Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Some people call me the Space Cowboy, some people call me the Gangster of Love, most people call me a twat because I’m known by those first two names and they’ve got a point.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

I baked a file into a cake to help my mate escape from prison. Unfortunately it was a file containing evidence of his further crimes.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Liz Truss’s book isn’t out until spring? Only Theresa May’s book is out now? And how am I meant to explain that to my weeping eight-year-old on Christmas Day?

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

That bloke who comes to the pub alone, drinks alone and puts £40 into the fruit machine over three hours, before leaving having not spoken to anyone? He knows how to live.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Daddy needs a little sugar. So if you could pass the bowl before my tea goes cold, thank you Portia, you’re a sweetheart.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

A picture is worth a thousand words, especially a picture of a cock drawn on a bus shelter.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

“Fucking Richard Osman. Fucking thinks he’s so much fucking better than me,” Jesus mutters.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

I bought an olive tree but when I got it home it was more of a light brown. And it had these little berries on that tasted like shit.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Fern gasped. For in the web in the high corner of the barn, above where Wilbur sat beaming, two words glistened unmistakably in the morning dew. ‘FUCK OFF’, they read.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

There is a school of philosophy that believes the ‘lollipop’ 50 Cent refers to so frequently in the song Candy Shop is actually his cock.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

This Hollywood strike’s going on a bit. Can’t they just agree to pay them loads more without it costing us anything?

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

What even is a class C drug? They’re just there to make weed look worse than it is.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the long-overdue castration of Russell cocking Brand

WAKING on cobbles, I realise I have just fainted and feel my vital organs shutting down one by one like lights in a towerblock. 

I remember that the previous evening, at the recommendation of my newly appointed personal physician, I went 16 hours without alcohol. My old physician would never have made such a reckless suggestion and now I see why.

My entire system is in shock at the deprivation and failing fast. Brushing aside offers of assistance from the public I cast my eye around for the holy light of an off licence but see none.

There is, however, a Catholic church on the opposite side of the road. I lurch towards it, burst through the doors, haul myself up the aisle and snatch from the hands of a priest the large goblet of wine he holds aloft.

‘Not His blood – mine!’ I snarl, and drain the chalice in a single draft. Feeling my system spark to life I hasten to my chambers, draining six pints of gin on the way, restoring me to rude health once more.

Vowing to bring in a new ruling making alcohol compulsory at C of E services, much as it is as Catholic ones, and musing that it may see an increase in buttocks on pews, I take a late breakfast and peruse a periodical.

Therein I learn that comedian Russell Brand has had grave and multiple allegations of sexual abuse levelled against him. Others believe he is subject to trial by media and the victim of a wide-ranging conspiracy.

Cut my cock off, microwave it and force me to eat it piping hot with maple syrup, what the fucking fuck? First up, calling the cunt ‘funny’ is a misnomer, since he’s about as funny as a Welsh mining disaster! You can fucking well judge him by a) everything he’s plausibly accused of having said and done, b) everything we know he’s said and done because there’s fucking footage of it and c) the professional bollocks-fountains who’ve come out in defence of him, Allison Pearson and Laurence Fox for starters! Sure, there was a fucking conspiracy because that’s how the brain-addled shitewits who keep Brand in a living think the world works! Throw the fucker in jail, swallow the key and never shit again!

Business secretary Kemi Badenoch defended government plans to water down their net zero commitments, accusing critics like Zac Goldsmith of being ‘too rich’ to understand the pain the measures inflicted.

Fuck’s sake, if it’s a crime now to be too rich in the Tory party then throw Rishi Sunak, who’s richer than a retired Nazi in his Sao Paulo case-grande, in the same cell as Russell Brand! Tell you what, not too many years down the fucking line, we’ll know all about the pain inflicted by doing fuck-all as the sea levels rise and the earth burns and no one gives a shit who’s rich or poor because a £50 note’s only good for wiping your dribbling dick with!

Rishi Sunak also defended his U-turn, pledging not to enact meat taxes, compulsory car sharing and or households to sort rubbish into seven different bins.

See all those little brown, claggy bits all over what you just said there, Sunak? That’s on account of what you said there having been pulled right out of your arse! The last refuge of a right-wing cunt – well, the first fucking refuge, now I think of it – is to make shit up that’s never happened and never will happen and work up fake outrage about it. What other non-existent policies are you swearing off? All underpants to be made of recyclable hemp and worn on the outside so the Caroline Lucas-led eco-police can check? Seven bins! Pick one and fucking throw yourself in it, you cunt! 

Finally, Rupert Murdoch is stepping down as Fox chairman, abandoning the struggle against ‘elites [who] have open contempt for those who are not members of their rarefied class… and who control the media agenda.’

Oh yeah, all hail the scrappy little underdog Murdoch, equipped with nothing but a global media empire to fight the tyrannical, elitist propaganda of the Islington Labour Party Bi-monthly Newsletter! Loathsome squamous specimen who increasingly offers physical proof that the world is run by reptiles! Stepping down? As your sons well know, since they’ve been longing for your death since the day they were born, the day you ‘step down’ is the day you’re lowered into the fucking grave!