The Archbishop of Canterbury on… why Julia Hartley-Brewer's global warming bollocks can f**k right off

WAKING up I am dimly aware of a liquid sensation in my left ear. As I come to, I realise a cat is in the middle of a bowel movement, excreting directly into my ear canal. Ah, yes. I attended a drinks reception at Downing Street last night and must have fallen asleep in Larry’s litter tray. 

After grabbing the animal by the scruff of the neck and drop-kicking it across the scullery into a tureen of soup, I return to my residence and peruse the periodicals over breakfast. I read that Rishi Sunak faced Keir Starmer for Prime Minister’s Questions and put up a robust performance against the Labour leader.

Holy fucking Joseph’s unused cock, you call that a fucking performance? That half-arsed Boris Johnson tribute act? That pipsqueak bluster? Crappy jibes about ‘North London’ and Starmer being in cahoots with Jeremy Corbyn? Sure, that makes fucking sense. There’s the two of them cuddled up in bed in their North London townhouse, eating fucking tofu sandwiches while the rural regions and coastal areas starve. Utterly fucking brazen, brass bollocks that’d fetch you £135 a bollock if you tried to flog them on fucking Antiques Roadshow! 

Kanye West has lamented that he lost $2 billion due to his comments about Jewish people. He was also escorted from Skechers HQ when he attempted negotiations for a sponsorship deal.

Aw, well there’s a fucking shame. No idea what you’re doing sponsoring trainers, you should be sponsoring fucking jackboots! Listen, you mystifyingly famous streak of racist scum, you don’t have fucking mental health issues. You don’t have misunderstood genius issues. You have cunt issues. You are a cunt, simple as. 

The BBC invited political commentatorJulia Hartley-Brewer onto the panel of their flagship show Question Time. She was of the opinion there was no scientific consensus on climate change and that recent unseasonal temperatures were ‘just weather’.

I’m often asked, in my line of work, ‘Does God exist?’ I answer neither ‘Yes’ nor ‘No’. I simply say ‘Julia Hartley-Brewer’. Some people walk away confused but I think you get my fucking drift. In a world where God did exist, you wouldn’t get to shitspread your smugly ignorant, supremely fucking ill-informed, far-right, mind-shrinking poison across the fucking airwaves at the fucking licence payer’s expense. You’d be plodding down the fucking High Street in a dressing gown pushing a Lidl trolley containing everything you owned, hollering your nonsense into the fucking void where it belongs! Fuck, and I can’t emphasise this enough, off! 

Finally, Elon Musk has announced his takeover of Twitter. He explained that his mission is to ‘help humanity’ and preserve ‘the future of civilisation’. It is thought he may restore the account of Donald Trump. 

God’s ancient fucking scrotum, ‘help humanity’? Ever fucking occurred to you there might be a fucking easier way for you to help humanity than amplifying Nazis and nutjobs on social media, you deluded dickwaver? You’re a ludicrous fucking goblin sitting on a giant pile of fucking cash. You know what’d help humanity? Build another rocket with room enough in the cockpit for you, Donald Trump, Kanye West, Julia Hartley-Brewer and a few other cunts and fire it in the general direction of fucking Neptune!

A confused Millennial tries to… play 1980s home computer games

I THOUGHT only my generation had computer games, in the same way my parents didn’t have streaming or the internet, just wooden spinning tops to entertain them during the war.

So imagine my surprise when Dad set up his historical computer he’d got from his parents’ loft. It was a Commode 64, a big beige brick with a tape recorder, which is actually pretty cool and retro. 

Eventually Dad let me have a go. I wish he hadn’t. I’ve decided to do my resulting gaming session as a series of reviews, just to get across my sense of disgust. Here goes. 

Pirate Cove

WTF – it’s just words! Like doing a book at school! All you do is type ‘go north’ or ‘get spade’ and that’s it. At least our English teacher Mr Yates always puts on the DVD of the book we’re doing because, as he puts it, ‘You’ve all got the attention span of fucking wasps.’ I’m sure saying things like that is child abuse.

Verdict: I’ve got a migraine from all that reading. 0/10.

Chuckie Egg

You’re a farmer who has to collect eggs. Fair enough, it’s a platformer, so not much in the way of backstory, but I wasn’t expecting the sound and graphics to be this shit. If I was the developer I’d sack a team of programmers who hadn’t ever seen a Sonic or Mario game. 

Verdict: I suppose there wasn’t much home entertainment in the 80s, so it was either this or Driller Killer, so 1/10.

Elite 

What it says about Elite on the box: a space simulation involving battles, narcotics smuggling and aliens attacking from Witch Space.

What Elite actually is: triangles in space.

Yeah it’s wire-frame graphics and you never see inside the space stations you keep visiting. Needless to say there’s no fit female characters like Miranda in Mass Effect, and if there were they’d be made of triangles.

Verdict: Actually a recognisable game where you can shoot things, but still shit. 1/10.

Gridrunner

Hard to tell what anything was. Things (aliens?) come down a grid and attack your thing (spaceship?). There’s no variation, it just gets faster and faster. ‘This is rubbish,’ I thought. Then I realised it was so addictive I’d been playing for five hours solid without blinking. I quickly drank a glass of water and ate some biscuits in case I died.

Verdict: Addictive but I’m not sure if it’s actually enjoyable. 1/10.

Tir Na Nog

I think this is meant to be an open world RPG based on Irish legends, and I was really into Skyrim. However this is not Skyrim. You can’t specialise in skills, craft weapons or customise your character, who seems to be a caveman or possibly a tramp. Also you can never tell where you are. Maybe you’re drunk. 

Verdict: I hope Ireland isn’t still like this or there’s no way I’m going on a lad’s holiday to Dublin. -5/10.

Samantha Fox Strip Poker

The old folks had gone to bed and I was sat in front of a computer, so naturally my thoughts turned to masturbation. And as luck would have it, this saucy little game was in the box. (I’m not sure who Samantha Fox was, but she seems important in the 80s, like Margaret Thatcher.)

However the shitty graphics and distraction of playing poker made it incredibly hard to wank myself off. My Dad must have been a massive pervert in his youth. Maybe I should get him put on the sex offenders register just in case? Crimestoppers is anonymous so there needn’t be any interpersonal tension.

Verdict: Makes you feel dirty and ashamed, not a cool look. 0/10.

So overall I’d recommend sticking with your XBox or Playstation. I think people were just more primitive in the 1980s. That would explain a lot about my Dad, who still laughs if he finds a strangely shaped carrot.