Your astrological week ahead for April 4th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

About time that f**king tree got some leaves on, if you ask me. Shameless branchy bitch.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

“Yes, I have reached out to you with this email. I have reached out like an infant clinging to his mother’s suckling nipple so that I may know the milk of human kindness and follow up on our earlier meeting.”

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Val Kilmer was so handsome that not once throughout his movie career did anyone notice he had a woman’s name. Rest in peace, Valerie.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

How many more times can the fabulously rich die at White Lotus resorts before it impacts on their branding?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

“Grandad was so afraid of being ‘woke’ that one day he just never ‘woke’ up.”

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Why not visit your sister and her newborn baby in hospital with a huge inflatable number zero?

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Tough for fabulous chefs who’ve never burnt toast, constantly dying of strokes, unable to articulate what that weird smell is.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You’ve lived in Britain your whole life and never once seen anyone using the colourful beaks of dismembered puffins as castanets. And people say we’re a cruel country.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Sales assistant I saw had a name badge which said ‘sales assistant’. Nominative determinism strikes again.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

I know where the bodies are buried. Graveyards.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

A female James Bond battling a bad guy called Octopenis would make so much more sense.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

“Pope Top Trumps? Auntie Sylvia, you shouldn’t have! Wow, and the other kids say it’s not cool to be Catholic!”

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… is whining pathetically about woke the new punk? No

WAKING up with a hangover that causes traffic lights to malfunction throughout Westminster with its electromagnetic intensity, I reflect on a new ecclesiastical initiative I trialled this week. 

Taking its cue from the ‘tough love’ tradition of muscular Christianity, it is known as ‘slap therapy’. For my first session, I invited representatives of the percentage of the electorate planning to vote Reform in the next election, who have enabled them to pull into a four-point lead over Labour in the polls.

I ask the first parishioner to step forward. I bless him with the sign of the cross then address him as follows. 

‘Listen you (slap) thick, gullible, meatheaded cunt. (Slap.) I know that lying fucker Starmer (slap) is about as useful (slap) as a rocking horse at the fucking Grand National (slap, slap) but if you fucking well think that unctuous, relentlessly grifting, toad-faced twat Farage is gonna do anything (slap) but pick your fucking pockets then go talk to the fucking electorate of Clacton (slap, slap, slap) where he’s spent about as much time (slap) since the fucking election as he has on fucking Mars! (Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap).’ 

Although bleeding heavily around the nose, mouth and ears, the fellow seems grateful for my pastoral care, and as he shambles away a queue of waiting parishioners step up one by one to receive similar treatment. 

A great success, I feel. And so I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Donald Trump has introduced swingeing tariffs on a large number of countries, though Russia is exempted. 

Fuck me with my own severed penis, as a fucking planet we have to hang our fucking heads in shame that we let a diapered, tangerine twat like Trump fuck up the world so royally! A cunt who’s been declared bankrupt five times, including for a fucking casino, is at the helm of the world’s economy? And we just let him run riot, like the fucking Penguin in Gotham City in a 1960s Batman cartoon? Gives the lie to the Deep State theory, doesn’t it? This is the fucking Shallow State, with the world’s worst, thickest, most vindictive, know-nothing arsehole roosting on top of it, shitting incontinently! 

John Lydon, former lead singer of The Sex Pistols, has slammed the reformed version touring with a different vocalist, decrying them as a ‘woke’ version of the group.

Oh, for cunting fuck’s sake, just fuck right off up your LA hole, you wretched Krusty The Clown parody of whatever the fuck you once were. Sneering the word ‘woke’ isn’t the new punk rock, despite what you and similarly beached fuckheads like Julie Burchill think. Bleating about woke is the last, tired, desperate refuge of the ageing, irrelevant, attention-seeking, attention-undeserving bar room fucking bore! I mean, I’d rather eat my big toes than see the fucking ‘Sex Pistols’ live in 2025 but even fucking so!

R&B star Chris Brown will perform at White Hart Lane, home to Tottenham Hotspur, as part of his Breezy Bowl XX stadium tour this summer. Brown has a history of allegations of sexual violence and is guilty of assaulting former girlfriend Rihanna.

Jesus shat the fucking bed, I know things are fucking desperate at Spurs right now but you have to resort to giving houseroom to a serially dreadful streak of fuck like Chris Brown? What’s next? Signing fucking Andrew Tate as manager? Trafficking the women’s team? I mean, how little of a shit do you fuckfaced fuckers give? 

Finally, despite Elon Musk spending $20 million in the Wisconsin Supreme Court election, his preferred candidate Brad Schimel lost by a significant margin to the liberal Susan Crawford. 

Hahahaha, you could be a fucking trillionaire but cut you open like a fucking stick of rock and the word ‘LOSER’ would run all the way through! I bet you thought wearing that fucking cheese hat would be some sort of clincher, didn’t you? Turns out the cheese was an externalisation of your fucking brain! You are a no-dick, no-account, no-friends LOSER and Teslas are going the same way as that fucking car Homer Simpson designed! Some day soon, by public petition, you’ll be on your way to Mars, not in one of your rockets because they don’t work, but fired out of a cannon, reaching 90 feet before arcing back down and getting pulped against a fucking tree! Mission fucking accomplished!