Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries (March 21st – April 19th)

The ex-girlfriends who you’re sending daily pictures of your Wordle to have asked if you can go back to sending daily pictures of your cock.

Taurus (April 20th – May 20th)

When you’re out metal detecting and find a large stash of rusted, buried metal detectors next to a pile of human bones, you put two and two together juuust too late.

Gemini (May 21st – June 20th)

Footage of you strutting around the office with your flies open will become immortalised as a gif. It will be your only notable legacy on this celestial plane.

Cancer (June 21st – July 22nd)

Tomorrow will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger. Shit, it’s the Slenderman.

Leo (July 23rd – August 22nd)

You were hoovering wearing a loose-fitting dressing gown and you fell on the Shard. That’s how it got up there.

Virgo (August 23rd – September 22nd)

Amateur pornography is never amateur enough for you. They always seem to know where the dick is.

Libra (September 23rd – October 22nd)

On Thursday you begin your job as a swimming teacher and reason that the phrases ‘in at the deep end’ and ‘sink or swim’ don’t come from nowhere, though the police disagree.

Scorpio (October 23rd – November 21st)

You’re one of the people who saw the potential and bought into bitcoin back in 2013. Unfortunately that means you spent what would now be £64,500 on an eighth of weed.

Sagittarius (November 22nd – December 21st)

This week you make the sensible decision to hang a dreamcatcher from the rear-view mirror of your 36-tonne truck. That way you won’t have nightmares when you doze off on the M6.

Capricorn (December 22nd – January 19th)

Today everything is about you just like it always is. Why not have some empathy and read what’s in store for Pisces or Virgo occasionally, you self-centred piece of shit?

Aquarius (January 20th – February 18th)

You cannot believe that, in this golden age of television and Marvel movies and so much going on in the world, there are sad twats out there who can tell the difference between trees.

Pisces (February 19th – March 20th)

Your sign has been acquired by Aries in a hostile merger. Yes, there will be redundancies.

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

Warming winter meals, with Colin the emotionally unstable chef

ON these cold nights, I can think of nothing better than roast poussin followed by a comforting damson tart.

Well, I can. A good hard fuck. There hasn’t been much of that round here lately. I may as well chop off my useless, redundant penis.

I’d use one of my own-brand kitchen knives ‘in association’ with Waitrose. Buy one. The royalties are great if you don’t mind spreading your arse cheeks like that whore Jamie Oliver.

Anyway I digress. Here’s my recipe for all you Sunday supplement cooks who think you’re Anthony Bourdain if you manage to shit out a bowl of pasta without opening the Dolmio.

First, get your butcher to source the poussins. You’ll need one bird for each guest, although mine often cancel at the last moment. ‘You can be quite intense, Colin’ they say. Fuck off. If they don’t show up I draw a face on each chicken and pretend they’re my fair-weather friends being agonisingly roasted to death. It’s weird, I know, but strangely satisfying.

Then I eat them on my own like an animal, sitting in my underpants, grease dripping onto my t-shirt, sickened by my own gluttony.

So, preheat the oven to gas mark 7 – this will ensure a perfect crispy skin for each poussin. It’s a very versatile dish, ideal for a quick supper, a dinner party, or even, dare I say it, an intimate tete-a-tete with someone you want to impress.

Like my ‘friend’ Suzanne. I thought there was a slim chance of fucking her, but she didn’t turn up either. Her poussin got an unconventional approach to stuffing when it came out of the oven, I can tell you. Wish I’d let it cool down a bit.

But enough of my romantic musings and onto our wonderful damson tart. You’ll need 500g of damsons, a vanilla pod… actually, fuck it. Life is just an endless hamster wheel of disappointment and a fucking cake isn’t going help that.

Even with a thick, luxuriant vanilla custard.

So here’s a quicker recipe for poussin and damson tart, without the poussin or damson tart. You will need:

60 Superkings

A 1.5 litre bottle of the cheapest Vladivar vodka (they may not have these at your local farmers’ market, try a grimy corner shop instead)

Cooking instructions are as follows. Drink the vodka and smoke the fags. You’ll feel much better, or at least unconscious. It just goes to show it needn’t be difficult to throw together a wonderful, nutritious meal to see you through another chilly February night!

Next week: How to make a hearty bean and chorizo casserole as a spring pick-me-up after an incredibly depressing visit to a prostitute.