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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… spaghetti-haired fucker Michael Fabricant

WAKING at 4.30 to offer prayers to Our Lord, I switched on my television set for BBC News. There I learned that Michael Fabricant has defended Boris Johnson, who was fined for attending a party during lockdown, on the grounds that teachers and nurses did much the same thing.

Jesus H Twat on a Fuckstick, in a week in which Tories are all vying to be the biggest cunt, you don’t just take the biscuit, you take the fucking factory! You just reached deep up your arsehole and pulled out this shit about teachers and nurses. Your brain, that barely-functioning organ nesting somewhere in that fucking mess of spaghetti you pour over your head daily, didn’t get a fucking look-in when you blurted out this one, did it? 

Elon Musk, it seems, has made an offer to buy Twitter. Will his love of free speech help the truth flourish, or will the popular website spread more anger and hate in these troubled times?

Tell you what, if I had Elon Musk’s money, I might think about changing my stupid fucking name, solving world hunger and living like a king on the small change. Mind you, I’d look a right bastard if I didn’t, in my line of work. What I wouldn’t do is spunk it all on a race with the Pope to the fucking moon, wanking over the heads of the starving below from outer space. Elon, ‘mate’, if you do buy Twitter, do us a fucking favour – shut it down, seal it in a lead box and launch the fucker into the sun. Toxic fucking waste of everyone’s time!

During one of my informal chats with Her Majesty the Queen, she was kind enough to canvas my opinion on the latest Red Hot Chili Peppers album, which goes by the title of Unlimited Love. Knowing that Her Majesty appreciates straight talking, I did not mince my words. 

Fuck me with a Baptism candle, we need another fucking Chili Peppers album like you need another stupid fucking flowery hat, Queenie. Why do they bother? What is this, their 115th? ‘Hey, we’re white dudes, but we can play funk like real funky black dudes, the sort you get on the street, jiving and all that stuff.’ Yeah, yeah, we fucking get it! And you’ve changed guitarists again? Frusciante’s back? What happened to the other cunt? Drowned in the fucking wank of one his interminable fucking solos? And the fucking lyrics. ‘The smell of her hello’. What the fuck is that meant to mean? She’s got bad breath? No wonder she fucking dumped you! 

Finally, there was bad blood at the conclusion of the Champions’ League semi-final second leg between Manchester City and Atletico Madrid, with players brawling and shouting expletives at one another. ‘These are not the scenes we want to see,’ said the commentator. 

Hahahaha. Oh but these are exactly the fucking scenes we want to see, pal! Especially after a turgid lump of sterile shit like that boring draw! Me and my archbishop mates, down the pub in Lambeth, the one we’re not barred from, laughed our fucking cassocks off! Especially when Jack Grealish called the Atletico geezer a cunt and he yanked his hair like a fucking toilet chain! Just a fucking pity the police broke the whole thing up as it was getting tasty!

Why not fine my baby too, you pig bastards? Why not criminalise my poor, poor baby?

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

THE protesters are right: all coppers are bastards. And now, because the Met Police is institutionally misogynist, I’m a criminal.

Fined. Fined £50. They fined students twice that. They fined lonely pensioners meeting their friends on the allotment 10 times that. This makes me look cheap.

But more than that it’s the sheer injustice. Like Occupy London, like the Suffragettes, like the Tolpuddle Martyrs, I dared stand up for what I believed in. And, just as then, the police acted beyond the law in to crush my rebellious innocence.

Why not fine my four-month-old baby Romy, you unfeeling, autocratic bastards? Why not hit Wilfred, a mewling babe in arms, with a fine? I’m surprised you haven’t forced us to re-enact the whole thing so you can steam in with mounted police and batons.

Well this abuse of power ends here. I will stand up for the fucking cause. I am not just a key member of the most important government since Disraeli. I am an activist: for women’s rights, for trans rights, for climate action.

The Met have gone too far. This is an intergenerational battle and I stand ready to be a non-political figurehead behind whom the young can unite. Who better? I’m woke, photogenic and my achievements speak for themselves.

I will not pay this fine. Martin Luther King wouldn’t, so why should I? The prejudice and victimisation of our corrupt police will not go unchallenged, even if I have to take my contemporary-boho blonde locks to the Supreme Court.

‘I don’t remember,’ I shall proclaim, ‘a ban on birthday festivities. I don’t recall any prohibition against work meetings. I must have been absent when the State ruled against being human.’

Vilified by the press, I will rally millions behind me. The bias, snobbery and bigotry that have led to this miscarriage of justice will be laid bare. The Establishment will crumble before my righteousness. This fine will be overturned.

Big Dog and Rishi got fined as well. I’ve told him to pay up. He’s guilty as sin.

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