The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the unbridled creativity of TV twats

11th October 2024

WAKING up with a hangover that has quite turned my blood green, especially that dribbling from my anus, I reflect on my weekly sermon, an impassioned address inspired by my frustrations with the online game Wordle, whose solution of ‘mommy’ on Wednesday I failed to get.

Standing at the pulpit, I commenced by hurling my iPhone onto the stone slabs of the Abbey, smashing it to smithereens.

‘Mommy?’ I cried, from the depths of rage. ‘Mommy? What kind of root beer-drinking, Oreo-munching, gum-chewing, fannypack-wearing American fucking bollocks is this?

‘I make no secret of how my day starts – worship, Wordle, a wank. The three Ws. But thanks to you colonial fuckers with your slack-jawed perversion of the mother tongue I fucking strike out and it puts me off my fucking wank! Which leaves me backed up and pissed off!’

The clip of my sermon goes viral and a grovelling apology from President Biden swiftly follows.

Satisfaction attained, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that the Conservatives have inadvertently eliminated James Cleverly from the party leadership race.

Hahahahaha. It was your jaw-dropping fucking incompetence that got you here in the first place, you desperately irrelevant fucks! Now you’re left with a choice between that pillar of pure cunt Robert Jenrick and the pop-eyed specimen of insanity on the end of a fucking shitstick Kemi Badenoch! Politics in this country hasn’t been this shit since the fucking 8th century! At least life expectancy was 25 so you’d only have to put up with a Blair and a couple of fast-turnover twats like Truss and Sunak and you’d be mercifully fucking dead!

David Gilmour, sometime guitarist of Pink Floyd, has released a solo album, Luck And Strange, the promotion of which has involved several interviews, including the ‘Rockonteurs’ podcast.

Nail my bollocks to a copy of The Wall, is Gilmour the most boring man alive or fucking what? I wasn’t sure whether I’d prefer to watch paint dry or fucking drink it! I know Roger Waters is a bit of a wacko but rather him than a turgid, tedious, taciturn twat like Gilmour! Listening him to talk about how he doesn’t fucking analyse his music, he just gets on and does it… Jesus, it’s like seeing a giant sloth push out a long, slow, grey turd and then watch it steam for half a fucking hour! A bit like Gilmour’s fucking guitar solos as it happens!

It seems that a British version of the American sitcom Cheers is in the pipeline.

So, a revival of a 30-years-defunct and conspicuously unreconstructed American sitcom featuring a fucking psychiatrist and a postman sharing a beer ten minutes before fucking midday. How the fuck is that going to fly? Are the people running TV so fucking allergic to originality all they can do is shit out obviously fucking dud ideas like this? ‘What’s the most obvious thing we can remake? Terry and June!’ ‘Fucking genius, Tris. You’ve really earned your cocaine break!’

Finally, it seems Morgan McSweeney has assumed the role of Labour’s chief of staff following the resignation of Sue Gray, who said she felt her participation in government ‘risked becoming a distraction’.

Morgan McSweeney. Morgan fucking McSweeney. Morgan cunting twatting bloodpissing cockmongering McSweeney. Yeah we’re sure former senior civil servant Sue Gray stepped down just like that for McSweeney, the repellent, scheming, unelected fucking snake who spent every day plotting ways to stop Labour doing anything dangerously radical like being the fucking Labour Party! Freezing pensioners, bombed hospitals, it’s all fucking fine so long as the centrists are sticking it to the Left, and Britain’s arsehole liberals go along with it. Hope you liked Peter Mandelson, libs, because you’re getting a second fucking helping of that cunt!

How to pretend you're more sexually adventurous than you actually are

10th October 2024

DEEP down, are you a monogamous ‘missionary will do’ kind of person, but want the world to think you’re sexually exciting? Here’s how to give the impression you’re less vanilla than you are.

Drop vague references

Constantly hint at sexual encounters without any hard facts, eg. ‘Whoa, that time I was in Amsterdam…’ Let the listener fill in the hot sex, when actually you went to the Anne Frank museum. Keep mentioning these vague events and you’ll be on your way to creating your myth. Don’t worry about effectively lying – it’s not much more of a distortion of the truth than the average male conversation about number of conquests, attractiveness of exes, etc.

Fake discomfort

You can fake it in the bedroom, so why not at work? Make your colleagues wonder what you got up to last night by coming into the office with a waddle, perhaps even a limp. If anyone mentions it, breezily deny anything happened, but with a massive ‘saucy’ wink. Don’t overdo the funny walk though, or they’ll just assume you’re constipated. Ongoing bowel problems aren’t the sexiest rumour to have swirling around you.

Spread risqué objects around your flat

‘Accidentally’ leave a few kinky objects around when you’ve got mates over. A crotchless thong hanging over the telly or a double-ended dildo poking out of a kitchen drawer is f**king weird, but they’re no use in their box on top of your wardrobe. If people aren’t getting the hint, lay it on even thicker – perhaps wear handcuffs throughout the whole evening, or use a couple of riding crops to serve the salad. Hopefully people will get the hint that you are sexually insatiable and not just ask if they’re dishwasher safe.

Choose friends you can be a sexual parasite to

Buddying up with a genuine sexpot and nodding along with their wild stories will give the impression you are one of them. People love vicarious sexual thrills, and your unadventurous friends will be so blown away by Hot Claire’s story about the hoover they’ll forget it wasn’t you who said it. Especially if you tell them it was you who said it.

Cryptic social media posts

If you want to cast your net wider, popping a vague “#wildnight’ on social media is ideal. Perhaps followed by an aubergine emoji to make it bang-on-the-nose for your stupider friends. If anyone demands details, reply with something annoyingly coy like ‘Let’s just say I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night…’ Omit to mention this was because you were up late crying in front of The Bear while stuffing your face with malt loaf.