Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

On Tuesday a black cat will cross your path. She’s headed to your neighbour’s gaff because they don’t skimp on the wet food like you, you tight bastard.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Prepare for a rollercoaster of emotions this week: first, you queue for bloody ages, then you’re strapped in your seat by an uninterested teenager, then two minutes of thrills, then you stagger to a bin to be violently sick.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

It’s always annoyed you that the Zodiac killer just called himself that and didn’t kill one person from each star sign in order in a gruesome manner befitting their sign. You’ve resolved that you’ll earn the name properly.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

On Friday will discover that aubergines are actually real food, and not just there to liven up the Waitrose produce section a bit.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Your horoscope will be back in just two short weeks! And now, live coverage of the Beijing 2022 Paralympic Games.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Hand sanitiser isn’t just for hands. It can sanitise anything, including a crime scene, you explain to your mate Sharon as she rolls her husband’s body up in a tarpaulin.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

This week everyone is an annoying fuckwit yammering on about your terrible decisions and their awful consequences. But don’t listen to them, President Putin.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Apparently there are two types of tour bus: the rock star kind and the one that shows sightseers the notable buildings of Cardiff. And you and your groupies and your cocaine were on the second one.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Your parents already achieved this horoscope when they were half your age and had never been abroad, so ask them about it instead.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Can UHT milk go off? Find out. That’s your homework for the week. Bet you won’t do it, lazy fucking Aquarius. You’ve always been like this.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

You will die this Thursday at 4.16pm. Sorry to be unusually specific on this occasion but it’s better you know.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Sir Gavin fuckface Williamson

A FINE spring day here at Lambeth Palace, the sun shining and birds in flight, when I read that the film The Batman is set for release.

Starring Robert Pattinson as the caped crusader, it tells the story of how a traumatised billionaire became a superhero and clocks in at 176 minutes.

Fuck me with the hooked end of a golden fucking staff, how fucking old are we as a fucking culture? Ten? It’s fucking comics! Why don’t we just fucking reboot fucking Dennis the Menace and fucking Gnasher as a fucking dark, broody, naturalistic epic about a young anti-hero abetted by his faithful fucking hound as he battles his nemesis fucking Walter? I mean, seriously? I know I wear a fucking cape but at least I have the fucking decency to feel like a right cunt while I’m fucking wearing it! I don’t expect to be taken remotely fucking seriously, it’s just a bunch of ceremonial shit I’d lob in a fucking skip if it was up to me! And 176 fucking minutes! Lop 166 minutes off that, just get to the point have him chin the fucking Joker or whoever and then we can all fuck off home! Grow up, you self-important, atmospheric fucking cunts!

John Cleese, founding Monty Python member, is currently preoccupied by the word ‘woke’ and is in the process of making a programme about the subject. He put out the following question on Twitter: “Are wokes bothered about the lack of diversity in Putin’s army?”

Jesus fucking silly walking his way to the cross, what the fuck is going on in your ossified, addled fucking head, you silly old streak of old man’s toss? What the fuck are you on about? What do you mean by fucking ‘woke’, have you any fucking idea? Is it, by any chance a) someone who isn’t a cunt and b) thinks you’re an absolute class A cunt these days? Behold, fucking John Cleese. His comedic processes are now fucking history! He has joined the fucking choir all-too-visible of clapped out, confused, reactionary old twats! This is a fucking ex-comedian!

The line up for this year’s Glastonbury has been announced, with the organisers going for the audacious move of booking Paul McCartney in the headlining spot.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, barbecue my fucking bollocks, eight fucking hours of watching the old cunt mumbling and drinking fucking tea in 1970 wasn’t enough? Now we’ve got to drag him on fucking stage for our fucking relentlessly nostalgic fucking delectation? He’s practically fucking eighty! It’s fucking cruel! Like making fucking Captain Tom do a fucking tap dance at the fucking Royal Variety Show! I’m sure if the fucking Paul McCartney of 52 years ago had known he’d still going to get trundled out to belt out the fucking never-ending chorus of Hey Jude to a gawping sea of phone-wielding morons when he was fucking 80 years old, he’d have finished his fucking tea, got up and slit his fucking throat there and then! 

Finally, it seems that former government minister Gavin Williamson has been awarded a knighthood.

Well, natur-fucking-ellement. The man who couldn’t have made more of a fucking pig’s arse of being Education Secretary if he’d ordered the mass burning of exercise books to save on fucking fuel bills and was about as effective a fucking UK defence secretary as fucking Vladmir Putin! The fucking Queen is at perfectly liberty to shout, “you are fucking shitting me!” when this cunt proceeds up the fucking carpet and ‘accidentally’ lop off one of his fucking ears during the ceremony. You’ve got something on Johnson, haven’t you? You’ve quite obviously got something on him, you anus-faced, vacuous, useless little cunt of a fucking prick!