Oh no! It’s that time of year again!
Twenty four disappointing doors with lacklustre images or chocolate, much easier to line up twenty four bottles of wine for a much more fun start to the day. Tip :Don’t buy the new Downing Street calendar, there’s nothing behind any of the doors apart from a cock behind number ten.
Potatoes covered in glitter make ideal budget Christmas decorations with the added advantage that if your fairy lights cause a fire and destroys your tree you will have something warm to eat left in the ashes.
Avoid Carols at all times, I once new a Carol, she used to spontaneously burst into song every time somebody said ‘I love Carols’ until she was beaten to the floor by Carol Vorderman when she called her a consonant, vowel, consonant, consonant at a Countdown reunion.
Donner, Dasher, Dancer
No, not the reindeer’s from Santa’s sleigh but the feelings you go through on Christmas day.
Donner – The regretful Christmas Day morning when the kebab from the night before still lingers on your stomach only to be added to by a ‘hearty’ breakfast followed by enough calorie and rich food to sink a battleship.
Dasher – Your stomach gives one small warning before you realise your seriously distended stomach urgently needs the use of a bathroom. You dash to the nearest loo scattering relatives and toys as you go before dropping on the porcelain so hard it imprints a ring on the backs of your legs. Your family is then forced to turn up the television sound to mask the grunts, groans and water splashes which finally end with the appearance of a large giraffe, the one you have been waiting for that looks around the back of the u-bend before you have said goodbye to it.
Irritating little idiots with suggestive curly shoes that populate shopping centres looking bored, hateful and downright miserable who can often be seen doing various un-elf like things with bells. I once saw one smoking, I told him it was bad for his elf. He wished me a Merry Christmas using only two fingers.
Valium and wine.
Children shouting and answering back,
With dad on the beer and mum on the wine.
Christmas magic soon loses it’s shine.
Little Pencils – Ikea
Tape Measure – Ikea
Little Pens – Argos
A Nice Perfume Called ‘Sample’ – Most Department Stores
Wooden Forks – Fish’n’Chip Shop
Napkins – McDonalds
Only shout this out if you are dressed as Santa unless you wish to be kicked senseless.
Holly Willoughby, gone, but not Fearne Cotton.
Strange fictional battle axe from ancient Coronation Street episodes, if you find any growing in your garden immediately call Don Brennon who will call round with Gail Tisley (Platt) to remove her.
Batman smells, Robin flew away.
You know the song but do you know the second verse?
“Hither page and stand by me,
If thou know’st it, telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?”
“Sire, he lives a good league hence.
Underneath the mountain;
Right against the forest fence,
By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”
Try singing THAT when your drunk! Anyway, what’s with all the dialogue, the blokes freezing his nuts off and some random King barges in to get directions from a peasant Sat-Nav.
‘Oh, yes gov’nr, under the mountain, through the forest and right at the fence, then look out for Saint Agnes fountain’, ‘Will I be there then Mr Peasant man?’, ‘No sire, you will be back here and then you can ask someone else.’
‘Arse, gather your own bloody wood’
Little Drummer Boy
Pa rum pum pum pum. You now have this lodged in your head until bedtime.
The result of eating too many cocktail sausages and Christmas pudding. ‘Did you really eat all that?’, ‘Yes, I’m off to make mincemeat, I may be sometime, do you have any reading material?’