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Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Taurus (20 APRIL – 20 MAY)
This week will  consist mostly of complaining vociferously about press intrusion into personal lives whilst privately wanking yourself soppy over the photos.

Gemini (21 MAY-20 JUN)
You’re right, The Simpsons has gone completely downhill and subsequently the latest series is only four billion times funnier than anything you’ve ever thought of.

Cancer (21 JUN-22 JUL)
This week, why not take the kids to see that film about the guy with the long hair and the hammer who’s been sent to Earth on a mission from the gods? Who doesn’t love Peter Sutcliffe?

Leo (23 JUL-22 AUG)
Your kids are at that difficult age when they’re too old for toys but too young to get the fuck out of your house.

Virgo (23 AUG-22 SEP)
Unhappy with the speed of your broadband, you tell Sky that your promise to pay ‘up to 100%’ of your bill actually meant ‘about 23%’ of your bill.

Libra (23 SEP-23 OCT)
You finally realise you’re not at the world’s best university when they announce their intention to award the Emeritus Chair in Applied Mathematics  to a Chuckle Brother.

Scorpio (24 OCT-21 NOV)
Absinthe famously inspired such artists as Latrec, Rimbaud and Wilde but to be honest it’s just a really expensive way of watering down your meths.

Sagittarius (22 NOV-21 DEC)
Sometimes when your cat looks up at you, it’s almost like he’s a little person. That still doesn’t mean you can make love to him.

Capricorn (22 DEC-19 JAN)
Have you been going to the gym recently? No, you don’t look any thinner, but you do fucking stink.

Aquarius (20 JAN-19 FEB)
So much of possible human endeavour has already been achieved, which is why you find yourself sat in a helicopter preparing to become the first person to poop into an active volcano.

Pisces (20 FEB-20 MAR)
Calling occupants of interplanetary craft. Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft. Please move your vehicle as it’s parked in a loading bay.

Aries (21 MAR-19 APR)
There’s always somebody worse off than you are, but if you don’t stop your trivial, pissy moaning that can always be rearranged.

 

 

Eastenders not realistically horrific enough

LONG-running suicide note Eastenders fails to fully capture how revolting Cockneys are, the BBC have admitted.

BBC executive John Yorke said criticism that the show is insufficiently multicultural or occasionally melodramatic misses the bigger point that a true portrayal of East London people would actually constitute snuff television.

Yorke said: “I was recently driven through Whitechapel with the windows rolled up and the doors locked and I can honestly say that I’d have felt marginally safer running through Longleat Safari Park wearing beef pants.

“It’s hard to imagine that the fey prickland of Shoreditch is just up the road – it’s like finding out the 100 Acre Wood borders the forest out of Deliverance – but if I was Boris Johnson I’d wall up the whole area, fire a piano full of eels over every few weeks and leave them to it.”

Cocknologist Wayne Hayes said: “The Cockney manages to pack the self-mythologising of the Scouser, the inexplicable self-belief of the Yorkshireman and the explosively unpredictable propensity for violence of the Scotsman into a remarkably scrawny frame.

“Anybody displaying the doe-eyed sentimentality that Shane Richie does within the sound of Bow Bells would be rapidly kicked to death and eaten after being doused in a liquor which is a curious mix of wallpaper paste, astroturf and semen.”

Another show affected by the new drive toward realism is Countryfile, which will return in the autumn as Fighting, Farming and Fucking.

Producer Martin Bishop said: “We’ve just finished filming a bit with John Craven where he gets proper fucked up on scrumpy and cheap speed before overturning his pimped up Clio into a hedge and pegging it before the rozzers arrive.”

 

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