Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

New Year, new you. You’re getting into identity theft.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Your lucky number for this year is 5,305,421, so if you see it you know good fortune is coming your way! Your unlucky number is two.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

You’re halfway through Jordan Henderson’s autobiography when you realise you already know everything about his career and don’t give a fuck about his home life.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

The crab’s an outdated symbol for a star sign. Why not trade it in for something badass, like a cobra in a bowtie drinking an Old Fashioned?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

You really fancy Brentford for the title this year. The title of your new perfume ‘Brentford, by Dior’.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You could make moules mariniere with your eyes closed. It’s mussel memory.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

They’ve found the bin Prince Harry talked to on mushrooms and it says he’s cheapened their relationship by discussing it. There’s a photo of it looking very disappointed.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Why the fuck is Scandinavia so expensive anyway? It’s hardly Disney World, is it, a bunch of mooses and trees and shit?

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

The first issue of the partwork, at just 99p, comes with a real criminal brain! After that you’ll collect the 168 parts month-by-month to build your own Frankenstein’s monster.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Don’t bother starting that affair with your personal trainer. You both know that by mid-February you’ll have stopped turning up.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

It’s great we’re sending manned missions to the Moon again. After all, there was fuck all there last time but loads of stuff might have arrived while we’ve been gone.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Harry mentioned you in his autobiography. Not Prince Harry, mind, Harry Dennis from primary school. It’s a self-published memoir entitled All The Wankers I’ve Met. 

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the twatting Tories' anti-strike laws

WAKING in a police cell, my left sock pulled over my head for some unfathomable reason, I am brusquely informed through the bars that I am being held on a string of charges. 

These include drunk and disorderly behaviour, arguing with a tree, vituperatively resisting arrest and impersonating the Archbishop of Canterbury. Fortunately, I carry about my person at all times incontrovertible proof that I am indeed the Archbishop – ID, DNA records, certificate of bishopric and so forth.

The officer profusely apologises, the Chief Constable himself gives me a lift back to Lambeth Palace, and issues orders that the 300-year-old oak with which I had an altercation be sawn down forthwith.

My honour satisfied, I repair to my chambers where I read that Rishi Sunak has said that he cannot guarantee that nurses who strike following his proposed anti-strike legislation will not be sacked.

Christ’s bloodied anal ring, you Tories are on it in 2023! Anti-strike legislation? Literally the first fucking thing Hitler introduced when he came to power! And I bet that makes one or two of you fuckers feel pretty good about yourselves on the quiet! If you’re a fucking Tory, you should be grateful as fuck that anyone enters the nursing profession, since you’re approaching senility and won’t be able to wipe your own arse! You’ll think twice about legislation which sees nurses leave the profession in bigger droves than they already are when dried faeces begins to coagulate and accumulate around your arseholes, you fuckers!

Andrew Tate, the self-styled ‘alpha male’ who has a large social media following, has been arrested in Romania due, it has been claimed, to a pizza box pictured during an online spat with Greta Thunberg.

I was conducting a service when my phone pinged with this news. I relayed it to my congregation and added ‘There’s a fucking aisle there. You know what to fucking do! Roll in it!’ And they fucking well did! You are one bicep-brained shitrag of a human being, Tate! Still, some feat to be a fucking needledick and an enormous cock at the same time! Enjoy the social life of a fucking Romanian prison, you desperately thick cunt!

Keir Starmer has set out his plans if and when the Labour Party win the next general election. He has warned voters ‘not to expect Labour to open its big chequebook’.

First up, you waste of a space where someone remotely fucking left-wing should be, anyone under 30 is saying, ‘What the fuck is a chequebook?’ I’ve still got one somewhere but I haven’t used the bastard in years! Not that you give the slightest shit about anyone under 30, you flagshagging fuck, you’re too busy sucking Brexit pensioner cock! You are one frightened fucking rabbit of a man, Starmer. Not going to open your chequebook? What you’re basically saying is while the country is a binfire you’re not going to throw your big bucket of water on it! You’re going to do fuck all, aren’t you? I’ll be surprised if you outlast Liz Truss! 

Finally, it seems that by Prince Harry’s account, he was the subject of a physical assault by his brother Prince William, who grabbed him and threw him to the ground following an argument.

You call this fucking news? The fuckers are always having a pop at each other. You should have seen them at the funeral! Obviously, there was a time delay in the coverage so it wasn’t on the BBC but they started pushing and shoving, some kicking in the bollocks and before long they were on top of the fucking coffin, Harry with his hand round William’s throat. I had to go in and pull him off, my cry of ‘Leave him, Harry, the wanker’s not worth it!’ ringing around the abbey! All fucking covered up, of course, but everyone knows the score!