Well, it's official. It's the first of December and I'll bet you haven't even worked out what you're meant to be taking to family christmas, let alone matched your serviettes with your napkin rings. Shame on you, you lazy scum, you.
I'm smarmy because I know exactly what I'm taking to christmas lunch. I also know what presents I'm getting for anyone I give a shit about. Well, except for Vomit Girl & Krus, but Krus is a cunt anyway. We can just give him a kick in the pants. Hahaha, no - just kidding Krustacean. You're not a cunt, and we have a much better gift for you than that. Two kicks in the pants! Yes!
But back to the matter at hand. Christmas! We're being positively domestic about it this year, somewhat helped by us actually having enough money to eat and buy gifts, which is a welcome change from last years festive hell where we were accepting donations of bags of rice and leftover brandy from friends, family and neighbours. VG bought up the topic of having a christmas tree, but considering our cat (Sir Guinness Catting Hornswaggle -Knight errant and man about the town, as reported by Fandango) is both retarded and a speed freak, and that we have a Kipper in the house, we decided that six-foot pine really wasn't such a good idea. I mean, we'd no doubt come home to find the cat halfway up the tree and Kipper trying to manifest a ladder from her laptop or something - not that it couldn't work, Kipper... it might just take a little longer than conventional methods. So we bought a palm tree instead, and I have to say it looks pretty awesome. Not as awesome it'll look when we cover it in lights and ornaments, but you get the idea.
I rang up my father and told him about it. He was noticeably silent for a moment, before asking me if I was serious. I thought this was a bit rich, given the day he moved to Queensland, he moved into the first house he could find in a palm lined street, and promptly started planting pineapples in the backyard. Still, I guess it's better than the pastimes of other local Caboolturians... like being professional redneck fucks - OH MY GOD! IT'S AN ABORIGINAL! QUICK! THEY'RE TRYING TO STEAL THE CAR! SEE? THEY'RE WALKING PAST WITH THEIR THIEVY FACES! WE NEED TO GET HOME RIGHT NOW! OUR HOUSE WILL HAVE BEEN BROKEN INTO! JESUS!!! DON'T LOOK INTO THEIR EYES, YOU FOOL!
Annnnnyway. Christmas. Candy canes, painful relatives, elves and all that sort of shit. We have our palm tree, we've gone on our christmas shopping expeditions - the first three of which we bought multiple presents for ourselves and none for anyone else - and we stocked up on wine and beer. A week later we stocked up on it again. Anyhow - here we are, all set, and me with my plans of grandeur for Christmas Lunch. This is not to be confused with Christmas Dinner - a completely different family based holiday-torture fest. You see, my mother - a vegetarian... Yes, one of those - refuses to attend family christmas on the grounds that we eat meat. Which means that after gorging myself on at least three varieties of roasted animals, a good dozen prawns, a bottle of champagne, about half a case of beer and a ham on a 35 degree day, we toddle around to my Mothers where we dine on at least three varieties of roasted tofu, an ovenful of burnt baked potatoes, and a yorkshire pudding that could chew your face off. Oh, and a few more bottles of champagne.
We are of course expected to contribute to the foodstores of both of these events, and boy, do I have plans. It is for Christmas Lunch that I hold the grandest of these schemes. First, I will bake a lasagne. Then, I will cut it into little squares. I will then flour and crumb said squares, and then, I will deep fry it. I plan to serve each piece with a little coloured toothpick stuck in the top, and leave a label marked 'hors deouves' on the side of the serving platter. I'm expecting it to be a roaring success, soon to be followed by Fandango's and my 'deep fried curry balls' for Christmas Dinner at my mothers house.
