WAKING in a gutter in Lambeth with a hangover that is causing my head to rotate like an owl’s, I realise I have no memory of who I am; it seems the brain cells containing that vital information have been urinated away.
I am still trying to recall my identity when some sort of clerk rushes up to me. ‘Your grace, are you alright?’
Your grace? This is rather rum. ‘I’ve lost my memory,’ I tell the fellow. ‘Who am I?’
‘You are the Archbishop of Canterbury, your grace,’ he replies.
Eh? I am confused. I look again at my garb. I had assumed I had dressed thusly for some sort of stag night.
‘You are yanking my penis!’ I shout at the clerk. ‘Archbishop, my arse! How can I be Archbishop? I’m a profane alcoholic. And come to think of it, I don’t believe in God, either!’
‘Yes, sir, this is true. However, you have proven to be significantly more popular than your predecessors. Church attendances are up 1,000 per cent under your stewardship. You are regarded as a spirited character with the common touch.’
And so, taking his word for it, I pick myself up with a view to resuming my duties, take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Tony Blair has declared that the policy of net zero emissions is ‘doomed to fail’.
You know what, you fucking swivel-eyed shill? If you look round and see Kemi Badenoch agreeing with you, fucking stop because it means you’ve dropped a steaming, elephantine pile of bollocks into the fucking room! What shady, planet-choking corporate interest bunged you £20 million to spout this farrago of obvious fucking propaganda? If I’d spunked my entire reputation on a disastrous war I’d go to the Iraqi desert, dig a fucking hole and lie in it quietly till my toes turn up. But you have to keep making your fucking ‘interventions’! Do us all a favour and go and fucking intervene with yourself! Hard!
Mikel Arteta urged his Arsenal team to ‘step up’ and do ‘something special’ that had ‘never been done before’ as he attempted to psych his team to victory against Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League semi-final first leg at home. They lost 1-0.
And you know why they fucking lost? Because you’d put anyone off their stroke with your manic, frantic, relentless touchline exhortations! If I was at a public urinal taking a piss and some geezer came up and started shouting ‘YES! PISS! PISS HARD! PISS HARDER THAN YOU’VE EVER PISSED BEFORE! STEP UP AND PISS! PISS LIKE THE WIND!” I wouldn’t step up, I’d fucking step down and run off and hide till you’d fucking gone away!
The English FA has introduced a ban on trans women playing women’s football.
Phew! It’s about time they addressed this massive fucking issue facing the sport! I was disgusted when I saw the Lionesses win Euro 2022 with their team full of beefy, bearded players from Shrewsbury Town and Port Vale who’d transitioned solely so they could cop some international glory! You know how many trans women play professional football in England? Zero. Which is the size of the fucking problem. What are you gonna do, send the Genitals Police down to fucking Hackney Marshes and watch the women’s kickabouts there?
Finally, Kemi Badenoch has heartily condemned remarks from singing group Kneecap in which they appeared, flippantly, to endorse killing MPs.
Yes, quite right, Kemi. Condemn them. Condemn them to the hilt. And such is your disgust you’ll obviously be expelling your donor Frank Hester who said MP Diane Abbott made him ‘want to hate all black women’ and that she ‘should be shot’. Or is calling for MPs to be massacred alright so long as you donate ten million quid to the Tory party? If that’s the case then fill your fucking boots, it’s whack-an-MP time if you’ve got the readies to hand!
