Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Amazing that from one series of Big Brother we got radio DJs Kate Lawler and Adele Roberts, and Alison Hammond. Shows that celebrities really are any twat off the street.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Bet you always choose the dog when you play Monopoly. Or failing that, the hat. Wait, you’re not a battleship wanker, are you?

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

“Could the owners of white Audi Q4s please return to the car park to bond with each other about your penile inadequacies. Thank you very much.”

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Skip Vegas and get a quickie wedding done at a motorway service station’s mini casino.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Heidi Klum dressed up as a peacock for Halloween. Not the shit brown female kind though.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

‘And this is our games room,’ says your host, before opening the door to a small, dank room under the stairs where former platinum-selling rapper The Game now lives.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Your MOT is due. Probably didn’t think the stars would know that but Venus isn’t swinging into opposition with Neptune for the good of its f**king health.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You can visit Dobby’s Grave in Pembrokeshire. And if you’re that kind of person, might as well jizz on it while you’re there.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

What does Sunak think is going to turn up to change the Tories’ fortunes? The discovery of enormous untapped whisky and blowjob reserves under Wiltshire?

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

James Watt claimed to have invented the steam engine while watching a kettle boil. But a watched kettle never boils, so this is another Scots lie.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Fucked up that everyone now has a box of Halloween decorations in the loft next to the Christmas ones.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

You should never put the horse before the cart except in the word ‘carthorse’, which admittedly confuses things a little.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the bottomless fuckpiggery of Matt Hancock

WAKING with a start, I find myself seated in a large wood-panelled room, surrounded by row after row of grave-looking men and women. 

I am faced with a suited interlocutor, a lawyer by his phrasing, intoning gravely ‘Cockipiss… twatpig… fuckmonkey… bollockbrains… anusface… jizzsucker… cunt… cunt… cunt…’

The list goes on, rising to heights of obscenity I recoil from repeating in polite society. When it concludes, every face in the house white, he asks ‘Is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ I tell the ongoing inquiry into the government’s handling of the Covid pandemic, to which as leader of the Anglican church I was closely involved, ‘those were the words I used in my texts to Matt Hancock.’

‘That was on the Tuesday,’ he continues. ‘The following day we have ‘Penisflakes… scrotumjuice… smegmabreath…’ and so the litany continues.

The hearing adjourned, I pop into the Costa by St Paul’s and peruse a periodical, where I read that the aforesaid Hancock told officials that he – rather than the medical profession – ‘should ultimately decide who should live or die’ if the NHS was overwhelmed.

St Francis of Assisi sodomised by wolves, I puked my ring reading that! Imagine the cunt looking over a patient’s notes, marking them ‘fat, unemployed, waste of a fucking bed’ or ‘nice arse on this one, cure her, scrub her up and send her to my tent’. What kind of jumped up, grossly over-promoted, only-became-an-MP-because-he-flunked-out-of-estate-agent-school, spotty Tory prick tries to override the fucking medical profession to cosplay as fucking God? Twat Mancock, that’s fucking who!

The new Beatles single, Now and Then, was created with state-of-the-art AI technology to match Lennon’s vocals with drums and bass by the surviving Beatles. Strings were also added.

Christ on a fucking stick, you’d have thought a pair of 80-somethings would be aware of how precious time is and not waste ours on this turgid, lethargic, mawkish, dead-dog’s-last-breakfast of a track. Strings? Of course there’s fucking strings, the last refuge of a cunt! And is that meant to be Lennon? It sounds fuck all like him! If there’s one thing to come from this pile of catshit it’s knowing that AI isn’t gonna be rising up and destroying humanity any time soon if this is its best work!

Katharine Birbalsingh, known as ‘Britain’s strictest schoolteacher’, has complained to Marks & Spencers about their Christmas advert. She accuses the retailer of ‘ignoring the spirit of Christmas of self-sacrifice, gratitude’ to invoke the ‘values of Scrooge’.

God al-fucking-mighty, if it isn’t fucking wackos making out a Christmas advert is Zionist propaganda, it’s Britain’s strictest self-abuser Katherine Birbalsingh pulling green ink bilge like this out of her arse! It’s a fucking advert! It’s not gonna destroy Christmas, though no bad thing if it did if you ask me. It’s not gonna bring the fucking country to its knees, your fucking right-wing mates in government are doing a good job of that, thanks very much! They still allow you to teach kids? It’s fucking 2023, not 1923, you deranged, gibbering goon!

Finally, it has emerged that early in the pandemic, Boris Johnson circulated a video of a man blowing a hair dryer into his nostrils his nose to ‘kill Covid’ around senior health advisors.

And there it is. Put your files away, pack up, last one out turn off the lights and fuck off home because this enquiry is fucking done. Verdict: At a moment of dire national crisis, Britain had chosen to be led by an absolute fucking moron, a shag-happy, psychopathic bin sack of spunked-on suet, because Lord forbid we have nationalised sausages under Jeremy Corbyn! Also, we thought it’d be a laugh to elect a sub-Woosterian fuckwit who thought you could blast away a virus by sticking a hair dryer up his fucking nose! That’s the people we are, God fuck us!