Your astrological week ahead for April 13th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Your inner child is speaking to you. It’s saying: ‘Grow up.’

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Ant and Dec aren’t actually from Newcastle. They’re putting it on. Ant is Jamaican, and Dec is mute.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Yes, you’re addicted to prescription drugs, but at least you’ve got a hobby.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Women say men can’t multitask but they obviously haven’t seen their partners put £10 on Mo Salah to be first goalscorer whilst sat taking a shit.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

What’s so good about four cheeses? Five would be ridiculous, three too little. Who the f**k decided this?

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Incy wincy spider climbed up the waterspout. Down came the rain and completely ruined his men’s retro perm.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

As a woke objector you are dreading your children asking what you did in the culture war.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 21nd

Don’t think you can buy half-price Easter eggs now and enjoy them next year. The f**kers have put a special chemical in them to make sure they expire by January.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

What happened to the companies that supplied gunge for all those kids’ TV shows? Do they now supply gunge elsewhere? Have they found another product?

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Let’s have a threesome with our Alexa.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Spice up your relationship by shouting out ‘F**k me, that’s a big spider’ at extremely inopportune moments.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Do Italian people honestly expect us to believe that they think in that accent?

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the NHS is trying to kill us, so we'd better pay shitloads to go private, am I right?

WAKING up with a hangover that feels like rhinoceri are vigorously mating within my cranium, I reflect on the events of the past couple of days. 

I was sent an anonymous package in the post of a Nike cap, which it was suggested might be a more ‘with it’ replacement for my customary mitre. Open to modern trends, I duly wore it for my Sunday sermon.

The image went viral; initially, Nike were aghast at their sudden drop in share price. I learned that the package had been sent in a joint venture between Adidas and the head cardinal of the British Catholic church, to discredit both myself and Nike. Infuriated, I put in a video call to the cardinal. I informed him that the next time I met him, I would shove my staff so far up his fucking arse he would be shitting wood till fucking Christmas.

This video also went viral; sales of Nike products soared, while I understand that both Adidas and the UK Catholic church are filing for bankruptcy. Duly satisfied, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that OJ Simpson, acquitted of the murder of his wife Nicole Brown in 1995, has died aged 76.

Well, that’s a fucking bawling shame, isn’t it? Hope it wasn’t connected with all those fucking steroids you were chugging in the weeks before the coincidental death of your beloved wife, eh? Still, you were an example of how America’s fucking goggle-eyed obsession with celebrity trumps even its fucking racism, which is saying something! Like any sane person I know there’s no afterlife, but in your case we can hope you spend eternity being slow-roasted on a spit with Nicole prodding you in the genitals with a red-hot poker every slow rotation. At least there’d be a point to all this religion bollocks for once!

Shadow health secretary Wes Streeting has opined that ‘middle-class lefties’ won’t stop Labour using the private sector to cut the NHS backlog.

We all know you’re gonna get in by a landslide but fuck me if it has anything to do with anyone having an iota of enthusiasm for you dead-eyed hack cunts. You in particular, you pudding bowl of fuck all! ‘Middle-class lefties’? I know you’re desperate for a shag with the Daily Mail but get a room. You are going to get in, and you, a Labour government, a fucking Labour government, are gonna sell the NHS to your fucking private donors like the bastards you are! I hope you spend the afterlife on the spit next to OJ Simpson, you flabby-faced piece of fuck!

Allison Pearson has also written about the NHS this week, a column in the Daily Telegraph entitled ‘The NHS is killing us – it is an enemy of Britain’.

What the fuck happened to you, Allison? When did you become chief propagandist for privatisation and the most nutso wing of the Tory party? You used to be just some common or garden Joan Bakewell-type liberal on BBC2 doing culture shows, then overnight you transmogrified into a witches’ cauldron brew of Margaret Thatcher, Ayn Rand, Melanie Phillips, Katie Hopkins and fucking Goebbels! Did you have your conscience surgically removed like an appendix? Let’s hope you didn’t have it done on the NHS, or they might have murdered you for a laugh. Although that would have been taxpayers’ money well fucking spent!

Finally, Alan Sugar has opined that: ‘People really like the show The Repair Shop, [but] lately it seems to focus more on sad stories of the owners rather than showing the repair of the object.’

Yeah, people like it, you waste of a fucking half-grown beard, but because you’re not part of the fucking human race but some weird, parasitical rodent by-product of homo sapiens experimenting with sex with rats, you wouldn’t fucking understand that, would you? The reason you’re freaked out about The Repair Shop is that it’s outflanking horrible, dog-eat-dog, cunt-eat-cunt shows like yours! Tell you what, it’d be great if someone brought in one of your fucking Amstrads to be repaired. Naah, they’d say. You can’t refurbish a fucking turd. Heave it in the fucking skip!