| -fatty- 2850 03.12.2004 17:58 |
My perfect Christmas would start at 6.30am on Friday the 24th of December. I would be lying in my nice, warm, snuggly bed having a wonderful dream about Danni Minouge, Minnie Driver and a bacon sandwich, when the clock/radio alarm would springs into life and start belting out 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everday' by Wizzard. Bleary eyed, I lean over and press the snooze button before falling back to sleep and resuming the dream about those lovely ladies and the bacon sandwich at the exact point I left it. Nine minutes and fifty eight seconds later I dream that I am standing outside my front door, waving goodbye to Danni & Minnie who are disappearing down the street in a taxi and there's HP brown sauce all over my chin. I wake up of my own accord, just in time to hear the clock/radio alarm go off again and the DJ mistakenly play 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday' by Wizzard all over again. Luckily the DJ is in a festive mood thanks to a messy divorce and an early morning drinking session, and decides to let it play all the way through. My missus too has woken up and is in an uncharacteristicaly cheerful mood for such an early hour. She leans across and kisses me on the cheek, telling me to stay in bed while she nips downstairs to fetch a cup of tea for me. I hear her tiptoe downstairs, stopping occasionally to rub her legs and wince in pain. It appears as though the cat has been sleeping on her side of the bed for a change, forcing her into an uncomfortable sleeping position. By the time I have listened to 'Merry Christmas Everybody' by Slade, my missus has returned with a cup of tea and a cigarette for me. She then informs me that the previous evening, before she went to bed, she had lain out my clothes for me to wear in the morning. I spend the fifteen minutes normally reserved for searching through a tall and teetering pile of ironing for a clean pair of trolleys and socks lying in bed, drinking tea, smoking a cigarette and listening to a medley of Christmas hits. Eventually, I tear myself away from the warmth and comfort of my wanking chariot and go through to the bathroom. On the stair landing, I bump into my sixteen year old son who is also on his way to the bathroom to begin the hour long process of making himself look even more fucking stupid than he already does. Instead of engaging in a long and futile argument about who pays the bloody bills in this house, my son steps aside and in a polite and sincere voice says "After you Dad." I enjoy a long satisfying pee before stepping into the shower. I come alive under a powerful jet of piping hot water and squeeze out a generous handful of the expensive shower gel my son forgot to hide. I do so prefer it to the supermarket sludge my missus buys for the rest of the family. Twenty minutes or so later, I'm downstairs, dressed and ready to go to work. My missus tells me that my bus isn't due for another half an hour and that she'll make me another cuppa while I sit down and watch Spongebob Squarepants. It's a christmassy Spongebob episode too. |
| -fatty- 2850 03.12.2004 18:32 |
I step out the front door and crunch through the freshly fallen snow on my way to the bus stop. All those years of turning up at the bus stop in the vain hope of it arriving when the timetable says it will, have paid off and the bus arrives on time. It seems as though the usual everyday passengers that take the No32 to Granton have been replaced by an altogether more cheerful throng. Instead of piss smelling jakeys, grey faced shop assistants and children with behavioural problems the bus is full of jolly faces. Christmas shoppers, Young faces aglow, Women wearing clothing more suited to tropical beaches than the six inches of powdery white snow on the streets outide. I arrive at work and someone has been kind enough to make me a cup of tea in advance. I turn on my computer and check my e-mails only to find one from the personell department, instructing me that I have been underpaid for the past nine years and a ridiculous amount of money has been paid into my bank account. The boss arrives and tells us that our company has been forced by the European court of human rights to give us all a half day. I spend the next three and half hours at my desk playing tetris and checking the message boards on Queenzone. The only people who seem to be posting on this particular day are Bob The Shrek, Flashman, Archie Leach, Janet, Alli James, Brandon, DeaconJohn, Penetration Guru, Freddie B, Banquo, Bohardy, Holly, Marshmallow, Ginga Babe and Gordondoburstingfoam. At midday I wish my colleagues a very merry Christmas and a happy new year before heading off for home. A