Christmas Again!

It's Christmas time,

a time of cheer, 

for presents and food

and dad drinkin' beer.

Broken new toys,

wrapping paper still on the floor,

a visit from those neighbours,

the ones you don't like any more. 

Mum in the kitchen,

strugglin' with the lunch,

trying to prepare food,

for the whole bleedin' bunch. 

Dad's on the bog,

with a can of Newcastle Brown,

lukkin at his Girlie calendar,

n he don't mind that it's upside down. 

The 'outlaws' arrive,

around about two,

and all they can do,

is complain about you. 

At the table it's said,

the turkey is dry,

the sprouts are too soft,

and you just want to cry. 

Then back to the telly,

to see the Queen,

cos she speaks the bestest

English what's ever been. 

Around about six,

there's more food on the table,

and we all start eating

as much as we're able. 

later on,

lunch time sprouts play their part,

as adults sip wine

and secretly fart. 

Over at last,

you sip your brandy

n tell your ol' man

forget bein' randy! 

Off to bed,

straight to sleep,

all that hard work,

and not one 'thank you' peep.

Bog = Toilet

Newcastle Brown = Newcastle Brown Ale (brewed in the North East of England)

Outlaws = The In-laws            

Style?

Sunshine brings out the more than a few ladies (gentlemen too) of questionable fashion and style, don't you agree?

We all know that bright, warm weather will entice people to wear ever smaller amounts of material in an attempt to stay, or look, cool and to gain, through the moderate toasting of the skin, a glamorous or sexy appearance.

But in doing so, all sense of style seems to be casually cast aside leaving the wearer to become what I can only describe as Casualties of Wear!

We've all seen those women with the boob-tubes that are too small and tight and show the straps of bras that are sturdy enough to support the Golden Gate Bridge and a roll (or indeed several rolls) of spare anatomy that was quite possibly the result of an over indulgence of hamburger, pizza and beer, hanging over the stretchiest waistband you have ever seen.
Then we have the middle aged, bulbous men that clad themselves in those long shorts and muscle shirts in an attempt to cling to the last vestiges of youth as it slips through their grubby, often nicotine stained fingers.

Today was one of those days! A sunny day! Twenty-six degrees! It was awful out there!

I was dressed, in case you are interested, in light cotton trousers ... very cool around the 'doo-dahs', if you know what I mean ... and a polo shirt.  It was hot, but I stayed cool ... in more ways than one.

If the sun is shining where you are, I do hope that YOU too made the effort to look decent.

I had to get that off my chest ... but in doing so, I've forgotten what I was going to say.

Bum!!!
 

The Morning After

The carpet was a mess!

Popcorn, peanuts, crisps and poker chips littered the floor.

Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) lay under the coffee table with her head in a traffic cone.

"Oooooooh!", she echoed. "What'th wrong with my mouth?"

Sym stood with a dustpan and broom in his paws and looked down at her prone form.

"I did warn you that British beer is strong stuff", he said. "And you were the one that insisted on the Gin-sling chasers".

"Thomething ith wrong with my mouth!  My tongue theemth to be thuck to the woof of my mouth".

"You were eating cellotape", replied Sym. "You said it was your 'party trick'"

"Thellotape? That'th jutht thupid! Ooooooooh! My back leg'th!!! I can't feel my back leg'th!"

"Well, when ... if ... you can get them out out of that Wellington boot, they'll be fine", said Sym as he swept up.

"Why?", demanded Liza. "Why are my back leg'th thuck in a Wellington boot?"

"You had a bet with Robin, that chihuahua you picked up in the bar, that you could hop around the room without falling out of the boot. You won the bet, but we couldn't get you out of the boot afterwards".

Liza gingerly removed the cone from her head.  "Ooooh! That'th so muchth better"!

"Do you remember anything about last night?", asked Sym.

"Yeth, of courth I do. Before the poker game went to a lap danthing club ..."

"Because you said you could dance better that those girls".

" ... and then we ... ". Liza picked up a blue hat from the floor. "What'th thith?" she asked.

"Ah! Now that, dear kitty, is a policeman's helmet", Sym said as he took the helmet from her. "Do you, by any remote chance, remember how you got it?"

"Not tho mucth ... but I think it involved claw'th"

"Exactly! You clawed the living daylights out of that poor policeman's ankles, ran up his legs, ransacking his pockets on the way ... and yes! I did notice that you bought the Tequila with his credit card ... and you stole his helmet after giving him a big sloppy kiss".

"A kith!  I don't do kitheth!"

"That is quite pothibly ... sorry ... possibly true, judging by the amount of blood coming from all those scratches on his face".

"Oh my God!" said Liza. "Pearl will never forgive me! Unleth, of course, I won the game latht night. Did I?"

"Nope! Freddy and Brutus, the Rottweiler's did ... "

"Oh no"!