What I haven't done, however, is consider for just one fucking millisecond mailing out bastard christmas cards. It's not some sort of environmentalist stand or any of that bullshit, no. It's a protest against the outright shittiness of greeting cards these days. I come from the school of thought that if an item cannot be bought in either Safeways or the food section at Myers, then I really couldn't be arsed with it. Now, given that Myers don't giftwrap pies, this pretty much leaves me with Safeways in the realm of greeting card purchases, which admittedly, I don't purchase often at all. My general rule of thumb is that I buy greeting cards for people I hate, yet feel obliged to communicate with, and, people I like a lot and think I should write on a card for, because again, I feel obliged to. Last weekend, we needed to purchase two birthday cards - one for my grandmother who thinks I'm the devil, and one for a comrade who was receiving the marvellous gift of cash. The latter is a hardline feminist, and while I pondered for sometime the amusement of giving her one of the many, many shitty cards available that were some shade of pink and covered with flowers, ribbons and dolls, I decided against it. I also decided against the range that featured incredibly bad puns, bad cartoons, or the combination of the two with an additional comment about sagging tits. I also decided against this range for my grandmother - the right to life supporting, nationalist, racist, tightarse old biddy. No, no, I kid. She's really great, and you should go and visit her sometime. And say hi for me, so I don't have to. No, she's great. Really.
Right, now back to the cards - I settled on trying to find a simple 'Happy Birthday' design. One that didn't look like shit, didn't use Comic Sans, and certainly wasn't illustrated with a person of any kind. Christ, one with a cat on the front would've been fine, though not one of those fucking nasty bug eyed cats. Do you think there was a selection of any cards like this? Fuck no. How the hell is supplying a bunch of cards that aren't criminally stupid so fucking difficult? So again, this year the same as years previous; count yourself lucky if I give you some scrap of wrapping paper with your initials scribbled on it somewhere. At least you didn't get newspaper.
As for you, lazyface, be prepared. Get your shit together, steer clear of the christmas crowds, avoid the rush and buy your big bag of illicit drugs now, or you'll have a very unpleasant christmas day indeed.
I'm smarmy because I know exactly what I'm taking to christmas lunch. I also know what presents I'm getting for anyone I give a shit about. Well, except for Vomit Girl & Krus, but Krus is a cunt anyway. We can just give him a kick in the pants. Hahaha, no - just kidding Krustacean. You're not a cunt, and we have a much better gift for you than that. Two kicks in the pants! Yes!
But back to the matter at hand. Christmas! We're being positively domestic about it this year, somewhat helped by us actually having enough money to eat and buy gifts, which is a welcome change from last years festive hell where we were accepting donations of bags of rice and leftover brandy from friends, family and neighbours. VG bought up the topic of having a christmas tree, but considering our cat (Sir Guinness Catting Hornswaggle -Knight errant and man about the town, as reported by Fandango) is both retarded and a speed freak, and that we have a Kipper in the house, we decided that six-foot pine really wasn't such a good idea. I mean, we'd no doubt come home to find the cat halfway up the tree and Kipper trying to manifest a ladder from her laptop or something - not that it couldn't work, Kipper... it might just take a little longer than conventional methods. So we bought a palm tree instead, and I have to say it looks pretty awesome. Not as awesome it'll look when we cover it in lights and ornaments, but you get the idea.
I rang up my father and told him about it. He was noticeably silent for a moment, before asking me if I was serious. I thought this was a bit rich, given the day he moved to Queensland, he moved into the first house he could find in a palm lined street, and promptly started planting pineapples in the backyard. Still, I guess it's better than the pastimes of other local Caboolturians... like being professional redneck fucks - OH MY GOD! IT'S AN ABORIGINAL! QUICK! THEY'RE TRYING TO STEAL THE CAR! SEE? THEY'RE WALKING PAST WITH THEIR THIEVY FACES! WE NEED TO GET HOME RIGHT NOW! OUR HOUSE WILL HAVE BEEN BROKEN INTO! JESUS!!! DON'T LOOK INTO THEIR EYES, YOU FOOL!
