Office boss has been in court this week, bursting into tears when questioned. It’s been confirmed she killed a review that would have exposed the scandal more than ten years ago, after being told it would make front-page news.

Fucking hell, ordained priest? If you were to take every avowed Satanist in the UK I doubt they’d be responsible for anything like as much fucking evil and misery as you’ve caused, you dreadful pillar of fucking self-pity! The C of E obviously waves any cunt through these days, someone should have a fucking word! You’re not one of those religious types who actually believes in the fucking afterlife, are you? Because there’s people who fucking died just so you could save corporate face, and they’re waiting for on the other fucking side!

Lee Anderson, former Labour MP turned Conservative MP turned Reform MP, posted a photo of his breakfast on social media this week, a mixed grill. He captioned it thus: ‘A great start to the day but how long before some highly educated expert tells us our traditional breakfast is racist?’

You know, I seriously fucking wonder how as thick a cunt as you is able to slice off a piece of burnt sausage and negotiate it into your stupid, overactive fucking mouth! Only in the cramped confines of your fucking mind is anyone going around decrying breakfasts as fucking racist! Tell you what, Lee. Sit there and wait till your fucking sausages and black pudding fur over and you’re sitting in a small brown pool of your own ordure that’s seeped through your cheap grey trousers. Because of course these experts will be along, swift as fucking Godot, you’re convinced of it! Better still, wait there till you fucking die, and don’t bother anyone else in the meantime.

Finally, it seems that Manchester City have pipped Arsenal to the English Premier League title by two clear points. It is their fourth consecutive title victory.

Sure, of course they fucking did. A team that were having their fucking arses kicked by Gillingham just a few years ago, until they were taken over by some fucking oil-rich state who thought they were buying Man U, like that silly American fuck who bought London Bridge instead of Tower Bridge! Now there’s 115 fucking outstanding charges of financial doping! At least Lance Armstrong was only a drugs cheat – imagine if he’d won the Tour de France on a fucking motorbike, because that’s the fucking equivalent here!

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Oust Rishi, install Kemi, abolish all laws and deport 17 million: how the Tories can still win

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who knows for a fact Angela Rayner killed a war veteran in a hit-and-run

HOPE is not lost. Action can be taken. A hapless, sodden so-called leader and his homeopathic Conservatism ousted, and a victory won.  

Ten simple, easy, obvious steps the electorate is yearning for, and the UK will be safely back under the umbrella of glorious Conservative rule. This is how to do it.

One. Oust Rishi. Get those letters in, kick his bitch Borrower ass to the kerb, deselect him. The heroic Kemi Badenoch is now the Conservative leader and her instincts are in perfect alignment with the British people: she hates. She hates all bloody day.

Two. Cut inheritance tax. Easily the most popular move it’s possible to make, cheered by everyone from market stallholder to giants of finance, yet Sunak wouldn’t do it? Why?

Three. Deport by quota. Set it at a fair quarter of the population, 16.75 million, and start rounding them up. Anyone who can’t trace their heritage back six generations, doesn’t own property or is offensively regional. It’s not our problem where they go to.

Four. Get Boris back. Give him the safest seat in the country. Tell him he can’t be prime minister but he can do whatever he wants. Let him caper around Britain impregnating at will, like a priapic Puck. Watch the polls soar.

Five. Abolish all corporate tax and all corporate laws. Businesses aren’t people and shouldn’t be treated like them. Let’s see the EU beat that offer.

Six. Acronym smashing time: abolish the BBC, the NHS and the LGBTQ. Don’t worry about what replaces them. As David Attenborough said in Jurassic Park, the market finds a way.

Seven. Make Reform UK illegal. Not Labour – that won’t be necessary, after this – but you can’t run a party to the right of the Tories, it’s not fair. Let the most extreme join up.

Eight. Youth curfew. If you’re under 30, you’re no longer allowed on the streets. If you are you can be legally hunted, like a reverse Logan’s Run. Come out when you’re sensible.

Nine. Bring back the death penalty. Doesn’t matter what for, keep it vague, but begin with Prince Harry. The last final holdouts against a Tory landslide are won over.

Ten. Romp home. Reflect on how easy it’s been. All that was required was to be sensible.