Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Odd that when Miley Cyrus is listing all the things she can do just as well without a partner in her latest song she leaves out wanking.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Any leftover eggs after the weekend will be shipped off to third world countries to pollute their water supply with delicious sugary chocolate, so don’t feel too bad if you don’t finish your KitKat one.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Do the science. Lighting your farts is environmentally friendly. Methane burn-off. Greta Thunberg does it.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

What was the inventor of the revolving door thinking? ‘I wonder if I can fuck up something as simple as a door?’

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Every dog has his day, and your dog’s day was the time you left the bathroom cabinet unlocked and he ate two boxes of sanitary towels.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Mocking others for insensitivity to differences in musical pitch is actually ableist. Calling people tone-deaf is tone-deaf.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Windsurfing, kiteboarding and parasailing are so over. You’re into wakesnowing, heliwinding and waterboarding.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Porn is so unrealistic. No-one films themselves having sex that often.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Deleted final scene of The Sopranos revealed: Tony, castrated by a rival family, singing the aria Der Hölle Rache from The Magic Flute perfectly, a true soprano at last.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Great news for one particular Capricorn on the health front this week as you come back from the dead! But don’t form any new lasting relationships as you’ll shortly ascend to heaven.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Daleks hate lighthouses. They look like them but could never climb them. That fucks them off so hard.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

If you can do something ‘gingerly’, then it’s possible to do it ‘cinnamonly’ or ‘nutmegly’. Broaden your horizons.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... that set of teeth in an arsehole known as Sir Richard Branson

WAKING dressed in naught but a simple loincloth, hanging from a large crucifix, stared at by horrified schoolchildren, I recall the events that led to my present pass. 

Invited to open the annual Easter Egg Hunt on the grounds of St. Damian’s prep school on a fine day, I imbibed copious liquid refreshment. On facing the children, my mood unaccountably darkened.

Scowling at the infant throng, I spat: ‘You… you ingrates! Easter eggs? Christ, your Lord and Master, died for Easter eggs? Suffered torments on the cross so that you could have Easter eggs?’

To demonstrate Christ’s suffering, I commanded two of my accompanying clerics to tear down a large, wooden cross from the school’s entrance and, having stripped to my undergarments, bade them to tether me to it. After which I suppose I must have dozed off.

Coming to, I mutter ‘I declare the Easter Egg Hunt open,’ am released from my bonds and return to my chambers where I read that Nigel Lawson, former chancellor under Margaret Thatcher and father of Nigella Lawson, has died aged 91.

Sear my scrotum with an electric cattleprod, they’re gonna have to build quite the fucking dancefloor on that awful cunt’s grave to supply public demand! Spent his working life fucking over the country and his retirement fucking over the planet with his climate change denial! I’d say he’s going straight to Hell except I doubt Satan would let him through the gate because he doesn’t want the underworld being governed straight to shit! And what’s with saddling his daughter with basically his own fucking name in a dress? It’s like Adolf Hitler having a daughter and calling her Adolfa just to fuck with us all decades after he was gone! Arsehole!

It seems that Frank Lampard, manager of Chelsea until he was dismissed following a lamentable run of form, is the new caretaker manager of Chelsea.

Fuck me, outside of the fucking Tories, Chelsea are the biggest bunch of moneywasting basket cases in the UK! Lampard? It’s like Rishi Sunak carking it and Liz Truss being appointed caretaker PM! How many managers is that in the last eight years? 47? Why not go the Have I Got News For You route and appoint a guest manager on a week-by-week basis, if they can last that long without being sacked! Get in Jo Brand as manager one week, I mean, what the fuck?

One Andrew Orlowski has written in the Telegraph about ‘How idleness at work became an epidemic that is wrecking Britain’, complaining that the modern British workplace is ‘a hive of inactivity and low productivity’.

Jesus cockstick, I guess I’m not one to talk given that I only work one fucking morning a week, but at least I don’t deliver sermons about what lazy twats the British are before going back to bed for the day! Of all the people the overworked, cash-strapped, miserable super-stressed British public are gonna take lectures from about productivity, the very last one is a fucking journalist! What did you do after you’d ‘produced’ this column the way a bear produces a turd in the woods? Fuck off down the pub? Ranting about the lack of staff, what with young people being too unmotivated to pour beer down your neck six hours straight for fucking minimum wage? Better for us all if cunts like you reduced your productivity to fucking zero!

Finally, the satellite launch service Virgin Orbit, co-owned by Richard Branson, has filed for bankruptcy in the same week that internet provider Virgin Media suffered major countrywide outages.

Another triumph in the career of that illustrious knight of the realm, Sir Useless of Cunt! When are people finally gonna realise that releasing albums by 70s hippies with 20 minute bassoon solos is the limit of this fucker’s talent? Everything else he’s turned his hand to ultimately fucks up and crashlands in the vast deserts of his fucking incompetence! Shit vodka, shit cola, shit balloons, shit internet, shit planes, shit everything! Attaching ‘Virgin’ to the name of any fucking enterprise is as good an idea as an 18-year-old scrawling ‘VIRGIN’ on his forehead before heading out for the fucking sixth-form disco!