Christmas, courtesy of Dr Raoul M Fury
Discussion
If I could have dinner with one person, living or dead, it would be Russell Brand, and he would be dead. My second choice would be Father Christmas, so I could ask him whether he thinks that having a glass of brandy at every house in the country (that’s over thirty million units of alcohol in one night) is a good example to set in these times of binge drinking.
This week Father Pyloric and I recreated the nativity scene in my front garden. We got a couple of soiled mannequins from a skip round the back of Marks & Spencer to play Mary and Joseph (only they were both female so Joseph looked a bit like a tranny, even with a biro beard), and we used a dead fox that Father Pyloric found as the baby Jesus. We had three wise garden gnomes that brought lager, cigarettes and mince, and we made some shepherds out of litter and set them up so that they were washing their socks and watching ITV, as per the carol. Then we found a tramp and paid him £5 to wear a Father Christmas oufit, stand in the middle of it all and swear at children.
Predictably enough, my next-door neighbour complained, but as it is the season of goodwill I buried my rage and invited him round for mince pies. That Father Pyloric sneaked into his house whilst he was busy eggnogging with me and rewired his phone so that if he ever dials 999 it will go through to Absolutely Kebabulous in Thanet is pure coincidence.
But looking out the window at the tramp doing a sick on the dead fox made me stop for a moment and think – I wondered whether baby Jesus knew that he would grow up to become the world’s first zombie. The Bible is frustratingly silent about whether he subsequently ate anyone’s brain, but it does go into some detail about all that dying and coming back again. You know, amongst all the consumerism, mistletoe abuse and binge carolling perhaps the zombification of Jesus is the true meaning of Christmas.
Apparently crime goes up over Christmas, according to a statistical analysis paper of police reports* – so perhaps replacing the jolly fat man central figure with a 2,000-year-old middle-eastern zombie will scare the criminals into behaving, and little Pavel won’t wake up on Christmas morning to find that his Dr Raoul’s Li’l Slicer Home Vivisection Kit has been stolen. Too much carrot, not enough stick, that’s the problem (ironically, the opposite is true of Father Pyloric’s carrot cake).
Anyway, the turkey has finally stopped twitching so I’d better go. Have a great Christmas everyone, and let’s try for peas on earth and goodwill to all men in 2008 (women can naff right off).
This week Father Pyloric and I recreated the nativity scene in my front garden. We got a couple of soiled mannequins from a skip round the back of Marks & Spencer to play Mary and Joseph (only they were both female so Joseph looked a bit like a tranny, even with a biro beard), and we used a dead fox that Father Pyloric found as the baby Jesus. We had three wise garden gnomes that brought lager, cigarettes and mince, and we made some shepherds out of litter and set them up so that they were washing their socks and watching ITV, as per the carol. Then we found a tramp and paid him £5 to wear a Father Christmas oufit, stand in the middle of it all and swear at children.
Predictably enough, my next-door neighbour complained, but as it is the season of goodwill I buried my rage and invited him round for mince pies. That Father Pyloric sneaked into his house whilst he was busy eggnogging with me and rewired his phone so that if he ever dials 999 it will go through to Absolutely Kebabulous in Thanet is pure coincidence.
But looking out the window at the tramp doing a sick on the dead fox made me stop for a moment and think – I wondered whether baby Jesus knew that he would grow up to become the world’s first zombie. The Bible is frustratingly silent about whether he subsequently ate anyone’s brain, but it does go into some detail about all that dying and coming back again. You know, amongst all the consumerism, mistletoe abuse and binge carolling perhaps the zombification of Jesus is the true meaning of Christmas.
Apparently crime goes up over Christmas, according to a statistical analysis paper of police reports* – so perhaps replacing the jolly fat man central figure with a 2,000-year-old middle-eastern zombie will scare the criminals into behaving, and little Pavel won’t wake up on Christmas morning to find that his Dr Raoul’s Li’l Slicer Home Vivisection Kit has been stolen. Too much carrot, not enough stick, that’s the problem (ironically, the opposite is true of Father Pyloric’s carrot cake).
Anyway, the turkey has finally stopped twitching so I’d better go. Have a great Christmas everyone, and let’s try for peas on earth and goodwill to all men in 2008 (women can naff right off).
- “Santacrime: The Chimney And Its Role In Festive Trespass”, Ellowello, Watt, Saul, Disden, J. Sci. Lies
Don said:
TedMaul said:
Don said:
8Ace said:
I miss Dr Raoul.
Plenty to read if interested. Not my thing, personally.
Gassing Station | The Lounge | Top of Page | What's New | My Stuff