Christmas comes but once a year, even though it seems to start in August. Nothing says Christmas like a 6 foot plastic tree in your front room (and yes, Santa will judge you if you put yours up in November) and a never-ending storm of crap celebrity Christmas covers commercials. It must surely be Christmas because I’ve just seen an Audi driver use its indicators and pull over for a blue-lights ambulance (then attempting drive through the ambulance’s slipstream of course).
So while you wait for the fat man to come down your chimney and empty his sack all over your front room, and before the reindeer are run ragged and labourers from Lapland are laid off, I present the ultimate Christmas survival guide so you can survive Santapocalypse.
The Christmas Do
If you are the sex pest at the office party who insists on jingling your Christmas ball balls, don’t go. Especially if you are the bloke who wears the Christmas Wrapping suit and mistletoe around your nether regions. While you may be tempted to seduce and sleep with your colleagues with your pelvic sorcery, don’t even think about photocopying your bum. The glass might break and you’ll be guaranteed a bigger pain than the corporate shafting you got in your last bonus.
If you do go, you’ll be more vodka spirit than Christmas spirit so that Santa’s ho will snigger at you. You’ll get conclusive proof that 20 pints the night before is best for a hangover the next morning. Don’t worry though, the NHS still offer stomach pumps to kids at Christmas parties in between supplying gift wrapped packages of methadone to crack addicts.
The Food and Booze
Remember to check your plates for contamination from those “little green balls of death.” Even though your sprouts were put on boil 3 months ago, that toxic taste will still tarnish. It’s never too early to be drunk, although that won’t take the taste of pure poison off your plate. The wife is allowed to be wasted on wine and you are more than welcome to slump into a self-induced cheese and chocolate induced Chrimbo coma. In fact you’ll probably only endure the misery by being mullered on mulled wine.
For gods sake don’t light any candles. The permahaze of turkey/gravy leftovers dog dinner smell emanating from the posterior of dog makes the furry bugger a walking ozone bomb, a weapon of ass destruction that Hans Blix could only have dreamt about. Above all, don’t be a turkey.
Having already suffered the misfortune of having to go into Nottingham shopping, ultimately uninformed, unwisely and unarmed, for presents that will make it to landfill by the next week, people are generally best avoided. Black Friday fuckwits, the tinsel topped tosspots who insists that Santa’s sleigh is not road legal, the one that says happy holidays and the crummy Christmas jumper wearers who whine that Christmas has got too commercialised. Equally avoid the merry festive maniac and the commissioned charity chugger who insists Christmas is for the children, the snobby secret santa shopper and the Christmas sales zombies who insist on taking every member of their family along with them in their merciless trek through town.
Don’t bother consoling yourself by staring into social media. You’ll have some prick on Facebook typing “Amen” on a picture ‘cos they think it’ll cure cancer and the social slactivist sharing some shite for likes.
If you can do all that and survive, then you only have the relentless shit heap of misery from the New Years nonsense that is January with shit resolutions. Merry Christmas ya filthy animals.