Terrorists, financial meltdown, still no flying cars or robot butlers.
Poor little Sally, she fell off a building onto heroin syringes whilst rescuing her little sister from a gang of Columbian drug lords armed with chainsaws.
Her legs crushed, arms brittle twigs, blind and forced to breathe through a machine, every day is a terrible struggle.
And then to make things worse along came Noel Edmonds, looming over her, drenching her in saccharine.
Merry Christmas little Timmy, Merry Christmas everyone*
* Even Noel**
** but mainly for swap shop***
*** and that was mainly for the dinosaur****
**** and Cheggars
Did you see Never Mock the Cats of the Year Quiz last night?
In the bad old days when dinosaurs roamed the earth if you missed one of the many Christmas treats that was it, you were fucked. You studied the Radio Times like it was a sacred text, scared of missing a vital program or film you wanted to watch. Fights broke out if two shows clashed (and it was really only two shows that could ever clash.) I was once allowed to stay up way past my bedtime one Christmas eve to catch the Kenny Everett Christmas Special. I could of course pretend it was Hot Gossip I was interested in but in reality I was more eager to see Captain Kremmen or maybe watch Tony Blackburn humiliated.
Now if you manage to miss a program when it’s shown on BBC 1, repeated on BBC 3 six times, a further 4 times with signing for the deaf, fail to Sky+ it and forget about iplayer then you my friend are a tool of the highest order.
As I dropped the kids off at the pool I noticed my wife had bought some Christmas toilet paper.
I wonder if real penguins are as soft and absorbent?
Do you remember your first deodorant? It doesn’t matter if you don’t because if you were a boy it was probably Lynx. Either that or you are too old and you just used soap and water. There’s also a tiny chance you hit puberty in the two week window when insignia was popular but it’s a fairly safe bet it was Lynx.
The hormone addled you would spray every nook and cranny hoping to
a) Mask the teenage funk that oozed out of every pore.
b) Impress the girls
Lynx failed in both regards as it was useless. An hour after using it the smell had completely gone and teenage odour resumed. This was genius as Lynx was all you knew so instead of trying something else you just kept applying it throughout the day. Then as soon as you hit your twenties you discover right-guard or one of the other antiperspirants that actually work and Lynx is no more.
Of course your family never realise this and you are doomed to get a gift box of Lynx goodies every Christmas. The deodorant is either shoved in a gym bag or used as an air freshener in the toilet. You try and use the shower gel and quickly remember that unlike every other shower gel in the world, even the cheapest, don’t suffer the same flaw as Lynx shower gel.
The flaw both makes sure you buy more Lynx than you need and also helps teenage boys by reminding them of a certain part of their teenage bodies.
If you even so much a look at it funny then stuff start glooping out of the end. Touch it and it ends up all over the floor.
Will it snow this year the bookies ponder?
No, no it won’t.
There’s easy listening then there’s comatose listening. Christmas time is Foster and Allen time.
What do Foster and Allen do for the rest of the year?
I reckon they are held in stasis until next Christmas when they are wheeled out again to wander fields singing folk dirge.
Another day closer to the day each year when the telly bosses throw in the white towel and admit they have been sitting on their arses for another year and still haven’t found any better family entertainment than Shirley Bassey getting her foot stuck in a step and having to wear a boot.
That and Andre Preview.
It’s round about now that the vicars start appearing on “Thought for the day” bleating on about how in todays consumer culture we should remember Jesus and the true meaning of Christmas.
Funny they never mention the true meaning was closer to a load of naked pagans rolling around in mud to give thanks to some earth goddess for not letting them starve during the winter months.
That they stole.
And now Coca Cola has stolen it from them.
Cry me a river.
Another Doris of far too high a quality. Have proper Doris cards gone the way of flimsy card advent calendars?