It’s nearly that time of year again, when junior whines, and the credit cards flex a little too much, and everyone is around the tree likes pigs at a trough first thing in the morning…
Myself, I shall have a nice roast chicken dinner, and play with my book token from Mother, and drink a few beers, and fart Old Lang Syne ready for the week after when friends come over, and we let off fireworks by the lake and frighten the fuck out the ducks. No, it’s not cruel. The little feathered bastards keep me awake half the year shagging themselves silly out the back at 3am. I’m just getting my own back. One Christmas I’m gonna bag me one though, and it’s gonna be in that oven with an orange up its ass faster than a bat out of hell.
Anyway, stop reading this drivel and go wrap up some present or write some cards. No, don’t buy the Crimbo booze yet, or you’ll have drunk it all before the big day, you pisshead.
