Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Funny how ‘age is just a number’ is your go-to excuse for flirting with young waitresses, and never for pursuing your nan’s friend Eileen who remembers the Blitz.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

One of your ex-girlfriends actually was the one. But we’re not telling you which.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Odysseus beat the Cyclops by disguising himself as a sheep, then shagging him, then killing him. Most translations leave out the shagging.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

What base is choking? If you want to brag to your girls?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Can’t the French just eat the bedbugs? Put them on the menu called ampules de sang de Paris like they’re a delicacy?

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

“Retaliating against the BBC putting Doctor Who’s back catalogue on iPlayer, ITVX now has every episode of Boon. Fucking bring it.”

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

The one thing you can’t air-fry for yourself is some dignity.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

How thick is pigshit, anyway? Oh, you can buy it online.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

If that’s what the Turks think of as delight no wonder they’re always so fucked off.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Question 1. Drawing a graph from Thatcher to May to Truss, how fucking abysmal will the next female prime minister be?

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

The cause of our societal issues is that first-time fathers can’t enjoy a cigar in the hospital waiting room, just a furtive bubblegum flavoured vape.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

“This is an announcement for all passengers disembarking at Rugeley Trent Valley: we hope you’re happy that we’ve had to stop at your pissant little station. Twats.”

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... a hoof in the scrotum from Tamworth

WAKING with a mouth drier than the remains of Mother Teresa, I blink and see several colleagues and friends, including the Bishops of Durham and York, at my bedside. 

‘It’s an intervention,’ my chief cleric explains. ‘You need to curb your excessive drinking. It’s affecting your duties and decorum as head of the Church of England – the expletive-laden outbursts, the violence, the incident with Alison Hammond. All this must cease.’

I consider the matter thoughtfully before delivering a detailed rebuttal. A supremely-skilled theologician, my lengthy answer touches on Plato, the Council of Nicea, Bishop Berkeley’s theories of solipsism and quotes Thomas Aquinas at length from memory.

Within 40 minutes, not only have I won my interveners round but persuaded them to join me for a restorative tot of absinthe flavoured with a tincture of laudanum, thus commencing a session which lasts some 48 hours.

I then take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Conservative MP Peter Bone has been suspended for six weeks after complaints of verbal and physical abuse of a former staff member were upheld.

Fuck me roundly, six weeks? There’s a party of law and order that believes in strict punishment for offenders, eh? Jesus H Trousersnake, a litany of serial abuse as long as both arms combined and you send the fucker home for a short holiday! And then you’re gonna give him his old job back! As a wet C of E Archbishop I’m a keen advocate for penal reform and rehabilitation of offenders, but I’d have him spending that six weeks dangling by his knackers from a fucking Westminster lamppost as a warning to the dozens of deviants on the Tory back benches!

Greta Thunberg was arrested while protesting an oil industry conference in London yesterday.

Well that’s a fucking load off our minds, isn’t it? Good to see the Met protecting us from the real menaces to society – knife-wielding muggers, rapists and Greta fucking Thunberg! Took about six of you to do it, too! You know, in the near future, when the stragglers of humanity huddled on rafts pass round dead rats to chew on for their evening meal and piece together  torn newspapers from the year 2023, they’ll say to themselves: ‘The fuck? The one person who gave a shit and might have saved us eating our own children and they fucking arrested her?’ Utter cuntdom of the first magnitude!

Gwyneth Paltrow has hit out at the term ‘nepo baby’, saying the children of the famous, such as her daughter Apple, should not be judged for pursuing similar careers to their parents.

I’ll fucking tell you what, I wouldn’t be surprised if ‘Apple’, smarting daily from the fucking embarrassment of that stupid, hyperwhimsical name you and your vapid twat ex-husband foisted on her, has already decided that she’d rather work nights in a bowling alley than the beige bilge, tediously bland homeopathethic fuckwittery and plant-based bollocks her parents have fucking drowned us in!

Finally, Labour have won two by-elections including a stunning victory in Tamworth with a 23.9 per cent swing.

Fucking hell, Tamworth? 23.9 per cent? That is one huge hoof in the scrotum from a Shire horse, right there! You don’t have to be some BBC cunt in a fucking bow tie to work out the message here – that people have had it up to their fucking tits with the chiselling, criminal harbouring, trolling, perverting, leeching, malignantly useless, bent, shit-spewing, bigot-farming, Liz-Trussing oil slick of a disaster that is the fucking Tories! We don’t just want you out, we want you dead! Buried in the earth’s core! Mind you, this has fuck all to do with the pathetic, piss-weak bunch of piggy-eyed, diluted dipshits who pass for Labour these days, for whom there’s about as much fucking enthusiasm out there as for a prostate examination! It just shows that anyone could beat the fucking Tories out there! The Jimmy Savile Lives Party would kick their fucking arses!