couple of the guys are heading along to the Chain Pier for a couple of pints and invite me along. I explain that I would love to go for a beer but I really ought to get home and help the missus prepare for the big day. At that precise moment, my phone rings. It's the missus and she is telling me that her mother has arrived and in order to maintain a pleasant athmosphere at home, she suggests that I might want to postpone coming home for the next hour or so and perhaps go to the pub instead. We head along to the Chain Peir abd find Tony the barman behind the bar in a cheerful mood for once. He even offers to buy us all a pint. It's his way of making up for the fact that he's a miserable old cunt for 364 days of the year. A few hours later I am on my way home with a pleasntly warm feeling that comes from being in the company of my fellow man rather than getting so drunk that I have pished my trousers. I arrive home to the delightful news that I have just missed my mother-in-law by a few seconds. |
| -fatty- 2850 03.12.2004 18:53 |
I attempt to help my missus prepare for Christmas by getting under her feet as much as humanly possible. She is being thicker than normal in as much as she has not seen through my blatantly transparant pantomime and tells me to piss off out of her way. I spend the remainder of the evening genuinely helping by watching mind numbing, sentimental bullshit on telly and eating an unhealthy amount of Maltesers. I turn to Sky One and catch glimpse of one of those programmes that Sky seem to show on a 24 hour basis. This one is called 'When Animals Get Pissed Off And Kill Stupid People' It contains a segment in which some sad old bastard who dresses up as Santa Clause every Christmas and goes around visiting sick children (probably to molest them). He has his own Santa outfit, a sledge and a real life reindeer. Years of abuse take their toll and the reindeer snaps. It goes completely tonto and tries to gore Santa to death with it's antlers. I call for the kids who are upstairs in their bedroom being quiet. They come downstairs just in time to see Rudolf catch Santa in the ribs with his bloodstained horns of death and toss the battered and bruised body twelve feet in the air. The look of fear in their eyes as they believe that Santa has been killed by his closest and most trusted friend is fucking hysterical and I laugh myself silly. Once the kids are sedated and sent to bed, I suggest to my missus that we begin the soul destroying process of wrapping the kids Christmas presents. My missus informs me that she has learned from previous years and wrapped them as she bought them allowing me to spend the rest of the night rolling big fat joins and getting melted in front of the fire. I am sent to bed a little after midnight. |
| Sir Archie 'Tiffany' Leach 03.12.2004 20:52 |
What happens when St. Nick arrives? |
| MatiasQueen89 03.12.2004 20:57 |
yo me quedo piola mientras me den mi vinito y mi fasito mañanero, che como pega el oreganoooo oooooooh lokooooo etoy que vuelooooo se me da vuelta todooooooo |
| Matti 03.12.2004 23:26 |
Lol. |
| deleted user 04.12.2004 09:50 |
LOL nice, fatty. |
| Taylor-Mayed 04.12.2004 09:52 |
Whoever said the magic of Christmas was dead? ;-) |
| YourValentine 04.12.2004 12:40 |
Aww fatty, I want to do my bit to make your dream come true and I promise I won't post here on Christmas :) |
| -fatty- 2850 04.12.2004 19:15 |
Christmas morning doesn't come along until 11.30am when I get up, untie the children and remove their gags. We get downstairs and realise that not only has Santa left a glittering array of shiny parcels beneath the Christmas tree, he's also put the heating on. I watch the kids open there presents and force a look of gratitude on their wee faces as they unwrap presents that bare no similarities whatsoever to the items on their Christmas lists. I on the other hand am having a smashing time. There's a portable DVD player from the missus, a box set of Jimmy Cagney fims from my Dad, a bottle of Smirnoff from my brother in Biggar and a £1 book token from my brother in jail. Best of all is the gift from my kids. They scrimped and saved their pocket money and took out a sizeable bank loan in which their thumbs may be at risk if payments are not kept up, and bought me something that is a million miles removed from a Hi-Karate aftershave gift set. The missus seems delighted with the Delia Smith cookbook I bought her and goes through to the kitchen to take some long needed advice and cook a barely edible Christmas lunch. I sit back for the next couple of hours in my favourite armchair and watch the kids treat their new toys with a little more care than in previous years. My youngest daughter asks if I remembered