’twas the run up to Christmas

Bad Santa

’twas the run up to Christmas and, lo and behold,
thousands of folks trudging out in the cold.
Their hands and feet frozen, the wind in their eyes.
they scrambled to get to the last few Mince Pies

The slow and infirm were trampled in the scuffle
to get to the last box of cheap Belgian truffles
While countless poor souls were lost in the fight
for a bottle of wine, to toast Christmas night.

Suddenly, the crowd spun around with a yell
and charged all at once, like a pack out of Hell.
They bashed and they battered, they pushed and they shoved
For word had got out, “M&S!” “Sale on gloves!”

“My granny would love them”,”Forget her, their mine!”
“LET ME THROUGH, LET ME THROUGH!”,”OI! Back of the line!”
From my vantage point, by a display of ties,
I witnessed the horror with my very own eyes

As each shopper vied for a place in the queue
A little old lady hobbled into view.
I cried out a warning but alas, she heard not
and was trampled to naught but a small, greasy spot

Now dashing and darting, now punching and kicking
Biting and gouging, eye poking, ear flicking
I saw one woman wield a small boy, like a club
and I watched as the poor lad started to blub

So, ’twas a mercy, when she swung with such might
that he slipped from her hands and flew out of sight
(He was found, safe and sound, some thirteen days later
in a display of cardigans, near the escalator)

Without her weapon, she was soon overcome
By a tag teaming granny and stay-at-home mum
With a zimmer frame shot to the side of the head
and a kick to the ribs, they left her for dead

They fought tooth and nail over jackets and sweaters
to answer the wishes of loved ones Christmas letters
While, in the background, the Christmas muzak plays
the same track repeated for twenty-odd days.

Son against daughter, father against mother
they beat seven Jingle bells out of each other
charging through the store like stampeding cattle
soon, the shop Santa was drawn into the battle.

He leapt from his stage, with a blood curdling yell
and upon the crowd of naughty shop-goers he fell.
He had such broad shoulders, with arms like two trees
and a right hook which would bring a Clydesdale to it’s knees

A fearsome sight in his suit of bright red
he hoisted one old dear right over his head
and with a dark chuckle, brought her down through a stack
of cut price DVD’s, snapping her back.

At the sickening crunch, the shoppers took pause
such was the wrath of this store Santa Claus.
“YOU’VE ALL BEEN NAUGHTY AND NOW YOU’RE ON MY LIST!”
They could tell without doubt, Kris Kringle was pissed…

And so, boys and girls, the moral of our story
is to be kind to others, or face an ending most gory.
And I heard Santa roar, as I ran for my life
SOD IT, NEXT YEAR I’LL STAY HOME WITH THE WIFE

Merry Christmas everyone.

Merry F@#&ing Christmas!

It’s the 1st of December, folks and you know what that means. The countdown has officially begun!

Having said that, my countdown started a wee while ago. We put the tree up last weekend, we went to an incredible, local Christmas market, we’ve worked our way through the first few DVDs on the Christmas movie shelf (oh yes, I have a whole shelf) and we’ve eaten that many mince pies that my last shite was shortcrust.

Of course, I understand that some of you aren’t quite as nutty about  Noël as I am. You’re tired of the over-commercialisation, you’re exhausted by the stresses and strains of preparing for the big, family celebration or you’re just allergic to dates. That’s fair enough. You know what’s NOT fair enough? Telling me not to enjoy Christmas because you’re a miserable bastard.

Actually, no. It’s fine. Moan and piss and whine and whinge all you like. If that’s part of your holiday tradition, then fill your boots, i’ll stick to warming my chestnuts in front of the Birchwood Log Fire on Netflix.

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All I ask is that when I tell you that I love Christmas, that i’ve been looking forward to it all year and that given the current tattered mess that is my mind, I am really in need of some holly, jolly times, you have the decency to grudgingly mutter “each to their own” and go about your business of shitting all over someone else’s good times. Whatever, I guess.

I think what makes me sad is that sometimes it seems that people don’t enjoy Christmas because they’re doing it wrong, to be honest. Take this over-commercialised business, for example. We live in a consumer driven society and Christmas has, admittedly, become a big part of that. Doesn’t make it a bad thing though, does it? We all like stuff and at Christmas we can give and get stuff. Stuff is fun.

