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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Sir Gavin fuckface Williamson

A FINE spring day here at Lambeth Palace, the sun shining and birds in flight, when I read that the film The Batman is set for release.

Starring Robert Pattinson as the caped crusader, it tells the story of how a traumatised billionaire became a superhero and clocks in at 176 minutes.

Fuck me with the hooked end of a golden fucking staff, how fucking old are we as a fucking culture? Ten? It’s fucking comics! Why don’t we just fucking reboot fucking Dennis the Menace and fucking Gnasher as a fucking dark, broody, naturalistic epic about a young anti-hero abetted by his faithful fucking hound as he battles his nemesis fucking Walter? I mean, seriously? I know I wear a fucking cape but at least I have the fucking decency to feel like a right cunt while I’m fucking wearing it! I don’t expect to be taken remotely fucking seriously, it’s just a bunch of ceremonial shit I’d lob in a fucking skip if it was up to me! And 176 fucking minutes! Lop 166 minutes off that, just get to the point have him chin the fucking Joker or whoever and then we can all fuck off home! Grow up, you self-important, atmospheric fucking cunts!

John Cleese, founding Monty Python member, is currently preoccupied by the word ‘woke’ and is in the process of making a programme about the subject. He put out the following question on Twitter: “Are wokes bothered about the lack of diversity in Putin’s army?”

Jesus fucking silly walking his way to the cross, what the fuck is going on in your ossified, addled fucking head, you silly old streak of old man’s toss? What the fuck are you on about? What do you mean by fucking ‘woke’, have you any fucking idea? Is it, by any chance a) someone who isn’t a cunt and b) thinks you’re an absolute class A cunt these days? Behold, fucking John Cleese. His comedic processes are now fucking history! He has joined the fucking choir all-too-visible of clapped out, confused, reactionary old twats! This is a fucking ex-comedian!

The line up for this year’s Glastonbury has been announced, with the organisers going for the audacious move of booking Paul McCartney in the headlining spot.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, barbecue my fucking bollocks, eight fucking hours of watching the old cunt mumbling and drinking fucking tea in 1970 wasn’t enough? Now we’ve got to drag him on fucking stage for our fucking relentlessly nostalgic fucking delectation? He’s practically fucking eighty! It’s fucking cruel! Like making fucking Captain Tom do a fucking tap dance at the fucking Royal Variety Show! I’m sure if the fucking Paul McCartney of 52 years ago had known he’d still going to get trundled out to belt out the fucking never-ending chorus of Hey Jude to a gawping sea of phone-wielding morons when he was fucking 80 years old, he’d have finished his fucking tea, got up and slit his fucking throat there and then! 

Finally, it seems that former government minister Gavin Williamson has been awarded a knighthood.

Well, natur-fucking-ellement. The man who couldn’t have made more of a fucking pig’s arse of being Education Secretary if he’d ordered the mass burning of exercise books to save on fucking fuel bills and was about as effective a fucking UK defence secretary as fucking Vladmir Putin! The fucking Queen is at perfectly liberty to shout, “you are fucking shitting me!” when this cunt proceeds up the fucking carpet and ‘accidentally’ lop off one of his fucking ears during the ceremony. You’ve got something on Johnson, haven’t you? You’ve quite obviously got something on him, you anus-faced, vacuous, useless little cunt of a fucking prick! 

Of course Liz Truss wants an AK-47 for a photoshoot. Of fucking course she does

From the diary of Carrie Johnson, Britain’s First Lady: 

I TOOK the call. ‘RAF Barnham here, we’ve a blonde woman says she’s foreign secretary? And she’s looking to check an AK-47 out of stores for a photoshoot?’ 

‘Is she talking in an abnormally low voice?’ I said. ‘Yeah.’ ’And doing a weird little head-tilt, and striding purposefully?’ ‘Yeah, that’s her,’ he said.

‘No idea who she is,’ I said. ‘Don’t let her stand near any military hardware looking resolute. Keep her off the premises.’ And hung up. So that’s Liz Truss fucked over for the day.

War is a serious business. It can make or break reputations. If there’s a tank, fighter jet or crate of weapons to be photographed in camo gear next to, it’s going to be my Boris not that bitch.

Going to Poland didn’t work out. Nobody noticed and he had to tell the truth, which is pretty fucking far from his comfort zone.

Putin won’t take his calls. Biden won’t take his calls. The EU won’t take his calls. Zelensky charged £350k in surface-to-air missiles to do one positive tweet about him, which makes Kylie pissing Jenner’s prices look reasonable.

The world really has changed overnight. I’ve spent the last three evenings deleting oligarch numbers from Big Dog’s phone. He barely knows how to use it, of course, which is how he ended up posting his cock to the ERG WhatsApp that time.

So I have to step in. And it’s a sobering experience. Goodbye Alisher, farewell Roman, dosvidaniya Sergei. The lights are going out all over Europe. They may not donate again in our lifetime.

Zac says they’ve all just piled into Bitcoin, on the other hand, and Britain’s the only safe superyacht harbour in Europe so we’ll soon be more Russian than ever. Which is a cheering thought after all that terrible property damage on the news.

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