Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

On Wednesday you prove that cancel culture is a total myth when you spend eight hours trying to cancel Sky and get fucking nowhere.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Ah, a tub of loose IKEA allen keys, each one representing an afternoon of malice and anger and choice obscenity. Memory lane.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

A friend comes to you with a proposition – smell their finger? Don’t rush in, consider your options.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

This isn’t your star sign. It’s your ex-boyfriend’s. But since you’ve gone to the trouble, yes he’s cheating on that bitch he left you for. Happy now?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Your submission for a spherical Tetris block to make players realise the absolute futility of their idiot task is rejected again.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You’ve got a great week in store this week, lucky in money and love! All views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the horoscope belong solely to heavenly bodies, and are not ascribed to the author or their employer, organization, committee or other group or individual. No legal liability is assumed and by reading you have forfeited your right to take remedial action.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

It’s time to align your chakras. All you’ll need is a protractor, a spirit level and a half-bottle of Jameson’s to numb yourself beforehand.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You and your partner thought you’d be OK using the rhythm method but the rhythm you used was Renegade Master by Wildchild and now she’s turbo-pregnant.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Don’t worry about the future. You can cross that rickety, half-collapsed wooden bridge over the terrifying abyss of total failure when you come to it.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Sun’s out, guns out, arrested and charged with possession of multiple illegal firearms and denied bail.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

You’ll be turning in your grave after you die. Not because your grandson inherits your house and converts it into a fetish brothel but your ashes are loaded into a centrifuge. And the fetish brothel thing.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Fate will not be kind to you this week when your neighbour Alan Fate throws another bag of dogshit over the garden fence. Fuck you, Alan.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Liam twatting Gallagher

PERUSING the Archbishop’s Gazette, a periodical devoted to the interests, hobbies and fetishes of Archbishops home and abroad, I read about the chief executive of P&O Ferries.

The boss of the firm that sacked 800 seafarers last week, told a Commons select committee that while there was ‘absolutely no doubt’ P&O should have consulted the unions ‘we chose not to do that.’

Shag a fucking donkey, as I was only saying at Morning Service the other day: ‘I’ve come across some odious, flab-faced fucking twats in my fucking time but this Hebblethwaite takes the fucking biscuit, smears it with his own fucking smegma, teases a fucking starving dog with it then swallows it fucking whole! We now turn to hymn number 142.’ What an ocean-going gaping arsehole of a fucking human being! If he were ‘accidentally’ to fall in the sea, I can imagine one of his fucking panels telling an inquiry ‘There was absolutely no doubt we should have thrown him a rubber ring but we chose not to do that. We chose to point and laugh and throw dry roasted peanuts at the cunt instead.’

The Chancellor Rishi Sunak has hit out at criticism of his mini-budget which, say his detractors, does nothing to alleviate the cost of living crisis for the UK’s poorest. ‘We can’t do everything,’ he has said.

Jumping Jesus on a fucking spacehopper, you haven’t fucking done anything, you pop-eyed prick! Except siphon yet more money to your rich mates because you’re a fucking Tory and that’s what fucking Tories do! Look at you, on the fucking front bench there between Johnson and Patel, a cunt between two fucking thorns! What the fuck are the poor supposed to do about their kids? Sell them as cheap labour to P&O Ferries? Eat them to help out? No cunt should be Chancellor when their fucking personal budget is bigger than the actual budget! 

One of my curates interrupts me during an ecumenical meeting with a Roman Catholic counterpart to advise me that Liam Gallagher has announced plans to release a new album, C’mon You Know. Gallagher told Chris Moyles that he ‘takes a few chances’ on the record but that he still sounds ‘mega’.

Shit my fucking cassock, how thick, lumpen and out of ideas about how to exist would you have to fucking be to want to buy an album by that poxy, rat-faced fuckwit Liam Gallagher? ‘Takes a few chances’? Ooh, gosh, did you use a keyboard for five fucking seconds, you trailblazing risk-taker? Seriously, I’d just as soon listen to a Chris Moyles album than a Liam Gallagher album. Two twats with fuck all to say who spend all fucking day saying it!

Finally, I ask of my flock that they turn their thoughts to the Royal Family. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s tour of Jamaica did not go entirely as planned, with protests and the country’s Prime Minister declaring in front of the couple that he would prefer the Queen were not head of his country any more.

Jesus H Cunt on a giant Twizzle, can you blame the fucker? It’s fucking 2022 and this pair of vapid fucking robo-royals are swanning about the place like something from a fucking 1937 Boys Own Annual! I’m not surprised they’re pissed off. We stole all their sugar, enslaved their ancestors and we think we can make it up to them by standing on the back of a fucking truck and waving at them? Guillotine every last Royal, it’s the only language the inbred fuckwits understand!