Doesn’t have to be that way, though. I was up until 5am for the past two nights hand drawing and colouring and cutting out 24 little Christmas parcels and 24 baubles. I wrote a bunch of fun activities on the parcels and little love notes and treats on the baubles, then I blu-taced them up on the wall for Marital Unit and the Child Units to discover this morning. Quick, easy advent calendar that would have Kirsty Allsop shitting herself with envy and it cost the price of four or five sheets of card.

We watch old Christmas movies, cuddle up on the couch and drink hot chocolate. We draw Christmas pictures together and put them up as a window display in the lounge. We drive through town to see all of the Christmas lights, not just the display put on by the town itself but the lights in the houses. It’s old fashioned fun and it’s like a soothing balm for the soul, assuming you believe that you’ve got one. I sold mine for a beer about 14 years ago, but if I hadn’t of done that, it would be soothed.

We do hit the shops, though. Marital Unit and I spent an entire day being pushed and shoved around a shopping centre a few weeks back, to hunt down gifts and grab little treats and oddities which make Christmas a bit more special. We’re not rolling in cash, but if we can spoil the kids a little, we will. We also work hard to make our children understand time spent with family is the best thing about Christmas and that whatever gift you get is wonderful, whether it’s an expensive gadget or a box of sweeties.

They believe it, too. Last year the kids got tablets from Santa. They were thrilled, of course. They were just as thrilled with getting a pair of fluffy, Rudolph socks each.

As for stress, yeah. Yup, can’t argue that. There’s tons to do, between shopping (again, if you do any) and cooking and cleaning and oh wait bugger me it’s not that different to any other day. Seriously, stress is always there, gnawing at you. That’s my life, anyway. It’s amazing though, that come Christmas morning when the Child Units see the crumbs left behind by Santa (sloppy eater, might leave out a bib this year) and we tuck into our traditional breakfast (croissants. What? I’m allowed SOME luxuries in life) and then yes, we open pressies…it’s worth it.  We laugh together, play with their toys, listen to Christmas songs while we get ready to go visit family and if theirs snow then you can bet your frozen ass that we’ll be building a snowman and we’ll take a nauseatingly adorable Christmas photo where we’re posing with him like he’s a real person.

Ah whatever, folks. I’m not arsed how you do or don’t do Christmas. I just hate to see people being miserable when it seems like they might enjoy themselves if they removed the industrial size stick from their puckered anus. Not my lookout, though. As Scrooge said, “keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine” and we’ll all get along like a snow-covered, country cottage on fire.

Merry fucking Christmas.

I Want To Be The Very Best (And Screw You If You Have A Problem With That)

There’s a whole lot of you who are ragging on Pokemon Go. To those who’ve posted negative comments regarding this innovative and entertaining game, I have one question.

What’s your fucking problem?

Pokemon Go is a lot of fun. It’s getting people out and about, it’s helping people meet, it’s…it just is what it is. If you don’t fancy playing, then that’s fine, but why do you feel the need to rag on people who do?

There are tons of things that you all get up to which make no sense to me. For example…

I do not understand why people post pictures of their meals. A lot of the time, I don’t even care whether or not you’re taking in sufficient sustenance so I sure as several shades of sloppy shite don’t give a damn what said sustenance looks like.

I don’t get people who dress up their pets. Dogs have fur. That is perfectly adequate. They don’t need a sodding romper suit or top and tails and I sure as hell don’t need to see it.

I really cannot understand people who waste any of their precious hours on this planet watching trash like X-Factor, I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Here, The Only Way Is Essex or anything with that prick Keith Lemon in it.

These are things that you, the general (mostly Facebooking) public enjoy and I leave you all to it. I might make a jibe, I might rant for comedic effect, but you’ll never see me post anything like the crap i’ve been subjected to of late.

“HAHAHAHA! Playing Pokemon is lame! You’re lame! Be an adult like me! Do adult things. I’m going to go for a run because moving quickly makes me a better person than you and then i’m going to drink six litres of wine and watch some pricks from Chelsea talk about their sparkly vaginas, or something”

Piss off. I don’t want to do that. I want to get out there, find myself a Pikachu and ruin the Yellow gym that I think has popped up near Tesco.

I love Pokemon and the idea of being able to hunt them for real, so to speak, thrills me. It’s something that I can do with the kids, too. A fun activity to enjoy together.

