The Archbishop of Canterbury on... it's fun to stay in the C-L-O-S-E-T

6th December 2024

WAKING with a hangover that caused me to accidentally excrete one of my kidneys, I reflect on yesterday’s events pertaining to ‘follow-up’ emails from providers of goods and services.

I had become somewhat vexed by these communiques, and decided, as the phrase goes, to ‘give them a taste of their own medicine’.

And so it was that I visited a company that had put in some blinds for me, a pest control firm, my local Tesco, a cleaning agency, and the like. Clutching a bottle of rum from which I imbibed throughout my visits, I demanded to see the managing directors of each organisation and put to them questions along the following lines:

‘Your feedback is important to me. How was my Archbishopping today? How good a job did I do in shepherding your soul? On a scale of one to five, with one representing “shit Archbishopping” and five denoting “knocked it out of the fucking park”, how would you rate me?

‘Would you spare just 40 minutes of your time to fill out this questionnaire or is your answer “No thanks, I don’t want to help, I am a selfish cunt”?’

I was a little the worse for wear toward the end of my rounds and some headbutting may have taken place, but I felt the point needed to be made. Satisfied it had, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Joe Biden, in one of the last acts of his presidency, has issued a pardon to his son Hunter.

Force feed me the fucking fossilised turds of Jesus, you are one of the most disastrous human beings ever to have walked this fucking planet! As corrupt as fucking Trump when it comes to pardons, clinging to your job when you should be in a rest home for the terminally bewildered! You had to fucking carry on into your dotage didn’t you, your shaking fucking finger probably within an inch of setting off the nuclear codes! Plus a bit of genocide enabling and leaving us at the mercy of a fucking orange fascist idiot! I don’t know how you’re gonna die but I hope it’s not too fucking painless!

Victor Willis, lead singer of The Village People, has vehemently insisted that the song YMCA is not a gay anthem but in fact a celebration of ‘black male friendship’.

You are fucking shitting me! YMCA? It’s as gay as the fucking day is long! If you didn’t realise that as you were writing it, performing it, dressing as it and dancing along to it you are one oblivious motherfucker! If you lined up the inches of cock that have been sucked to this song since 1978 it’d reach to fucking Saturn! You should be proud of that, not running around in denial in the culture wars like some fucking Japanese soldier in the jungle in 1972 who thinks World War II is still going on! Although technically it would be a fucking gay Japanese sailor!

On BBC Question Time from Lincoln this week were Jacqui Smith, Conservative MP Kevin Hollinrake, Alastair Campbell, and Nigel Farage, appearing on the programme for the 38th time.

Fucking marvellous, the full spectrum of UK politics there, from right to fucking far right! The warmonger Campbell, the unelected Israel apologist Smith, some Tory cunt and yeah, chewing on the perpetual hard-on the BBC has for fascists, Nigel Farage. You know what, keep the fucking BBC but ditch fucking BBC News! I swear we’d all be better informed without it, so show fucking Tom And Jerry instead! If you can’t bear to live without Farage, CGI him into it and have him twatted in the face with a frying pan! That’d be ‘BBC balance’ we can all get behind!

Finally, in response to allegations of inappropriate behaviour, suggestive remarks and sexual harassment, Gregg Wallace said that all of the complaints came from ‘middle-class women of a certain age’. He then quickly issued a statement ‘apologising’ for ‘any offence caused’ by these remarks.

You know what, Wallace? You can take your fucking non-pology, in which you’re basically blaming people for finding offence where there was none, put it in a sock and shove it up your fucking arse, you vile, lecherous slab of fucking scum! I’ve always argued, on balance, against people like you being put in the town square in stocks with your fucking bollocks hanging out for citizens to torment, but in your case, I’d make an exception! Fuck it, let’s stick with the MasterChef theme and bring back boiling oil!

Can this washed-up mess of a government's sham reboot claw even a single sane vote back?

5th December 2024

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who stands ready to shag Harry back to his senses

REBOOT? Jackboot, more like. Another stamp of Starmer’s Stalinist boot on the heart of this once-great nation.

Collapsed and clutching at its chest, arteries blocked by years of working from home and Deliveroo, it needs resuscitation. What does it get instead? A working-over. A progressive pummelling. ‘And there’s more to come,’ snarls our prime minister.

Reboot? Who needs a reboot after five months except chronic failures and any PC running Windows Vista?

Like a restauranteur who realises his Columbian jazz fusion cafe is about to be exposed as a money-laundering front, like a golliwog-fronted British brand the woke have decided offends, like a Cotswolds-set BBC soap whose cast is inexplicably replaced by Samoans, this will fail.

Reboot? Refute, more like: every ideological belief Labour clung to refuted by luscious logic. Their bludgeoning budget, their legalisation of medical murder, all proven wrong.

Expect to see more of these reboots, resets and refreshes. Soon they’ll be flashing by faster than revisions to Rachel Reeves’s LinkedIn as Starmer, drowning in a reality he never encountered in a lifetime nursing on the public tit, flails to reconnect.

Let’s tell the truth: Labour didn’t win the election. Like a trans volleyball team playing in a girls’ school league, they triumphed by default. The Tories stood aside for Reform while Reform stood aside for the Tories and in their after-you politeness Labour squeaked home.

They didn’t win that one and they’ve already lost the next. Elon Musk personally gave Farage $100 million in used notes this week, quipping ‘Call it a down payment.’ Kemi’s already proposed marriage to Nigel to cement their union. It’s over.

When the reboots hit six a day, when every cabinet member has resigned for shamefully petty corruption – at least Tories know how to feed at a trough – a general election will be called. It doesn’t have to be by Labour.

And on that great day, the endless reboots will be given the boot in favour of honest, Trumpian government. Civil servants will be jailed and the weak deported. And on that day, finally, we can kick off our boots and run barefoot and free.