Annnnnyway. Christmas. Candy canes, painful relatives, elves and all that sort of shit. We have our palm tree, we've gone on our christmas shopping expeditions - the first three of which we bought multiple presents for ourselves and none for anyone else - and we stocked up on wine and beer. A week later we stocked up on it again. Anyhow - here we are, all set, and me with my plans of grandeur for Christmas Lunch. This is not to be confused with Christmas Dinner - a completely different family based holiday-torture fest. You see, my mother - a vegetarian... Yes, one of those - refuses to attend family christmas on the grounds that we eat meat. Which means that after gorging myself on at least three varieties of roasted animals, a good dozen prawns, a bottle of champagne, about half a case of beer and a ham on a 35 degree day, we toddle around to my Mothers where we dine on at least three varieties of roasted tofu, an ovenful of burnt baked potatoes, and a yorkshire pudding that could chew your face off. Oh, and a few more bottles of champagne.
We are of course expected to contribute to the foodstores of both of these events, and boy, do I have plans. It is for Christmas Lunch that I hold the grandest of these schemes. First, I will bake a lasagne. Then, I will cut it into little squares. I will then flour and crumb said squares, and then, I will deep fry it. I plan to serve each piece with a little coloured toothpick stuck in the top, and leave a label marked 'hors deouves' on the side of the serving platter. I'm expecting it to be a roaring success, soon to be followed by Fandango's and my 'deep fried curry balls' for Christmas Dinner at my mothers house.
What I haven't done, however, is consider for just one fucking millisecond mailing out bastard christmas cards. It's not some sort of environmentalist stand or any of that bullshit, no. It's a protest against the outright shittiness of greeting cards these days. I come from the school of thought that if an item cannot be bought in either Safeways or the food section at Myers, then I really couldn't be arsed with it. Now, given that Myers don't giftwrap pies, this pretty much leaves me with Safeways in the realm of greeting card purchases, which admittedly, I don't purchase often at all. My general rule of thumb is that I buy greeting cards for people I hate, yet feel obliged to communicate with, and, people I like a lot and think I should write on a card for, because again, I feel obliged to. Last weekend, we needed to purchase two birthday cards - one for my grandmother who thinks I'm the devil, and one for a comrade who was receiving the marvellous gift of cash. The latter is a hardline feminist, and while I pondered for sometime the amusement of giving her one of the many, many shitty cards available that were some shade of pink and covered with flowers, ribbons and dolls, I decided against it. I also decided against the range that featured incredibly bad puns, bad cartoons, or the combination of the two with an additional comment about sagging tits. I also decided against this range for my grandmother - the right to life supporting, nationalist, racist, tightarse old biddy. No, no, I kid. She's really great, and you should go and visit her sometime. And say hi for me, so I don't have to. No, she's great. Really.
Right, now back to the cards - I settled on trying to find a simple 'Happy Birthday' design. One that didn't look like shit, didn't use Comic Sans, and certainly wasn't illustrated with a person of any kind. Christ, one with a cat on the front would've been fine, though not one of those fucking nasty bug eyed cats. Do you think there was a selection of any cards like this? Fuck no. How the hell is supplying a bunch of cards that aren't criminally stupid so fucking difficult? So again, this year the same as years previous; count yourself lucky if I give you some scrap of wrapping paper with your initials scribbled on it somewhere. At least you didn't get newspaper.
As for you, lazyface, be prepared. Get your shit together, steer clear of the christmas crowds, avoid the rush and buy your big bag of illicit drugs now, or you'll have a very unpleasant christmas day indeed.
4 comments:
I'm impressed that you didn't go for the cheap laugh and put holly over Angry Man's crotch =)
Anyway, who needs a tree when you could just deck (sir) Guinness out with some shiney baubles? A moving tree(cat) beats a stationary tree anyday.
Last year I taped tinsel and wrapping paper to him. Several hours later, it was still there. He's such an awesome cat!
You could probably hang him from the tree and he wouldn't care much... That cat is far, far too passive.
Or spazzy, whichever.
What do you mean you don't know what you're buying me? I'll vomit on the cat if you don't remedy this situation immediately...
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