I’ve read accounts of people meeting through Pokemon, making friends, having great fun. I read about one woman who was moved to tears by the impact the game has had on her son, a young, autistic lad who broke from his routine and interacted with people in a way that was completely new to him. I saw a brilliant post on Facebook suggesting that people cast spare Pokemon lures at children’s hospitals, so that the children stuck on the wards can play and have a smile now and again. I ask you, you whining bunch of joyless goits, what’s wrong with that?

Say you don’t understand the appeal, fine. Have a bit of a pop for a laugh, fair play. Direct actual misery and hate towards something which just doesn’t deserve it in any way, shape or form? You’re probably a bastard.

Letter Of Resignation

As resignations seem to be the theme of the day…
Dear Humanity,  It is with a heavy heart that I am writing to you to resign from the human race.

Dear Humanity

It is with a heavy heart that I am writing to you to resign from the human race.

As humanity is day by day proving itself to be a an unending shower of bastards, I have decided to stand alone under my banner of non-corporeal, malevolent entity. The fleshbag that currently acts as Host Body is inconsequential as he belongs to a race which doesn’t deserve the ball of miracles on which it resides.

You’ve done some good things, humans. Medical advances, moments of dazzlingly beautiful love and acceptance, cake. None of it changes the fact that day by day you sadden me with your constant attempts to destroy yourselves.

You rail against one another because of race, colour, religion, sexual orientation. You invented the concept of time and then waste that time on hatred. You broadcast I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. Seriously, you send a bunch of Z-listers to a jungle and watch them eat scorpions and wipe their arse with poison ivy and call it entertainment. It’s a shame the dinosaurs didn’t last longer because most of you could do with a bloody good devouring.

This morning, I skipped through countless images of captured tweets and Facebook statuses, all of them recounting truly horrible stories of racist attacks on the streets of the United Kingdom (a name dripping with irony), all undeniably linked to the recent Brexit vote.

The entire Brexit situation is a point against the human race anyway, given the constant showers of shit from both sides of the argument, not to mention the fact that the word Brexit sounds like a shitty breakfast biscuit bar.

It doesn’t matter whether you voted Leave or Remain. Not at this particular moment in time. What matters is that we took what should have been a simple, democratic process and turned it into a slanging match. Not all Leave voters are racists. Of course they’re not. Sadly, the success of the Leave vote has given the racists a confidence boost. 

It’s all fucked and I want no part of it, so i’m stepping down. No more humaning for me.

Yours, angrily
Al. X

 

Dads Can Do Shit Too

Look at the state of this….

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“Hey kids, your mum cooks right? Bet your dad doesn’t? Bet he sits on his ass looking like a crap, Rab C. Nesbitt tribute act, huh? Eating pizza, drinking beer and failing, because he’s a dad and not a mum? Dads are shit! SHIT! DADS SUCK BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO VAGINAS!”

I may be a tad oversensitive about this issue, but it really bugs me. I hate people asking if i’m “babysitting” my own children. I hate people saying things like “I’m sure Mummy can fix that for you” when i’m sat with the children and she’s out changing the oil in the car.

I once, while out and about with my brood, genuinely heard an old woman in a bus queue say “I expect it’s takeaway tonight then!” when The Short Ones told them they were having a daddy day as mummy was working. I took great pleasure in telling this octogenarian arsewit that we were headed to the shops whilst out to pick up some nice prosciutto to pep up the lasagne I was making.  I honestly don’t think she believed me.

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As a man, i’ll never be able to appreciate what it’s like to live in a society which has for years been dominated by my gender, at the expense of female rights. I won’t argue with that. I will say though that on this subject, the great sexism pendulum has swung toward men and stuck there.

That said, the main reason we papas are constantly told how shit we are is because we live in a world where we’re expected to be out winning bread. I’m not sure where one wins bread, if i’m honest. Maybe a really shit village fete?  I digress…

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The point is, world, that Dads can do shit too. Marital Unit, bloody wonder that she is, set off for work at half seven today. She’s a nurse, so she is out there right now, caring for the sick, being amazing. While she does that, i’ll be home. I’ll tidy the kids rooms, with their involvement because I believe in teaching them to keep their own shit together, of course. I’ve already made them breakfast, they’ll have a nice, healthy lunch later and then I might take them out for tea. We’ll head to town on the bus, grab a bite and then go watch guys in costumes beat piss out of each other at the cinema, because my kids have been raised to know the difference between reality and fiction and Captain America: Civil War is in town and looks incredible.

I’ll parent the shit out of today and i’ll do all of it while being a big, useless, penis-having dad, ’cause #DadsCanDoShitToo.