Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Liven up your Easter egg hunt by making every fifth one a scorpion.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Infinite monkeys on infinite typewriters would eventually write Alan Shearer: My Story So Far as well. So don’t go thinking monkeys are all that. 

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

The moon is in Uranus. They’ll piss themselves in A&E when you go to get it removed. It’ll be worse than that time with the ketchup bottle.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Put an NFT of some cheese on a mousetrap and guarantee getting the worst of those little bastards. 

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Working from home has really blurred the boundaries between home and the office. Is this your kitchen table or your desk? Is this a toaster or a filing cabinet? Is that your partner of 15 years or an ancient vending machine with only Kit Kats left? 

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You can buy flowers from a petrol station but not petrol from a florist. Come on florists, stop fucking about and get some unleaded in. 

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Incredible to think that Sir Sean Connery, Sandra Bullock, Daniel Day-Lewis, Buster Keaton, Nancy Sinatra, Harry Belafonte, John Cusack and DMX all got their start on The Bill

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Every meal can be eaten from a bowl if you dare to dream. 

Sagittarius, November 23nd–December 21st

This week you will unexpectedly come into some money. However this is your third fake whiplash claim this month and the Fraud Squad are onto you.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Lady Luck will come knocking on your door. She’s collecting for Ukraine but you’ve already given £10 to another charity and don’t really want to give again, but when you explain this you just sound like a tightarse trying to get out of it. It’s all a bit awkward.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Did you know that being unable to get to sleep is a symptom of needing to wear false teeth at a young age which will be really off-putting to any potential partner? Think about that when you’re lying awake tonight.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

If quiet carriages enforced the death penalty this country would turn itself round pretty sharpish.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… spaghetti-haired fucker Michael Fabricant

WAKING at 4.30 to offer prayers to Our Lord, I switched on my television set for BBC News. There I learned that Michael Fabricant has defended Boris Johnson, who was fined for attending a party during lockdown, on the grounds that teachers and nurses did much the same thing.

Jesus H Twat on a Fuckstick, in a week in which Tories are all vying to be the biggest cunt, you don’t just take the biscuit, you take the fucking factory! You just reached deep up your arsehole and pulled out this shit about teachers and nurses. Your brain, that barely-functioning organ nesting somewhere in that fucking mess of spaghetti you pour over your head daily, didn’t get a fucking look-in when you blurted out this one, did it? 

Elon Musk, it seems, has made an offer to buy Twitter. Will his love of free speech help the truth flourish, or will the popular website spread more anger and hate in these troubled times?

Tell you what, if I had Elon Musk’s money, I might think about changing my stupid fucking name, solving world hunger and living like a king on the small change. Mind you, I’d look a right bastard if I didn’t, in my line of work. What I wouldn’t do is spunk it all on a race with the Pope to the fucking moon, wanking over the heads of the starving below from outer space. Elon, ‘mate’, if you do buy Twitter, do us a fucking favour – shut it down, seal it in a lead box and launch the fucker into the sun. Toxic fucking waste of everyone’s time!

During one of my informal chats with Her Majesty the Queen, she was kind enough to canvas my opinion on the latest Red Hot Chili Peppers album, which goes by the title of Unlimited Love. Knowing that Her Majesty appreciates straight talking, I did not mince my words. 

Fuck me with a Baptism candle, we need another fucking Chili Peppers album like you need another stupid fucking flowery hat, Queenie. Why do they bother? What is this, their 115th? ‘Hey, we’re white dudes, but we can play funk like real funky black dudes, the sort you get on the street, jiving and all that stuff.’ Yeah, yeah, we fucking get it! And you’ve changed guitarists again? Frusciante’s back? What happened to the other cunt? Drowned in the fucking wank of one his interminable fucking solos? And the fucking lyrics. ‘The smell of her hello’. What the fuck is that meant to mean? She’s got bad breath? No wonder she fucking dumped you! 

Finally, there was bad blood at the conclusion of the Champions’ League semi-final second leg between Manchester City and Atletico Madrid, with players brawling and shouting expletives at one another. ‘These are not the scenes we want to see,’ said the commentator. 

Hahahaha. Oh but these are exactly the fucking scenes we want to see, pal! Especially after a turgid lump of sterile shit like that boring draw! Me and my archbishop mates, down the pub in Lambeth, the one we’re not barred from, laughed our fucking cassocks off! Especially when Jack Grealish called the Atletico geezer a cunt and he yanked his hair like a fucking toilet chain! Just a fucking pity the police broke the whole thing up as it was getting tasty!