The messiah is my Sister...

On Saturday, I finally took delivery of my Xmas present off me sister.

I loves my sister!

I can't bear to start eating it. It just sits there making me all happy.

I look at it, and think "Awww, my sister loves me"

Best. Present. Ever.

Dedicated to my fab sis Jo:

Some are born great, some achieve greatness...

But luckily for you, you don't have Xym thrusting his greatness into you! 

or something,

Anyhoo, I was going to regail you with informative ideas regards potentially becoming an adverty man, with my fab idea to market Ginsters snacks using 1970s glam rock & New Wave pastiche pasties. or something.

Instead, another ire that irks Xym!

Now, since Boxing Day, several peoples have been bragging about denuding their living rooms of belighted bauble boasting tinselled trees and lamenting the lack of festive feeling.

As ever, one is flummoxed by this adherence to 'tradition' whilst ignoring 'tradition'. 

Like those who every year still forget that the first day of Winter is on the solstice (21st Dec this, no last year!), people are now forgetting when to take down their decorative adornments.

It may be tradition to put a tree up¹, but if you're following tradition, then traditionally you should not be taking yer decorations down until the evening of Jan 5th.

Otherwise Baby Jesus sends you a years worth of bad luck.

Mind you, I don't blame people taking their trees out early. They probably need the room for all them gift what build up over them there 12 Days Of Xmas. What with: 12 Twatless Turkeys, 11 Leaping Lesbos, 10 Torn-Off Testes, 9 Gnawed-Off Nipples, 8 Cockless Eunuchs, 7 Septic Scrotums, 6 Shepherds Wanking 5 Choirboys, 4 Falling Turds, Three French Whores, 2 Shithouse Doors and a Durex Full Of VD.

Or is it Alan Partidge in a pear tree?

I do know on the 13th Day Of Christmas, the postman brought to me, my true love in a pear tree.

He'd lynched 'em for making him deliver a preposterous amount of duplicate items every fucking day.

¹IF YOU'RE PERVY!

Bah Humbug? B'rit milah, more like...

It's Christmas Eve Eve Eve, and what better festive fare for the eyes than Xmas specials on the tellybox.

And what yuletide treats are in store for us today?

"The Quest For The Holy Foreskin"

Ah, I remember it well from the Nativity at Primary School. The story of the Three Wise Men giving the Baby Jesus the Saturnalian Snip of the tip.

That's what everyone needs to get into the Christmas Spirit - a hunt for the discarded mummified todger flesh of the Lord. The hunt for the prepuce from the prophet's phallus. . 

Who needs The Snowman? Gremlins? Rare Exports? Nightmare Before Christmas? Scrooge? The Muppet's Christmas Carol? Bah humbug.

Nothing bring the message of Christmas home than a scrotal scientist hunting for the offcuts of genital mutilation.

Sod the turkey - serve up some leathery cockskin for Xmas lunch! 

I think I need to find a job as a telly ideas man - next year, I think I shall suggest "The Mystery Of Mary Magdalene's Minge Merkin - Muff Hunter Xym is sent on an archæological expedition to recover the long-lost quimrug relic revered by religious types."

Yeah, that'll work.

Search for the holy foreskin indeed!

Alice DeeJay In Wonderland...

So, I knows when I's not wanted.

:(

'sif I care.

Better off alone?

You betcha.

Iiiit's Fiiiiiiisssttmaaaaaaaass...

♪ Are you wanking in a sock behind your wall? 

Is it time a Sexy Santa licked your balls? 

Is it bondage in the Fungeon

Just like Fifty Shades Of Grey?

Do the fairies say it's PC to be gay?

So here it is, Merry Fistmas, 

give the wife one up the bum

Look to bukkake now, 

and flood her face with cum 

Are you waiting for a climax to arrive?

Are you sure your vag has room to spare inside?

Does a tranny always tell ya,

That their King Dong is the best

Then they're sucking cock and whoring with the best!

