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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Robert Jenrick's new low in Satanic fucking scumsucking

WAKING up with just the faintest hint of a morning head, I sweep aside the array of empty rum bottles on my bed and reach for my mobile telephone. Clicking on ‘Twitter’, I notice that I am, to use the parlance, ‘trending’.

‘Archbishop Of Canterbury – email’ it reads on the right-hand side in bold. I click on the email in question. It details a series of unspeakable acts, perpetrated by myself, involving farm animals, both dead and alive, ladies’ lingerie and a bicycle pump. It’s to be remembered that when these acts took place I was a young man of just 47.

There was a time, perhaps only 20 years ago, when such a revelation would have led to my dismissal. England, however, is rather a strange place nowadays. With the incident already water under the bridge, I take breakfast and peruse a periodical. Immigration minister Robert Jenrick has ordered children’s artwork designed to put youngsters at ease at an asylum centre to be painted over as it is a ‘law enforcement environment’.

Flay my fucking shrivelled gonads, the Tories have always been a nasty brigade of scumsucking cunts, but you, Jenrick, take the scumsucking to a new Satanic low! You’re gonna enforce law on traumatised five-year-olds? To pander to the worst smallminded racist fucking Daily Mail readers? The fucking Tories need to be buried in a lead coffin ten feet underground with a gravestone fashioned from fossilised rhinoceros shit reading ‘FUCK OFF FOREVER YOU PARASITIC, SADISTIC, FASCIST TWATS!’ 

It seems that following a series of mishaps on Twitter by Elon Musk, his fellow billionaire Mark Zuckerberg has created an alternative social media site, Threads, which has already attracted a considerable number of subscribers.

Yeah, fucking great. Threads. I love the fucking feelgood 1980s nuclear annihilation scenario you went for there, Zuckerberg. I had a look at it. No fucking thanks! It’s basically fucking Instagram wearing a false nose and glasses! Jesus H Cock, is this the fucking choice we have these days? From Twitter to Threads? Musk to Zuckerberg? Out of the frying cunt and into the cunt? I might go back to scribbling swearwords on bits of paper, folding them into planes and throwing them out the fucking window!

Conservative MP Johnny Mercer made a somewhat emotional appearance on Question Time this week, which was not uniformly well-received. 

Fuck sake, did you see the state of this grinning, incoherent fucking shithead? What was he knocking back in the green room and how fucking much? The Tories know they’re fucked, so they don’t even bother with the basics of respectability these days! They’ll be wandering round Westminster with no fucking trousers on in a few months!

Finally, former Southampton Town footballer turned Sky pundit Matthew Le Tissier has opined on Twitter as follows: ‘The time to speak is now. A communist takeover is slyly being implemented, they’re very clever but they don’t fool everyone. Good will triumph over evil.’

Good to see that divot of a fucking brain of yours is functioning as highly as ever. I think we can all agree that apart from violent, rampaging transsexuals, communists are the biggest fucking danger facing Britain today! Murdoch, big business, the super-rich, property developers – all quaking in their fucking boots! How are the fucking communists going to take over, eh? Shrink themselves to sub-atomic size and smuggle themselves into Covid boosters and mind-control you from inside? I wish there was a communist takeover and their first act was to pitchfork stupid cunts like you into the fucking sea!

'If it wasn't for my drunken groping you'd be chancellor at best,' says Pincher. He has, I concede, a point

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s most morally flexible prime minister

PINCHER’S arrived at Downing Street, 12 months after bringing down a prime minister. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I deserve credit for that.’ 

‘It wasn’t as though you did it on purpose,’ I reply. ‘You didn’t drink two bottles of champagne and grab the same number of arses with the intention of it being Johnson’s final straw.’

‘True,’ he admits. ‘Though it was very much in the spirit of the Johnsonian administration. Either way though, worked out for you. Really I should be in cabinet as a thanks.’

If I’m honest I’d forgotten about Pincher. Everyone had. It’s the only reason he’s still in office. I’d also forgotten there was a report due into his antics at the Carlton Club.

Still, now he’s an officially garlanded groper, I am duty-bound to ask him to resign. Or I would be if I didn’t already have three by-elections coming up. Not counting Nadine’s because she hasn’t resigned. We’re waiting on a psychiatric evaluation.

The majorities on those are only 20,000, so there’s no way any of them can be anything but a defeat. But Tamworth, where Pincher is technically an MP – ‘I’ve been, once. I think it’s in the Midlands?’ he tells me – could, whisper it, be a Tory win.

Which leaves me with a tough choice. Play it safe and keep a man who cupped a civil servant’s balls in the Commons? Or take a risk and romp home with a narrative-changing win that puts Rishi on the comeback bus?

‘I’m fucking off at the next general anyway,’ says Pincher, brandy in hand. ‘Most of us are. You included, let’s face it. Might as well keep old Pinchy around for a while longer, eh?’

‘But what about my record of integrity and accountability?’ I ask. ‘My hand’s on its arse right now,’ he replies.

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