Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

You’re never more than two feet from a rat. He just stays in your blind spot.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

They should bring back the cane at school, but only for teachers who are old and doddery and need a bit of help on their feet.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

It must be great living in London, seeing all the constant construction of massive new buildings, knowing there will soon be so many cheap central places to live.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Why not just cut out the drugs/exercise middleman and just sell dopamine?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Why didn’t ET WhatsApp home instead? Would have saved shitloads on intergalactic phone charges.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Did you just send me a YouTube video of you playing the guitar? Jesus Christ, motherfucker, I thought we were friends?

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

What if the selling-roses-in-nightclubs-man was Eros all along, and buying one would have led you straight to the love of your life? And you told him ‘fuck off’?

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Convergent evolution means loads of diverse animals all became crabs. There’s a similar phenomenon going on with generations of cool young people who all become boring Tory wankers.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

The new Harry Potter game lets you do what you’ve been dreaming of ever since you read the first book: shit off a broomstick at 14,000ft.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

You’re in remarkably good spirits, considering the next horoscope up is wielding a deadly weapon that could be turned on you at any time.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

If someone is ‘a friend of Dorothy’, they’re gay, but your great-aunt Dorothy’s best mate Audrey is a massive homophobe. Makes you think.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

No, Tracy Island was the must-have Christmas gift of 1992. In 1995 it was penis pasta.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... seeing the back of Nadine pissing Dorries

WAKING in a police cell, cassock stained and mitre askew, reeking of baby oil, poppers and papaya-scented lube, I piece together events. 

Following the C of E’s decision on gay marriage, myself and some fellow clergymen went on a celebratory tour of West London’s gay nightclubs. I had a capital time, dancing vigorously to tunes by the likes of Man 2 Man Meets Man Parrish.

The last to leave the club at 3am, I undertook a fact finding expedition to Soho’s sleazier X-rated outlets to see what work the Devil was getting up to. To my disgust I found none, merely soulless retail outlets and spurious sweet shops.

Taking the steps of Eros I commenced to preach, my staff aloft in indignation. Unfortunately, the constabulary’s report claimed I was instead ‘unleashing a string of expletives in the direction of the sky while urinating copiously on a public statue.’

Released on bail, sickened by what Soho has become, I return to my chambers where I read that Lee Anderson has been made deputy chairman of the Conservative party.

By the holy ordure of Jesus Christ, Lee Anderson? ‘Nurses can live on 30p a day’ Lee Anderson? It wouldn’t take 30p a fucking minute to keep you stuffed and in the shit shape you fucking are, you ruddy lump of gammony fuck! The corpse of Bernard Manning would make a better, more useful and fucking enlightened deputy chair than this cunt! This isn’t an appointment; this is the Tory Party realising they are fucked for eternity, so they might as well go out on a high with a 2024 general election slogan of Fuck The Nurses! Why the fuck not?

John Cleese, 83, has announced he plans a reboot of his 70s sitcom Fawlty Towers, to be scripted with his daughter Camilla.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, fuck no! You’re fucking 83, man, and all you’ve done is age into the sort of senile, reactionary buffoon you used to satirise! Objecting to foreigners in London, ranting at clouds about wokeness, the fucking works! Things have fucking moved on! We don’t think there’s anything inherently funny about being Spanish any more! We don’t have characters who take a fucking hop backwards when they come across a black person any more! While the world’s moved on to 2023, you’ve reverted to about fucking 1953! For the sake of our Lord don’t embarrass yourself, you raving tool!

A national ballot is being held for 10,000 free tickets for Charles III’s coronation concert at Windsor Castle. ‘Global music icons and contemporary stars’ will join the celebrations.

Yeah, because that’s gonna be the fucking Woodstock for this generation, isn’t it? What global icon would be grovelling and inane enough to participate in a feudal shitfest like this? For fucking Prince Charles? Forget this ‘King’ bollocks, no one’s having it. I’ll tell you who’ll be fucking playing: One, Gary Barlow, two Brian May, three the All-New Take That featuring Gary Barlow only, four Queen with guest vocals from Gary Barlow, five fuck off out of my castle, serfs! I’d sooner wank off my dog than waste a fucking weekend on this bollocks!

Finally, Nadine Dorries is to stand down as an MP at the next election. She says she must ‘remove herself’ from ‘infighting and occasional sheer stupidity’.

It was the stupidity that got to you, was it? Must have been fucking galling for a throbbing beacon of fierce intelligence like yourself! You should be grateful there is so much stupidity in the fucking Tory party – it’s the only reason a thick twat like you got a fucking job in it! You’re the perfect fucking illustration of the Cilla Black Syndrome: anyone who chooses to be a Tory is a cunt, but it takes a special kind of twisted, loathsome cunt to be born in Liverpool and become a fucking Tory! Fuck off to oblivion, or your fucking TalkTV chat show, same fucking thing!