- Holidays and Celebrations
Why I Detest Christmas!
It's Money, Honey, My Little Sonny!
"Witness the Red-Nosed Brain-Dead!"
Where do I start? There are so many reasons I dislike this yearly nonsense that has me spending money I don't want to spend; watching crap on TV I don't want to watch (There's nothing else on); having to look positive and optimistic when replying to a lot of twits who say, "What are you doing for Christmas,?" ("I'm spending the week in Puerto Vallarta, what are you doing?"). Not really - I wish - but it shuts them up and allows them to hate me with only the bitter envy the British are capable of. Well, what do you expect me to say? "With luck, I'll get up and have a good crap, then feed the budgies and change the crappy paper in their cage; make some baked beans on toast because the eggs will be out by then - then look out of the window into downtown -------where all the shops are shut and shuttered and wish I was in Puerto Vallarta!"
Does anyone without half a bottle of Scotch in them really like this silly crap? (Good word, "crap," we all know what it means and it gets past the censors, whereas s---t sometimes doesn't. Google will often leap astride its moral high horse at too much swearing and primly withhold ads from the article. They don't curse on "youporn," just moan, scream and grunt...with the occasional “F--k me!“ thrown in....and they have lootttts of ads!)
Re the week in Puerto Vallarta. Well, I would have gone, actually. Not to Vallarta, but to La Paz in Baja Sur. But sagely (I do sageability well at my age, as well as invent new words). I had anticipated British travel conditions this season after watching it all unfold last year. The lines of unhappy travellers at Heathrow after 3 centimetres of snow had all the runways closed again and suspended all flights. The huddles of misery under blankets and coats in doorways and under seats, (looked just like downtown Detroit when the soup-kitchens were closed). No, the UK government can't interfere, it's foreign owned tha knows. Not that this lot of "-------" (rhymes with bankers) would have done anything anyway. The queues of hapless poor stretching half way around central London waiting to get on a Eurorail train to the continent, (where it's just as bad but things keep functioning). I expect they were consoled by hearing the station's tannoy reminding of happier dreamers of celebrations white. (If I hear “Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer” again while I’m in Tesco, I promise to run amok)
Of course, I could have snicked my jeep into four-wheel-drive and safely hared-off to...to where? To the British coast at Christmas time!? I would sooner hang my balls in the budgie cage and let them take it out on the bloody jailer who kidnapped them from Aussie skies and imprisoned them here!! They hate Christmas, too, since they found out the local pet shop was out of millet. And what about the price of petrol? (say “petrol” cousins, “gas” is too misleading).
I could go to Central London and join the happy throng of pickpocketing asylum-seekers and all the rest who just belong in an asylum. If you have ever attempted to circumnavigate Oxford Street in Christmas week, you would leave the British Isles out of your travel plans for life! Just crossing the road comes under the heading of extreme sports and getting a shop assistant’s help qualifies you to instant membership of Mensa, (though being there would cancel it). I have a particualrly horny friend who said he has got laid just pressing through the throngs at Tottenham Court Road. Well? I did it once on the Mexico City metro line...I couldn’t ecape! (true!).
Don't you secretly hate having to buy presents for an ex. partner's kids? OK, it wasn't their fault you broke up and they still speak to you if you pass on the street. But bugger this slipping ten quid each in an envelope every birthday and Christmas; especially when you know it should be twenty or more due to inflation. Then there's chocolates for the ex., 'cause you're still friends and get the occasionally shag when her old man's too tired to perform. No, it's not enough and a little herky-jerky with youporn is quite sufficient these days.
Isn't it peculiar that all the people who you hardly know up and send you nasty little 4-inch square, religious Christmas cards? Maybe I'm in the wrong time-warp here, I don't want anyone thinking I am some sort of curmudgeon! I never send them any and sneer at them in self-defence well into February. If I win the lottery, I'll but every man-jack of 'em a trip to Puerto Vallarta just to make sure they employ British resentment towards me. ("I bet he only did it to write it off his taxes!"). Whatever minor success you have in Britian, the citizenry will be envious and wish you ill...it’s true! (He said he managed a really good crap this morning, I bet it was just a bloody fart!)
I can’t remember when I ever had a good Christmas. Even as a kid I hated it, despite all the food; the 20-pound turkey and all the rest at Gran’s house. Christmas lasted until about 2pm when the adults were pissed and full and went to bed for about 4 hours. I was left there stuffing my face with nuts, my one rationed glass of ginger wine curdling with the Christmas pud., and bored out of my mind...the joys of the only child! I will never forget the silence broken only by the forbidding sound of the old grandfather clock. “stick, stock...whirrrrrr... ding dong ding ding, dung dong dung dong ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR...crap, are these old bastards still asleep...I think I’ll play with these crackers by the fire... Grandpa! THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!! That was the last time we went there for Christmas.
I guess I need a visitation from ghosts of past, present and future Christmases...might take my mind off youporn!
HAVE A MISERABLE TIME ALL OF YOU HUBBERS! HUMBUG!!!