Your astrological week ahead for October 18th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

F**king Victoria’s Secret models. You know the wings aren’t real? Yeah.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Don’t look a gift horse’s girlfriend in the mouth or he’ll kick your head in.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

‘I f**king loved it’ Tsar Alexander II. ‘Made me wonder why I bother’ Charles Dickens. ‘Bit Russian for me, frankly’ Mark Twain: blurbs for the first edition paperback of War and Peace. 

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Hannibal the Cannibal? Nominative determinism strikes again. Given a normal name he would have been vegan.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Of course, the team’s full name is Maccabi Telephone Aviva. Bloody sponsorship.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

The opposite of ethical non-monogamy is unethical monogamy; you have only one partner but you nick their spare change.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Okay, apparently ‘Great, now I can take my secret drinking to the next level!’ isn’t the right response to being bought a hip flask.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You’re interested in current affairs. Past ones are so full of anger, bad sex and recrimination.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

As a philosophy, ‘I’m moving to Dubai because Britain is being taken over by Islam’ has a single glaring flaw.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

When will they make an inspiring Legally Blonde-style film about a wealthy private school boy who dreams of becoming a successful barrister?

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

“I’m afraid the security guard has ascended to heaven overnight after completing every single wordsearch in The Puzzler.”

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Time we came up with a new pasta shape. Something 4D maybe.

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

The Archbishop of Canterbury on… maybe learn to wear a pair of jeans properly before becoming an MP, Jezza?

WAKING with a hangover so intense that for a few hours I grow an extra head that keeps tediously vowing to never drink again, I take on copious liquids and reflect on the past week. 

The highlight was undoubtedly the annual ‘Swear Off’ between the Church of England and the atheist community, this year represented by Mr Stephen Fry and, naturally, myself. 

We settled down at a table facing one another at the neutral venue of the Dorchester, surrounded by an audience and observed by a panel of judges, all expert British swearologists. We tossed a coin and Mr Fry elected to go first.

‘Prickwamblers!’ he enunciated, jowls wobbling with self-satisfaction.

‘Cunt,’ I retorted.

‘Botty ploppingtons!’ he came back. ‘Cunt,’ I said. 

‘Muffmunchiness and farty woof woofs!’ he came back. ‘Cunt,’ I tactically responded.

At which point, with the score a straight 3-0 in my favour, the religious community were declared the victors. Mr Fry looked a little crestfallen but I had a few words of consolation for him. 

‘You’re a fucking moron’s idea of an intellectual,’ I said. Which seemed, if anything, to depress him further. 

The matter dismissed from my mind, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that Prince Andrew is once again in the spotlight, due to extracts from Virginia Giuffre’s posthumous memoir in which she says Andrew ‘believed having sex with me was his birthright’.

You know, it’s some fucking achievement to have siblings who include that fucking spare part Prince Edward and that ruddy-faced, perennially fatuous, gullible pillar of useless fuck Prince Charles, and still be far and away the fucking worst before it even came out you were a fan of fucking sex trafficking! As for being the Queen’s favourite, well doesn’t that just show what a fucking oblivious moron she was? I hope you go to fucking jail and the other inmates use your arse for target practice!

It seems that Jeremy Clarkson is considering running against Ed Miliband for his seat in Clarkson’s home town of Doncaster.

Yeah, fucking right. Of course it’s a tedious stunt like everything Clarkson does, but look – you can’t run your own farm, you can’t even manage to wear your fucking jeans properly and you think you can represent a constituency? All you’ve got going for you is a fucking bottomless reserve of drawling arrogance! You’re the living patron saint of every lazy, complacent, white bloke who thinks they could be UK heavyweight champion if they just bothered to do some press-ups and put in a few hours of sparring every week! Go back to milking a cow, or rather failing to milk the cow and getting someone fucking competent to do it for you!

Following the recent death of Ozzy Osbourne, a ballet has been commissioned entitled Black Sabbath – The Ballet to celebrate the band’s music.

Oh, Jesus H Fuck, does everything, absolutely everything, have to be reduced to a shit stage show? There’s nothing wrong with keeping fucking categories separate, you know – heavy metal is heavy metal and ballet is ballet! Think anyone wants to hear Iron Maiden’s take on The Nutcracker? No, we’re not fucking interested, thank fuck! Still, it’s good to know we’re celebrating Ozzy in a medium that’s got literally f**k all to do with him!

Finally, the Trump administration is considering a radical overhaul of the US refugee system to give preference to English speakers, white South Africans and Europeans who oppose migration.

Wait, run that last one by me again? Europeans who oppose migration but are planning to migrate to the fucking United States of America? In other words, people who fucking oppose themselves? Or, to put it more accurately, racist people who think whites can move wherever the fuck they want without hindrance but people of colour should be kept captive in the fucking hellholes they’ve been born into? Ideally under the benevolent watch of copper-bottomed pricks like Tony Blair? You know what? Fucking do it! Do it and watch America drop to the fucking Conference League of nations as you get rid of the only people who keep your increasingly North Korean joke of a country fucking functioning!