The Archbishop of Canterbury on... try bringing some f**king marmalade sandwiches, asylum seekers

25th October 2024

WAKING up with a hangover whose throbbing vibrations cause dogs to bark across the Borough of Westminster, I read with some concern that fewer people now go to their parish church than attend a Catholic mass.

I decide to act at once, issuing a memo to my staff. ‘Okay you fuckers, we’re in danger of dropping a bollock to the left footers here,’ I write. ‘It’s no wonder these sneaky twats have overtaken us in the popularity stakes. They’re dishing out free wine. Free wine before fucking lunchtime.

‘Well, we can top that. They give out free wine, we’ll give out free rum. And not just the weak supermarket crap, the proper, overproof stuff, capeesh? Just find some theological justification for it. Get reading those fucking Bibles, there’s bound to be something somewhere. It’s all a load of fucking mumbo jumbo anyway.’

And so, confident that my inspired initiative will restore the Church of England to its former fortunes, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Paddington Bear has been issued with an official passport by the Home Office, instead of the replica requested by the makers of Paddington in Peru.

Jesus Christ’s stiff fucking wanksock, I suppose this is meant to show that the fucking Home Office has a fucking heart, an organ signally lacking in its dealings with human beings over the last few decades. All it does is show what a fucking terminally whimsical, fucked-in-the-head cunt of a country we are. Not only do we care more about fucking animals than people, we care more about fucking fictional animals than people! Perhaps all these refugees who keep drowning at sea should try rocking up with some fucking marmalade sandwiches?

King Charles has made a state visit to Samoa, where he took part in a traditional kava-drinking ceremony watched by heavily-tattooed Samoans and was declared a ‘high chief’ of the Pacific island nation.

Haha, this is more fucking like it, eh, Charlie? Twatting around with obsequious natives, keeping the fucking show rolling by making a tit of yourself for the tabloids! Better than being told to give Australia back to the people it actually belongs to, eh, you thieving imperial cunt? All you need now is to bring the Three Degrees out of retirement for a disco dance and it’ll be like fucking old times. And without that Sloane Ranger bint you never fucking wanted to marry!

Nigel Farage has accused Labour of ‘direct interference’ in the US election after it emerged that more than 100 current and former staff will campaign for the Democrats.

Oh, I fucking see! Not like you, then, who flew out to the States and booked yourself five nights in an executive suite up Donald Trump’s fucking arse? It’s nothing but fucking grift with you, isn’t it? Time and again you’re shown to be talking absolute bollocks, and get that bollocks thrown right back in your fucking rubbery face, but back you come for more! It’s as if digesting bollock after bollock gives you fucking strength! You’re the living fucking reason the BBC should be abolished and replaced with a 24-hour loop of fucking Tom And Jerry cartoons!

Finally, Sir Keir Starmer has met with Palestinians who lost family in Gaza and spoken of how ‘humbled’ he was by their ‘immeasurable grief’.

Really? How very fucking sincere-sounding of you. If only there were something you could do about it? You know, like not selling Israel the fucking arms to incinerate Palestinian civilians? Or maybe tell Joe Biden to shove his genocide up his fucking shrivelled, dead turkey arse? (Okay, you might want to phrase it slightly differently.) It’s a pity you’re not prime minister or something, isn’t it? But you are a two-faced, superficially pious, flag-shagging, right-wing, flabby-faced, shortarsed, button-eyed, shameless, soulless, lying, shit-voiced fucking psychopath who has as much business being in charge of the fucking Labour party as the fucking corpse of Margaret Thatcher! Yeah, I’m not a fan.

A white home counties roadman tries not to grass manself up over a term-time holiday

24th October 2024

FIFTEEN-year-old Active J, known in his detached home as Joshua Hudson, tries to keep schtum about having an extra week off school to go on holiday.

WAGWAN? Active J is low, coz man is a criminal, fam. Man ‘as committed High Treason against da school an’ is servin’ him’s punishment in da bare cruellest way possible.

In history, Miss Jackson woz teachin’ mandem crew habout dis guy called Fawkes an’ him’s gunpowdered plot, innit. Bruv woz keepin’ a secret from da hauthorities habout him’s plans to blow up da cribs of Parliament, innit.

Active J felt solid wiv Fawkes coz man too is keepin’ a secret from da hauthorities. No, fam, man is not blowin’ up da school, man is doin’ so much worse – Active J is takin’ a holiday in da term time. Well, man woz.

Next week is da half-term week, but parentdem ‘ad booked two weeks to see da pointy pyramids in Hegypt, innit. So, Active J ‘ad to ‘ave da hextra week an’ say man is flu sick an’ keep da school feds from knowin’. Da hauthorities sussed da gunpowdered plot, an’ dat is wot ‘appened to Active J, innit.

Miss Jackson set homework on da plot to be ‘anded in hafter da half term, but man would be in Hegypt, so man ‘anded it in da next day. Brains, bruh.

But Miss bare hinterrogated Active J, askin’ why Joshua ‘ad ‘anded in him’s homework, for da first time hever, da day hafter it woz set? Active J woz bare silent, so as to not to hincriminate Joshua.

Miss went deep an’ asked if man woz hidin’ ting. Man said nah, gyal. So Miss asked man to remove him’s North Face balaclava an’ boxfresh Ray Bans, innit. Den Miss sed Joshua you is goin’ on ‘oliday wiv parentdem in da term-time, hagain, isn’t you? Fam, man woz grassed up by a dirty snake. Dat woz da only possible reason for Miss knowin’.

Now, like da guy Fawkes, Active J is guilty of High Treason hagainst da authorities, an’ man ‘as to suffer da bare rank consequences. Wasteman parentdem is goin’ to Hegypt wivout man, ‘an Active J is to be himprisoned for two weeks at dickhead Drilla’s crib. Wot is dat about? Is you jokes?

Da guy called Fawkes might ‘ave been hexecuted, an’ him’s heffigy burnt hevery Bonfire Night since, but compared to Active J’s punishment, him’s ‘ad it bare peng, fam.