WAKING up with a hangover so intense that anything I stare at turns bright green and melts, I reflect on the turbulence of the last few days.
I find that I am under perpetual pressure to make the church more relevant and ‘with it’. And so, in keeping with the vivid argot of modern times, I announce to Gloria Hunniford, on the latest edition of the BBC’s Songs of Praise, that I intend to change my title from the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Archbishop of Cunterbury.
Ms Hunniford stiffens and gulps visibly. ‘Did you say…’
‘Yes, that’s quite correct. I feel that much as I have caught your attention, I would catch the attention of the nation, and indeed the international community. People would sit up and listen. My voice would be heard.’
And so it proves. While the Archbishop of Canterbury was marginalised and ignored, the Archbishop of Cunterbury, announced as such, is immediately the centre of attention on the domestic and international stage. My new influence has enabled me to bring about the renationalisation of all public utilities, peace in Ukraine and Gaza, and complete multilateral nuclear disarmament.
Satisfied with my week’s work, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Robert Kennedy Jr has been confirmed as US health secretary despite his anti-vaccination views.
Roast my fucking red end, you know what? Maybe this is a fucking good thing. If Kennedy encourages every idiot who’s idiot enough to listen to him not to immunise themselves against deadly diseases and viruses, it’ll fucking thin out the herd of fucking morons who voted for Trump? Maybe this is Mother Nature at work, curing the planet in her roundabout way? Obviously no sane person would take health advice from a fucking dye-drinking alt-med crackpot who sounds like a broken Dalek, but it shouldn’t be a fucking problem for MAGA!
‘It’s how we make sense of the world: why are we all obsessed with gossip?’ chirrups a Guardian headline about podcaster Kelsey McKinney.
Will you please just fucking fuck off with this ‘we’ bollocks? Who is this ‘we’? Me? Don’t think so, nor any of my fucking mates. So that kicks your headline into the fucking bullshit barrel for a start! When you say ‘we’ you mean you and your fucking vacuous circle of Love Island-watching media pals who keep your brains in a fucking bucket most of the time because you’re too piss-lazy to use them! And be honest – you watch crap like Love Island for the tits and the bust-ups, not ‘cos you get awarded a PhD in fucking Zeitgeist Studies!
Labour has suspended Gorton and Denton MP Andrew Gwynne over what he described as ‘badly misjudged’ comments on a WhatsApp group, including wishing death on a constituent who complained about bin collections. Eleven councillors have also been suspended.
Jesus Cunting H, they weren’t ‘badly misjudged’, we can see that from fucking reading them. In fact they’re just the typical thoughts of the current fucking Labour party – witless, amoral, completely contemptuous of the people you were fucking elected to serve and represent! And your only fucking regret is getting fucking caught in the act! It’s why everyone hates you, and the only consolation for voters is watching those pundits who aggressively promoted you having to slowly, quietly eat shit on a daily fucking basis!
Finally, it seems that a forthcoming book, Yes Ma’am: The Secret Life Of Royal Servants, will detail the peeves and inconveniences that make Prince Charles ‘lose his cool’. These include his shoes being imperfectly polished, being served with an incorrect teacup, and his toothpaste not being squeezed onto his brush just as he likes it.
Hahahahahaha, ‘loses his cool’? What cool? I mean, the cunt’s not exactly Keith Richards hanging out with Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry in the fucking 70s, is he? Still, good to be reminded what a spoilt, lazy, irritable, absolute fucking twat of the first water our beloved King is. Monarchs have been decapitated for less, mate, so clean your own fucking teeth, you useless, parasitic fucking bag of Louis XVI shit!
