The Archbishop of Canterbury on... how can things 'get a lot worse'? Cannibalism?

30th August 2024

WAKING up with a particularly intense hangover following a late evening with a convention of Mother Superiors, I realise that I have grown a second head, this being the only way my constitution could cope with the cerebral strain of my imbibing.

Immediately, the two craniums are at loggerheads.

‘I really think you could make more of an effort to display some of the piety that befits your station,’ hectors the new head, as if assuming the role of my conscience.

‘Fuck you, Percy!’ snarls the other head. ‘The world is a cesspit of toxic shit and the only way to cope is to dive in and fucking well suck it up.’

‘I dissent!’ hoots the first head. ‘In order to maintain our holiness we must eschew the fleshpots, the vats of liquor, the…’

Fortunately, I have manoeuvred toward my chest of drawers, beneath which I keep a bladed weapon in case of contingencies such as this. I grab it, and with a single smite, remove this superfluous head from my shoulders, rather enjoying the spectacle of the fountain of blood in its wake.

Having arranged with my private surgeon for the wound to be stitched up, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that the government plans to ban smoking in outdoor areas of pubs and restaurants. Tory Esther McVey responded by quoting the famous poem about the Holocaust that begins ‘First they came for the Communists/ And I did not speak out…’ by pastor Martin Niemöller.

Hahaha, fuck me you GB News-addled strawheaded fucking clown! You’re comparing being asked to stub out your fag in a beer garden to fucking Auschwitz? I hate this government but I fucking hope they go with this if it pisses off cancer-spreading opportunists like you looking for a ‘nanny state’ bandwagon to jump on! Not to mention the twats who started smoking because they saw it in a film in the 80s. Yeah, sucking on a Rothmans with clacking lungs has really given you that fucking Mickey Rourke cool, hasn’t it? Mickey Rourke these days, not the 9½ Weeks version.

The Manchester rock group Oasis have announced that they intend to reform, with a series of dates commencing in Cardiff next year.

Cut off my cock, dip it in Japanese sauce and stuff it up my arse, we need this like we need a another fucking Iraq war! Reactionary sludge for shitheads served up by a pair of simian, queer-baiting fuckbrains who made a fortune mining the worst instincts of British kids with lethargic guitars and a fucking Krusty the Clown imitator! Fuck it, let’s make Tony Blair prime minister again! While we’re at it, let’s dig up the corpse of Terry Venables and make him England manager! Cool Britannia? Cunt Britannia, more likely.

Thames Water have announced that if they are to survive, they will have to hike average bills by 59 per cent.

Well, there is no alternative, is there? The whole point of privatisation, as opposed to the loony left insanity of nationalisation, is that fuckers like you screw the public at ever greater rates to cover your superfatted arses for your fucking incompetence which has left our rivers with the chemical composition H2ShitO! If you can’t fucking run a basic monopoly like water you deserve to go under! Preferably in your own faeces and bacteria-filled water!

Finally, Keir Starmer has warned that ‘things will get a lot worse before they get better’ in a major speech.

Get a lot worse? How the fuck can they get worse? Actual fucking shit coming out of our taps? Rents for studio flats increased from £2,000 a month to £4,000? Pensioners forced to eat their own fucking lower limbs to survive? I mean, they like crap like tripe and meat paste but that’s going too far. And it’s hard not to notice things aren’t projected to get worse for the cunts who’ve been fleecing the UK for the last 30 years. Any chance of lifting a finger to do anything about that? No fucking chance. Oh well, looks like you won’t be going round to granny’s next time she makes a nice stew.

A white home counties roadman and him's crew flex swag at da seaside retail park

29th August 2024

14-year-old Active J, known in his detached home as Joshua Hudson, has taken a trip with his crew to experience the delights of a traditional seaside town and its retail park

WAGWAN? Man is da most gassed hever, bruv. Mandem crew went to da seaside, an’ ‘ad da worst day hever which turned into da best day hever.

Man’s gyal, Lady G, sed why don’t da crew go to da seaside beach for da day, an’ man sed why, wot’s wrong wiv da hastroturf? An’ her sez da seaside beach is just like hastroturf but wiv da seawater an’ rollercoaster rides next to it. Man woz sold! Next day mandem crew woz on da train ting to da seaside town, called Rockport or Timberland, sumfink like dat.

Da train woz like da school bus but wivout da fightin’ an’ da vapin’. Active J woz gaggin’ to chug on a Bubblegum an’ Blueberry by da time man got off. Den da smell! Urgh! Da seaside smelled of bare rank fishyness so bad man ad’ to buy Lynx Hafrica an’ spray up him’s nose wiv it.

Lady G ‘ad been to da seaside before wiv her’s parents, so gyal sed we’s need to go on da rollercoaster called Concussion, innit. But dat knob Drilla woz like a bouncy puppy dog on speed an’ only went an’ filled his dickhead face wiv hot dogs an’ tanked up on Monster.

Wasteman threw it all back up like a baby when da rollercoaster woz twirlin’ upside down. Oh man! It sprayed heverywhere, all over Active J’s best North Face hoody an’ joggers.

Man woz super, turbo-beefed an’ ready to throw hands. So Lady G took man on da beach to chill, but it woz like wet an’ da sand woz stickin’ to man’s Air Force makin’ man’s feet wet an’ makin’ man look like a brand muggle. Den da big white beach bird shit a load on man’s Yankees cap. It woz da worst ting to hever happen to Active J. Man ‘ad ‘ad enough, fam. Man wanted to go home.

Den Lady G sed come wiv her, coz her ‘ad a surprise for Active J. An’ she takes man for a rank squelchy walk to a place. Active J could not believe him’s heyes: da most bossest sight hever: a retail park wiv heveryfink!

There woz Sports Direct, Foot Asylum, drive-thru – heveryfink a boss roadman needs. Mandem crew got Maccy D’s, went bowlin’, tried on puffer jackets, tech fleeces an’ retro Jordans. It woz da pengest ting hever, blud. Man spent all him’s summer job cash on head-to-toe boxfresh drip dat didn’t stink of Drilla sick, mingin’ beach sand or screechy bird shit. Active J flexed a gangsta swag so magnificent, it could be seen from space, fam.

Den on da way to da train ting mandem crew found a backstreet seaside corner shop wiv no hawkward hinterrogations habout man’s age an’ got a Stick Of Rock an’ Candy Floss flavour vape each. Bustin’ wiv mandem crew at da seaside beach retail park woz da best day out hever, innit.