Your astrological week ahead for March 9th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

If your chills are multiplying and you’re losing control, get out of the meat freezer.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Instead of completely shaving Austin Butler for his role in Dune 2, why didn’t they simply hire Matt Lucas?

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Evian mineral water endures a 15-year voyage through layer upon layer of glacial rock in the French Alps only to end up in your big, stupid mouth.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

You got a time of 18.25 seconds in your iron man triathalon. The Iron Man armour helped.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

They say an army marches on its stomach. Wrong. It’s pavement, roads, sometimes grass and other open terrain.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Odd Taylor Swift hasn’t got into the perfume market. She must fucking ming.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Want to impress guests? Simply say ‘they mean Bailey’s’ every time the voiceover of Masterchef calls it ‘Irish cream liqueur’.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Finding your girlfriend in bed with another man was such a cliche that really you dumped her for being unoriginal.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Given his lack of corporeal form and ignorance of how a manual gearbox functions, you will this week regret letting Jesus take the wheel.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

You make love just like a woman, but you throw just like a little girl.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

There’s now an Oscar for Best Casting. Because persuading famous people to do things in their own interests for shitloads of money deserves recognition.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Do Hindus eat pork? Quick, it’s actually kind of an emergency.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday

The Archbishop of Canterbury on... JK Rowling doing time in Wizard Prison

WAKING up naked atop the tomb of Mother Teresa, clutching an empty bottle of overproof rum and boasting a raging erection which I think impressed even the nuns who flocked to the scene, I realise I have a little explaining to do in order to preserve ecumenical harmony. 

Standing up, I give thanks and praise to the work of the Albanian nun, overlooking some of her flaws, which is to say, practically everything she ever said or did. 

I explain to a strangely agitated young priest that, while other, baser men might be moved to tumescence by godless supermodels or sleazy pornographical stars, I, flesh and blood that I am, find my member engorged with blood by Mother Teresa’s selfless piety and devotion to the poor. Yes, I took rum – but only because the sacrament of drinking mere wine was inadequate for the Saint of Calcutta. 

Accepting a round of applause and offers to kiss my ring, I make a dignified departure and take the next flight back to London, to my chambers, there to take breakfast and peruse a periodical. I read that Jeremy Hunt has announced cuts to National Insurance – cuts that will be more than wiped out by stealth tax rises, especially for those on lower incomes.

Fuck my dead budgerigar, is there anyone who thinks that this pop-eyed, perpetually startled waste of a blue suit, who in any previous era would be an unsuccessful door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman, is competent on any fiscal matter beyond buying a tin of Whiskas for the fucking Downing Street cat? His sole contribution to anything is providing a way of saying the really bad swear word before the fucking watershed, the fucking Jeremy Hunt!

A raft of Labour candidates have been announced in the last few days. Among them are Tom Gray of 1990s Mercury Music Prize winners Gomez and Dave Rowntree of Blur. 

Christ on a fucking cockstick, is this the future? Britpop’s dregs and also-rans running the fucking country? How about Bonehead as future chancellor of the fucking exchequer? The Bluetones’ roadie as fucking home secretary? Coldplay’s Chris Martin as minister for doing fuck all about the environment? And you can bet the same fuckers who blanded out British music will be wanking on about not being able to do anything because ‘the credit card is maxed out’, the fucking Cool Britannia cock-garglers!

President Joe Biden has announced plans to establish a port on the coast of Gaza to receive large ships carrying humanitarian aid to the besieged region, it has emerged. 

Call me a cock in a fucking cassock, but if you want to do something useful, Biden, you ice cream-eating arse, maybe pick up a phone to that jug-eared fascist Netanyahu and tell him he can stop flattening Gaza now or the aid tap gets turned off? And I may be a wanker in a mitre carrying a pointless fucking stick, but even I can see you could stop the food drops by not giving these fuckers the weapons that necessitate the food drops in the first place. Can you see that, Joe, or are you too busy waiting for a nice cup of tea and Countdown at the fucking care home?

Finally, JK Rowling of Harry Potter fame has said she would ‘happily’ spend two years in prison for misgendering a trans activist.

Yeah, we’d all fucking happily spend two years in prison there’s no chance of us spending! I’m cool with 20 years in solitary confinement for saying anyone over ten years old caught reading your fucking books should be kneecapped. Because that’s gonna fucking happen, isn’t it? The Harry Potter Police taking me into fucking custody so Hogwarts Court could send me to fucking Wizard Prison? Pull the fucking other one Joanne, you’re bigger than the fucking Bible and you live in a castle, so lay off the bigotry and do something a bit more fucking magical with your time!