Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

‘The stork doesn’t bring babies,’ you explain to your children. ‘That would mean Daddy had fucked a stork.’

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

God, you wish you had it as easy as Dolly Parton. You work 8.30am to 6.30pm and your boss still sends you Teams messages in the middle of the night.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

I know it goes against society’s current morés, but consider this: what if writing half-a-million words of gay One Direction pornography when you were 14 was a bad thing?

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Time to stop asking bald blokes if the carpets match the curtains. They’re too keen to prove otherwise.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Yes, that tattoo of a sphynx cat with four eyes is meaningful for you. But you do realise every other cunt can see it?

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

To maximise publicity the upcoming Polly Pocket movie will be going up against a heavyweight biopic of Enrico Fermi, because Hollywood always does the exact same shit twice.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

‘Come closer,’ you whisper to your grandchildren on your death bed. ‘The secret to my fortune is hidden… somewhere in my 44,300 open browser tabs.’

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

“I’ve seen crisp flavours you people wouldn’t believe. Maple bacon… Honey dijon… Thai red curry… all lost in time, like tears in rain.”

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

‘So,’ you conclude your presentation to your boss and HR, ‘with more than two million users around the world, the pornography I was viewing during office hours is anything but niche.’

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

‘Come and have a go if you think you’re aard enough,’ taunts the aardvark from his lofty perch to every other animal in the dictionary.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Never us turning on the telly to find a uniformed general dripping with medals declaring himself our president for life, is it? Happens all the time in Wales.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Nature abhors a vacuum. Your dog certainly does.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the USA's Unidentified Fucking Objects

WAKING at 4am, naked save for my socks in the bar of an exclusive gentlemen’s club in Piccadilly, I piece together as best I can the events that led me to this circumstance.

A convivial evening with colleagues, discussing first ecumenical matters before turning to matters political, became increasingly voluble and, as the management politely explained, abundantly ridden with expletives.

Once my companions departed I drank on alone only to find myself embarassed by a lack of funds. I resorted to the expedient of raffling my religious garments to raise funds: my mace, my cassock, my mitre, my combinations, vest, and finally my monogrammed boxer shorts.

With the £28.80 I raised – a poor haul but needs must – I was able to drink on, attaining rounds of applause as I broke wind with great musicality, a skill I picked up at Oxford. Advised on waking that the club is closed I wander nude into the night, eye-catchingly tumescent, to my chambers.

Persusing a periodical, I read that the Coutts scandal has caused senior bankers to step down from their position as Nigel Farage continues to dominate the headlines.

Roasted goats’ cocks by the shore of Galilee, what the fuck is it with this cunt of a country that we let an amphibious, braying, grifting wanksock like Farage dominate the headlines? He should be on the end stool at a golf club bar, boring some unlucky bartender with his rants about traitorous lifeboatmen and Gary Lineker running the fucking country! And roundly ignored rather than his every fatheaded, fascistic opinion amplified like it’s the fucking King’s Speech! Every time he opens his fucking mouth he should be calmly carried to a giant bucket marked ‘BIGOT’, deposited in it then continuously urinated on by rotating piss squads standing on fucking stepladders! Get him the fuck off the news, out of British life, and into the North fucking Sea!

Writer and comedian David Baddiel has castigated the film Oppenheimer for casting a non-Jewish person, Cillian Murphy, as a Jew.

Jesus on a fucking stick, how in holy shitdom did David Baddiel – David fucking Baddiel, to address him in full – get to be considered some sort of public intellectual? Sure, Cillian Murphy isn’t a Jew. But when you featured Jason Lee on Fantasy Football in the banter 1990s you didn’t get in a black actor in to play him, did you? You fucking well played him yourself, boot-polished up with a fucking pineapple on your head! If I had that on my record I’d spend the rest of my life cringing and apologising, not setting myself as an arch-pontificator on racial matters! Cunt!

America has been gripped this week by testimony to Congress that the wreckage of spacecraft piloted by extraterrestrials is hidden by the American government.

You burgerbrained basket case of a fucking country, will you listen to yourself? So you’re saying that these life forms, who’ve mastered the technology to travel billions of light years are so fascinated to make contact with Earthlings – amoeba by their standards – that they get here and immediately fuck up and crash land in New Mexico? Take your fucking heads out of your obese arses and do something useful like shit yourselves to death!

Finally, Charlotte Owen entered the House of Lords this week as its youngest ever peer, aged 30. She was ‘special adviser’ to Liz Truss during her brief tenure as Prime Minister.

Have mercy on my aching sphincter, what ‘special advice’ did you give Truss? To take the economy and crash the cunt like a UFO in New Mexico? I admit my own record in the Lords is chequered – two speeches, five stomach-voidings, 16 incidents involving involuntary defecation and 19 fistfights – but I’m a beacon of parliamentary fucking rectitude compared with you being given a twat’s job for life by your corrupt fatberg of an ex-boss! Are you not remotely fucking embarrassed? Is that the definition of a Tory nowadays, the inability to experience embarrassment? You’re going to spend the rest of your working life being stared at by grown-ups shaking their heads, I hope the fucking per diems are worth it!