So here it is, Merry Fistmas, 

give the wife one up the bum

Look to bukkake now, 

and flood her face with cum 

What will your Daddy do 

when he finds your momma's one of Santa's whores

A-ha-haaaaaa ♪ 

A Christmas Carol (Carol is 9yrs old)...

♪ On the 7th day of Xmas, BBC gave to me, 

7 hairy cornflakes

6 Jingles jangling

5 Savile blings

4 Freddie Stars

Rolf's "third leg"

2 Glitter bombs

and a pædo in a yew tree! ♪

Wish I had 3 hands...

Well, I thought I'd venture out into The City for The Alleged Sales.

Strangely, everything is still the same price!

But it was a chance to finish up the Xmas shopping...

...and still came away with no Xmas shopping & yet more presents for myself!

Sweeties and Kate Beckinsale (which isn't lecherous, coz it's also got Kevin Webster out of Corrie for The Ladies).

Really need to find presents for The Essex on Satur... what am I thinking! They're getting the best present ever! The present of the presence of The Xym in Vajazzleworld!

What more can anyone ask for?

Apart from a slimmer, wittier, less troll-like alternative to Xym!

Food, glorious food...

Too... stuffed... to... move... and... too... fat.. to... blog...

And I was doing soooo well!

I was losing weight. I suspect I may have put it all back on again.

I may have bought & consumed waaaay too much!

But two huge and wonderful roasts though!

Pressies, Pressies, Pressies...

Well, a Snow Globe!

Followed by essential viewings:
● The Gruffalo
● The Snowman
● Father Ted: A Christmassy Ted
● Rare Exports
● Le Ballon Rouge
● Bottom: Holy
● Nightmare Before Christmas
● The Gruffalo's Child
● The Snowman And The Snowdog
● Hogfather
● Dr Who

And then it went all non-Xmassy cos me Blu-Ray of Gremlins has disappeared, Die Hard wasn't on, and one had partaken of too much Vodka Margerine, so I bunged on Evangelion Rebuild 1.11 instead!

'twas Xmas Eve babe...

...and I'd better pull me finger out & get some Xmas Shopping done!

And I needs to get me some noms for tomorrow!

You will aways find them raiding kitchens on Fridays...

Some people!

Luckily, I managed to skive out of the Team Xmas meal, due to Jamie Oliver fucking up the Traditional Xmas meal for pile of inedible poncified crap.

So, while them lot tucked into tapas, I took meself off to The Bell.

Now, I expected the pub to be busy. First, it's a Friday, so many office types in for that Friday Lunchtime drink (that sometimes stretches into the evening as a prelude to the weekend).

Second - It's Xmas, so plenty of Xmas meals going on.

Well, it's just me, so not too much trouble. I can sit and despair as I "people watch" the inevitable collection of gormsters and retards who inevitable gather about my person and blight my life.

So, I has a pint, and a seat at a table. Minding my own business. Unsurprisingly, the place is packed.

Therefore, just about the right time for every ignorant old git to gather their cohorts and pile into the pub for lunch.

And because the place is packed, and they're old and confused, they tend to wander in, find the most traversed walkway, and move into it, blocking all ingress and egress.

Standing there, moaning at the young ones eating their meals. At those stood about with pints. At the old codgers who claimed the big table for three of them to play dominoes. And moany moany moany and just pootling about.

And of course, because Jerely Kyle finished at 11:35, the Scummy Mummies, their brood and numerous perambulators arrive...

... and, naturally clog up the same narrow path the old gimmers are clogging up.

So, the old gimmers are stuck, blocked by prams. The supersize scummy mummies and overinflated sprogs are blocked by fogies in the front, and more buggies behind. Shouting, screeching harridans, ordering their kids to "behave or else" before bitchsplapping them into silence with threats of no trip to Ca$hConverters for treats.

And because they're too busy arguing about their benefts being cut so they can't afford a new iPhone contract and xBox games, they can't think straight.