 "They've got your I.O.U. for over a hundred quid ".

"Ooop'th!"

Liza struggled out of the boot.

"Sthill, it wath a thuper night, wathn't it!"

Spelling Bee

How many times have you met a 'real leader'?

By 'leader', I mean one of those inspirational people that believes a good pep-talk should always include that old chestnut "We have to pull together! There is no 'I' in 'Team'".

That comment has often been scooped up by my log-holes and allowed to rattle around my head for a short while before being dismissed as a load of nonsense.

Little did I realise as I set off for work early yesterday morning, that that comment would once again be aimed in my direction.

I had already completed two calls and had just arrived to carry out the third when bumped into my boss.
The short conversation we had as we crossed paths included several referrals to the 'good work' and 'team spirit' that we (carers) had shown over the Christmas period.

Then it came.

"We all have to work together; make a concentrated effort to get everything right for the client. There is no 'I' in 'Team' so we all have to muck in".

I was tired and it was too early for a spelling competition but I was so tempted to remind my boss that there is no 'F' in 'Chance'!

There is no guarantee that it would have been understood though.

Christmas Day

It's Christmas time,

a time of cheer, 

for presents and food

and dad drinkin' beer.

Broken new toys,

wrapping paper still on the floor,

a visit from those neighbours,

the ones you don't like anymore. 

Mum in the kitchen,

strugglin' with the lunch,

trying to prepare food,

for the whole bleedin' bunch. 

Dad's on the bog,

with a can of Newkie Brown,

lukkin at his Sun calender,

n he don't mind that it's upside down. 

The 'outlaws' arrive,

around about two,

and all they can do,

is complain about you. 

At the table it's said,

the turkey is dry,

the sprouts are too soft,

and you just want to cry. 

Then back to the telly,

to see the Queen,

cos she speaks the bestest

English what's ever been. 

Around about six,

there's more food on the table,

and we all start eating

as much as we're able. 

later on,

lunch time sprouts play their part,

as adults sip wine

and secretly fart. 

Over at last,

you sip your brandy

n tell your ol' man

forget bein' randy! 

Off to bed,

straight to sleep,

all that hard work,

and not one 'thank you' peep.

Bog = Toilet

Newkie Brown = Newcastle Brown Ale

Sun Calendar = The Sun newspaper's annual topless model calendar

Outlaws = The In-laws            

Homer: A Bad Day

Homer sat at a table in dark corner of Sickly Jim's bar.

Hunched over a multitude of empty beer and whiskey glasses, a small glass of dark liquid in his hand, he sobbed uncontrollably.

At the bar Ted McFlunkel, trucker and all round bad-ass, addressed the barman.

"Excuse me, good sir.  I can't help noticing that that gentleman in yonder corner is somewhat distressed. Have you an inkling as to his troubles?"

"Eh?" replied the barman.

"I merely enquired as ... Dammit! I should never have taken elocution lessons. What's with the dude in da corner?"

"That's Homer. Been here all day.  I reckon he's had some bad news."

McFunkel drained his glass.  "Well if he's gonna just sit there cryin' then I reckon that drink in his hand should go to someone who deserves it more."

He stomped across the sawdust covered floor, kicked over the spittoon [Yes, it was that kind of bar], and snatched the glass from Homer's hand. He downed the contents in one go and flung the glass at the wall.  He had hoped it would shatter spectacularly, adding some gravitas to his actions.

It bounced!

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaah-ah-ahah-aaaaaaaa" wailed Homer.  He flung himself over the table, scattering the empty glasses. "You bastard! You [insert expletive {it's not that kind of blog} ] bastard!" he cried.

McFunkel, realising that he may have gone a little too far, said "Whoa there partner!  You wanna tell me what yer troubles are?  Might help to talk".

Through intermittent sobbing Homer said "I lost my job this morning! The cleared my desk and threw me out".

"That ain't the end of the world" said McFunkel.

"That's not all" blubbed Homer.  "I went out to the parking lot and found some guys repossessing my car.  I had to get a bus home,but I got on the wrong bus and went up-town, not down. Then I realised I had no money left so I went to an ATM, but the damned machine kept my card saying I was overdrawn."

"Damn!" sighed McFunkel.  "You've had a rough day."

"There's more" said Homer.  "I had to walk home and on the way I got a call on my cell to tell me that my kids had run away from school, stolen a car and had smashed it into a bridge support.  They're all in critical condition in hospital."

"Damn!"

"When I got home I found my ex-bosses car was parked in my driveway.  When I went into the house I found him in bed with Marge, my wife.  She told me it was all over and I should pack my bags and leave".

"Oh my God! What a day!" gasped McFunkel.

"And now, after all that, I just wanted it all to end but then some brainless idiot comes and drinks my poison!
Can my day get any worse?"

"G-g-g-guh!" said McFunkel, clutching his throat as he hit the floor.