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Wednesday July 17th 2019


Pisces (20/02-20/03)
Life is a roller coaster and, as you well know, last week was no exception for Piscerians. That is all.

Aries (21/03-19/04)
Myopia is synonymous with shortsightedness. Bears shit in the woods. So do Popes. Both are guilty of being unable to see the wood for the trees. My advice – be watchful of shit!

Taurus (20/04-20-05)
12 Fuck Off Lane




To whom it may concern, fuck-off!

If you need any other help, please contact me at the above address.

Sincerely, without ill-will

[bogus name of your choosing]

Send this ‘template letter’ to any government agency, bureaucratic organisation, or company that has “proper pissed you off” by sending you non-sensical or threatening ‘template letters’ in the past week.

Gemini (21/05-20/06)
See Cancer.

Cancer (21/06-22/07)
See Gemini.

Leo (23/07-22/08)
I eats shredded wheat – la, la, la, la!

Virgo (23/08-22/09)
What’s the most offensive thing you’ve ever heard Jim Davidson say? I heard it was when he interviewed Michael Watson the British boxer just three months after a career-ending world championship fight with Chris Eubank, which left him severely brained-damaged and in a wheel chair. Davidson apparently said, “Hello, I’m Jim Davidson…w’sup niggaaah?”

Libra (23/9-23/10)
You forgot to put the wheelie bins out last week, didn’t you Librans? Very silly. Now you will have to wait another two weeks for them to be emptied while the bin bags amass in your garden, slowing oozing an indescribably putrid goo.

Scorpio (24/10-21/11)
You know the Alanis Morrisett tune ‘Ironic’, which seems to sadly miss the point of irony? Well, last week you Scorpios had some real irony to contend with after meeting the man of your dreams at the annual knife-fight. It turns out that it was actually his sister you were speaking to – not his wife and apparently the opponent to whom you received a shock defeat is “quite well-know for having a massive fear of spoons”, not “well-known” enough obviously. Should have done your research. Here’s a link for future reference:*

Better luck next time.

Sagittarius (22/11-21/12)
Today’s moral question should be particularly pertinent for you Sagittarians. Here goes:-

Laughing at other people’s misfortune (often referred to as schadenfreude) is common to most humans, yet can cause much heartache and pain to those who are the ‘butt-of-the-joke’. So why when they cry does it just make that shit funnier?

Capricorn (22/12-19/1)
‘Your love of cats has gotten you into trouble before. For the love of dog, put the moggy down!’

I would hereby like to apologise – on behalf of the Citizen – to Janet Aversden of Shakespeare Road in Eaton Socon, St Neots. The excerpt (above) from last months ‘Lorryscope’ was not  intended in anyway to be taken as literal. It was meant as a joke. Obviously the death of a beloved pet is no laughing matter, but it was a genuine mistake. It was not proof-read by anyone.  I mean … Someone should have realised the double-entendre within this harmless prose and stopped me from publishing. I mean I can’t be expected to … to do … I mean … someone should have … DONT GET YOUR FUCKING PET PUT DOWN BY A FUCKING VET BECAUSE  A FUCKING HOROSCOPE TOLD YOU TO DO SO, YOU DOPEY, SENILE OLD BITCH! THAT’S NOT EVEN WHAT I MEANT WHEN I WROTE IT … AND I WAS DRUNK!!!! Seriously though, our deepest condolences for the loss of your beloved ‘Whiskey’.

Aquarius (20/01-19/02)
Money is a five letter word. It is more filthy than any four letter word I can think of. In other words Aquarius, there’s no need to feel bad for calling your Bank Manager a cunt last thursday.

*Benny T. Bean would like to thank Ed Byrne for the underlying premise of this joke. Also, he would like to add that the Citizen does not condone knife-fighting. We do, however, condone spoons. How else would we eat all the ice-cream?

Benny T. Bean

Benny T. Bean (of indeterminate age – so far carbon-dating has proved unreliable) began his formal education under the tutelage of Kirklawitz Munkapunk at the University of Firm Nudges, graduating in the summer of ’99 and receiving a doctorate in ‘Being quite good at writing ‘n’ that’.

Spending the next 11 years in an acid-haze (believing himself to be a tramp by the name of Grubby Pete), B.T.B. soon cleaned-up his act after a chance meeting with Francisco Sanchez. Sanchez immediately cognized Pete’s steaming, yellowed genius and sequestered his writing talents for the Citizen.


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