Sorry, Mr Fatuous is on his Work’s Christmas Do at the moment. If you’d like to leave a message he’ll get back to you as soon as he can.
Sunday probably.
He’s not as young as he used to be.
Sorry, Mr Fatuous is on his Work’s Christmas Do at the moment. If you’d like to leave a message he’ll get back to you as soon as he can.
Sunday probably.
He’s not as young as he used to be.
If there is one thing writing this set of advent posts has taught me, it’s that there is no limit to the number of times I can type Chrsitmas rather than Christmas.
Update 1219D*
SNTA broke contact. NFTR.
***Event closed 1219D*
Who decided that “carrot and stick” was a good way to represent reward and punishment? Even in deepest, darkest Soviet Russia a carrot wouldn’t be seen as a very good reward. It’s only a tiny step up from a “non-stick and stick” reward.
Surely “nice chocolate cake and gun” would be better or to take it to it’s extreme, “a gazillion quid and death by tiny, horny sharks with STDs”.
Wait, it’s erm, an advent post, erm… What about a “hand wrapped gold bar and tinsel covered stick up the arse” situation, would that do?
Oi Jona Lewie, fuck off out of my head.
I love Christmas movies. Not watching them you understand, oh no.
I like to paw through the one copy of the Radio Times I buy a year. I then carefully study the film schedules to pick out the choicest films and set the PVR to record them. In the old days it required a bank of video cassettes but the results were the same. At the end of Christmas I’d have between five and ten films.
Then a year later I’d delete said films as I hadn’t bothered watching them in the whole year but needed to free up space for this years films.
To the girlfriend of the gentlemen I saw today, nothing says I love you like running out of a chemists as fast as you can with with a stolen shower gel gift set under your arm. You lucky, lucky girl. I hope he stole decent wrapping paper to wrap your gift in.
I have a chocolate advent calendar, so does my son. Mine has Homer Simpson on it, his has Winnie the Pooh. I’m 38 years older than he is. Yet somehow the designers of the advent calendars decided that our numbers should be in the same place and contain the exact same chocolates.
Today we both had what I think was an owl. It was equally deformed in each calendar.
As calendars go it’s almost as shoddy as this. Almost.
The lovely Mrs Fatuous bought me an early Christmas present, Sainsbury’s Mulberry Spice bleach. It’s part of their seasonal scents range.
I don’t know about you but, when I think chemically stripping faecal matter from a toilet, I think Christmas.
I haven’t been able to get a crappy advent calendar again this year due to a stupid illness that has left me with a face off of George Romero’s prop department, blinding headaches, the inability to look at computer screen for more than 10 minutes and bowel movements that can best be described as vociferous.
It looks like year will be more hasty tat thrown together at the last second. I’m working under the assumption that rock stars write their best stuff on drugs and that as I’m on five prescription drugs the gold will just flow out. I’m not sure Lennon wrote “I am the walrus” clutching his head and pebble-dashing the toilet. Still, I never shacked up with Yoko Ono, swings and roundabouts.
Today’s (yesterdays technically) advent treat was supposed to be a drawing but it was shocking bad as were the next six or so. You’ll just have to make do with this rambling nonsense instead.
I’m off to bed now and I’ve just eaten a cashew nut. What sort of drug crazed loon eats a slow release energy food just before bedtime?