to buy batteries for some piece of plastic shite that already set me back £29.99. I remind her that the batteries are now included since the recent change in consumer laws which state that manufacturers of all electrical products must supply batterires, and good ones too. Not those shitey alkaline batteries that are for display purposes only, under pain of death. At 3.00pm, we all gather around the television (apart from my missus who is happily cooking enough turkey to feed Iraq) and watch 'The Snowman' which is being shown in place of the Queen's speech which has been cancelled following the death of Queen Elizabeth in a bizzare circus knife throwing incident. After a woderful Christmas dinner of plump and succulent roast turkey, tasty chipolata sausages, fluffy mashed potatoes, carrots, sprouts and rich gravy. I sit back in my favourite chair with a can of lager and struggle to breathe until I lapse into a one hour coma. I awaken at around 5.30, by which time my children have applied a sheet of 700 decals to a Fisher Price garage themselves, saving me from the trouble. At nightime it s customary for my wife's family to gather at our house for a drinks and long awkward silences. Fortuneatly for me, the mother-in-law is laid up in bed with a painful boil on her arse and the wife's sister is too upset to come out following the death of her yappy fucking dog. This allows me the rest of the evening to watch 'Angels With Dirty Faces' and 'White Heat' while my children play with quiet toys and my wife gets on with enjoyingthe washing up. The evening wraps up around midnight with a segment or two of Terry's Chocolate Orange, a big fat joint and it's off to the land of nod. fatty. P.S Merry Christmas Zoners (especially Your Valentine |
| Janet 04.12.2004 19:44 |
Great as always fatty! A very Merry Christmas to you and yours! ~xx~ |
| geeksandgeeks 04.12.2004 20:12 |
fatty wrote: The only people who seem to be posting on this particular day are Bob The Shrek, Flashman, Archie Leach, Janet, Alli James, Brandon, DeaconJohn, Penetration Guru, Freddie B, Banquo, Bohardy, Holly, Marshmallow, Ginga Babe and Gordondoburstingfoam.But of course, he doesn't want me around. I always knew I wasn't appreciated around here. ;) |
| Music Man 04.12.2004 20:14 |
This is too much to read. Maybe when I feel like getting a seizure I'll go over it. |
| dragonzflame 05.12.2004 02:47 |
geeks&geeks<br><font>God Empress</font> wrote:Me too. We could always just add our names into the quote and then pretend that we're special and wanted... ;-)fatty wrote: The only people who seem to be posting on this particular day are Bob The Shrek, Flashman, Archie Leach, Janet, Alli James, Brandon, DeaconJohn, Penetration Guru, Freddie B, Banquo, Bohardy, Holly, Marshmallow, Ginga Babe and Gordondoburstingfoam.But of course, he doesn't want me around. I always knew I wasn't appreciated around here. ;) |
| Taylor-Mayed 05.12.2004 08:33 |
"The only people who seem to be posting on this particular day are Bob The Shrek, Flashman, Archie Leach, Janet, Alli James, Brandon, DeaconJohn, Penetration Guru, Freddie B, Banquo, Bohardy, Holly, Marshmallow, Ginga Babe and Gordondoburstingfoam." I didn't notice this first time around. I am suitably hurt. |
| deleted user 05.12.2004 08:41 |
Merry Christmas to you and yours, fatty! |
| Mr.Jingles 05.12.2004 10:48 |
dragonzflame wrote:Add me to that list. ;-pgeeks&geeks<br><font>God Empress</font> wrote:Me too. We could always just add our names into the quote and then pretend that we're special and wanted... ;-)fatty wrote: The only people who seem to be posting on this particular day are Bob The Shrek, Flashman, Archie Leach, Janet, Alli James, Brandon, DeaconJohn, Penetration Guru, Freddie B, Banquo, Bohardy, Holly, Marshmallow, Ginga Babe and Gordondoburstingfoam.But of course, he doesn't want me around. I always knew I wasn't appreciated around here. ;) |
| geeksandgeeks 05.12.2004 11:39 |
To all who were neglected - I say we gang up on fatty and raid his liquor cabinet. And then force him to listen to a recording of "Frosty the Snowman" over and over and over. |
| dragonzflame 05.12.2004 16:27 |
I have a better idea geeks. I like yours - and am prepared to run with most of it - but I think we should make it Snoopy's Christmas on repeat instead of Frosty the Snowman. Far, far more irritating. Mwahahahaha! |
| Brandon 05.12.2004 22:19 |
Ah, good to see Fatty's humor still lifts QZ out of the miry pits! Good on ya, Fatster and happy Christmas! |
| Rabon_Gumm 06.12.2004 08:22 |
Don't forget to put your feet up this Christmas, Master Fatty, or you'll be all done in come the New Year. "Pace yourself Rabon" my gaffer says, " two speeds is all you need - Slow and Stop." |