Your astrological week ahead for May 25th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

The guy I bought my last laptop from was utterly vile: racist, sexist, homophobic, the lot. Turns out I’d gone into Un-PC World by mistake.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

It’s not just politicians. For the next six weeks we’re all required to wear hard hats and hi-viz.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Seems a shame they only use the bouncy slide from the plane during emergencies.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

It takes two to tango, but only one to drink Tango. Moral of the story: you need to buy more Tango.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

The French have perfected the art of sex, cooking, and torturing geese to make delicious patê. What a country.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Councils shouldn’t install ornate lamp-posts. There’s a real risk people might end up learning to tap dance.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

This week, atheism is proved right forever after the image of Richard Dawkins appears on a slice of toast.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

‘F**king homewrecker!’ you shout at the retreating back of the tornado that’s torn your house apart, when really you should be blaming your husband.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

The general election had better not get in the way of your plan to moan about the current Tory government forever and ever.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Try saying ‘Burt Bacharach burps Berocca blowing bucks at Baccarat’ three times fast. Now you’re ready.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

“Orthodontist? No, we’re orthodox Jews. Very different discipline.”

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

‘And this is my crypt o’currency!’ you quip, leading guests down to a vault below your house containing more than £6m in dollars, yen and Euros you keep specifically so you can make that joke.

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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!