Here's the place for your Festive Funnies...... MERRY BLOODY CHRISTMAS!!! "Sorry, I wasn't going to do this again this year - I made a real effort to adopt a cheery Christmas happy-head, but a trip into town led me into Scroogality once more. Why do so many people feel they have to do certain things at Christmas "just because we've always done it that way"? I am NOT talking about nice family traditions that provide a welcome link and joyful memories of times and people gone by; rather the pointless little things that no-one actually likes but get churned out year after year after bleedin' year. Dates: a compressed box of candied cockroaches that sit on the sideboard or coffee table and no-one eats and the dog swallows the little plastic dagger that is superglued onto the box by a sugar/epoxy amalgam. Dates (fresh dates) are sublime and are available year-round. Try them, eat them, but spare me from the sticky squished sable turds. Nuts: A bowl of nuts and a comedy nutcracker. No-one likes them but there is an obligation to try them and kernel-shrapnel flies everywhere, piercing arteries and blinding pets, and Great Uncle Vern gets a hernia trying to break a Brazil nut Christmas Pudding: The heaviest duff possible after the biggest meal of the year. Which genius came up with that combination? Setting fire to it doesn't make it any more acceptable, especially when you use industrial-strength brandy Turkey: A vast bird that no-one cooks properly, meaning I get offered the appetising choice of stringy cardboard or a moist bloodbath. Seriously, you do NOT need to cook something that could have carried off Sinbad when alive. Sprouts: 4 minutes, not 4 hours. Nuff said Quality Street: After 37 minutes there will be the flat gold discs and the brown oblongs left. Buy Cadbury Roses Mulled Wine: If the bottle of Latvian shiraz is rubbish to begin with, boiling it with pot-pourri is not going to make it drinkable. I'd rather have a glass of hot Um-bongo Presents for middle-aged men: We have enough ties, socks, books of golf jokes. Buy us booze. Christmas episodes of soap operas: Death is stalking the Street/Square - we get it! The latest James Bond film: Daniel Craig is NOT Sean Connery and never will be. He is not even Timothy Dalton Midnight Mass: Who the hell is that in MY pew? Christmas cards from people in the house: Could you not just have said "Happy Christmas" to me and added the £2.85 you spent on the card to my present? (booze, remember, not socks) Cheese and biscuits: Wensleydale with fruitgums in it is unacceptable. And please put out digestives to have with the Stilton Paper hats in crackers: Size 8 heads exist - make the hats big and they can be made smaller - they can't be larger. A rip up the back and they will fall off into my gravy. Dammit. Pictionary: Draw it properly in the first place. Repeatedly tapping your vague sausage shaped squiggle with two triangles coming out one end does NOT make it any clearer. Nor will repeatedly drawing a circle around it. And don't chew the pen - we're all sharing that. Relatives: I don't know Uncle Magog and Auntie Syph, never met them, don't care about them, refuse to be bothered about who was their daughter's bridesmaid. Questions: Yes I want another drink - I always want another drink. If you wake me up at 4:37am the answer will be yes. No - I don't WANT to take the rubbish out. I will do it. I won't like doing it. There are doubtless more . . . "
Oh dear! Maestro, you make Scrooge appear to be a saint! I have to say though, I agree 100% with every single one of your moans!
Twas the night before Christmas, Old Santa was pissed. He cussed out the elves and threw down his list. Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks. I have a good mind to scrap the whole works. I've busted my ass for damn near a year instead of "Thanks Santa", what do I hear? The old lady bitches cause I work late at night ... The elves want more money, the reindeer all fight. Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids, Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS. And just when I thought that things would get better, the assholes from the IRS sent me a letter. They say I owe taxes- if that ain't damn funny, Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus money? And the kids these days, they are all the pits. They want the impossible, those mean little ****s. I spent the whole year making wagons and sleds, assembling dolls... their arms, legs and heads. I made a ton of yo-yo's no request for them, they want computers and robots, they think I'm IBM. If you think that's bad, just picture this, try holding these brats with their pants full of piss. They pull on my nose, they grab at my beard and if I don't smile the parents think that I'm weird. Flying through the air dodging the trees, falling down chimneys and skinning my knees. I'm quitting this job, there's just no enjoyment I'll sit on my ass and collect unemployment. There's no Christmas this year and you know the reason. I found me a blonde and I'm going South for the season.
I wrapped all the presents last night, the missus was watching the final of Masterchef (£180 for a tea plate of Lark Spit infused with Deadly Night Shade on a bed of Yak Turd). Bugger me, there must be a rainforest missing in South America after that. We won't get them much this year she says. Jeez, I've got to use ParcelMonkey just to deliver the local ones!
Ah yes, I remember Christmas, an ´English` Christmas that is, but now you see we do things slightly differently over here, or at least the Danes do. Firstly, they just can´t wait until Christmas Day to celebrate the festivities, so come Christmas Eve round about 6 ish, the whole family is assembled ready to guzzle their way through another large fowl, normally goose. After which the compulsory dancing (not to be taken at its face value, more like staggering) and singing (also taken with a pinch of salt) around the Christmas tree takes place. Then and only then do the kids, who, if they haven´t fallen asleep already, are just about to, get their presents. General pandemonium then reigns for several hours, well into the night, while the rest of the presents are distributed, and on into Christmas morning, although by that time no-on really notices that the 24th has become the 25th. Christmas Day itself is a sort of massive recovery day, sleeping off the exertions of the Eve before, and the normal plan is to manage to heave yourself out of bed for the traditional cold table, served up at 1 or 2´ish, naturally (we are in Denmark) with lashings of beer and snaps. After three or more hours or so of this, another siesta is required, which brings one handily round to Boxing Day, or, as we say here `Second Christmas Day`, in fact we have a ´Third Christmas Day` as well. Perhaps because Christmas Day itself is a sort of afterthought, they felt the need to have more than one of them Incidentally we have a worthy opponent for the traditional Christmas pud, it´s called ´Ris á la mande´ and believe me, if any of you are ever over here for Christmas, stay well clear of this delicacy. It´s a sort of rice pudding/almond concoction with extras, not considered proper, unless served in the largest possible receptacle, and certainly severly frowned upon if not entirely eaten up to the last bite. Being the traditionalists that we are, the wife and I still celebrate in the ´English` manner, preparing and enjoying ours while everyone else is asleep.
xmas adverts for the Supermarkets / department stores should be banned, half of them have cheesier than a wensleydale cremary. really, no need it won't make us shop at your store. i like maestros idea of getting booze for Xmas instead of socks or ties. I got a nice mailshot in the post from Woodfordes yesterday, i demipin of one of those wouldn't go amiss
Christmas adverts are fine, but christmas adverts before December should definitely be banned. I also hate the fact that they stop selling birthday cards and birthday wrapping paper around early November. It's like they think people stop having birthdays for about 2 months. It also makes it a pain in the arse when wrapping birthday presents!