See, me - I find meself a seat. Put me stuff down. Go get a drink/meal. Come back to table. Simples, I'd've thought.

Not so scum mum! Packed place and nowhere to sit? A-ha! Get to bar by ramming pramwheels into heels. Order a meal. Get meal in hand. Then walk around pub trying to find a table. Before returning to the congested passageway, and placing the plate on the pram, and eating off that. Demanding they're gonna get a refund because the meals gone cold as they were wandering around for ages.

Didn't occur to them to find somewhere to sit first. Dumbasses!

But that was all just amusement to me!

What pissed me off was wideboy gobshites.

Them bellowing bastards who stand right behind you, leaning on your chair or against your arm/back. Guffawing like a loons at nothing. Shouting hilarious anecdotes about office girls and conquest. Tossers of the highest order.

Them who decide that your table is an ideal place to dump their empty glasses.

Right in front of you.

Or worse, put their pints on your table, as they need to do something with their hands. Usually pocket billiards.

Excuse ME, but I'm sitting here! I don't want my space invaded by you or your glasses. I don't want you repeated leaning over me retrieving beverages and scraping your sleeve o'er my face and pissing me off.

It's a shame I don't drink lagers, beers and ales. If I did, I would have accidentally mistakenly assumed that someone placing a pint in front of me was a generous Xmas gesature, and I'd've quaffed it!

But the last straw was when some carer brought his wheelchair bound charge in. The carer kept dumping his pint right in front of me, so I could not even put mine back on the table! Grrrrr, I thought. How would he like it if I just went over and dumped my coat on his cripples lap? "Sorry mate, I though seeing as you were using my space as a receptacle, I though I'd use yours in the same fashion. I could've dumped the drip tray in his lap, but I used me coat instead. Aren't I such a nice guy!"

Guess I'm just turning into a cantankerous old git meself!

You're talking about my sausage? Not my penis...

Christmas meal!

Remember I was Bewailing My Lot at having to expend vast amount of revenue in exchange for Jamie Oliver's piss-ass cockernee mockery of a Traditional Xmas Meal? I wanted my deposit back coz of the risk of leprosy transferrence via Tapas, and ending up like Blake in The Fog, decapitaing drunken chapel clerics and groping up jugged up lighthouse womens with me smokey tentacles of wispy menace?

Oh, wait a minute...

*Savile'y thoughts of misty molestation*

Anyhoo... I just got reminded about not having made my Menu Choices (clearly "I wan't my deposit back" means "let me ponder my provender further)!

Choices? What kind of choice is a smörgåsbord of smeggy starters?

I don't want some fat blokes fingers fiddling with my salami, thank you very much!

On the other hand (oo-er!), perhaps I can entice Office Pretties to sidle their slender digits about my salami.

And that's just for dessert - would still have to get past the anti-pasty starter though¹!

¹ OH, COME ON! LIKE YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT WAS COMING (OO-ER ONCE MORE!)

Jamie and the Magic Fork...

Or, as The Cure (and Liqueur) once sang:

Pukka pukka pukka pukka Xym ain't there!

Pukka pukka pukka pukka puck right off!

T'other week, our manager booked our team Xmas meal! Whoo-hoo!

Or not Whoo-hoo, as once again, it's another Xmas Menu without a traditional Xmas Roast. :(

He booked Jamie's Italian. Oh well, I'll give it a try. Here's me 10 squid deposit.

So, today, we gets an eMail. When you book a meal at the nudie chef's, you get Terms and Conditions attached wot you have to read though and abide by! 

Terms and Conditions just to go and stuff yer great fat face in his poxy restaurant!

And if that wasn't enough, there's conditions on the grub!

First, we have to pre-order our 2 courses. Eh? Whut? It's advertised as "3 courses, mince pies, and a class of Prostitutes". Or something.

Well, I could do without the glass of Promiscuity, but what happened to the THREE courses proffered? Ah...

"please note antipasti planks are based on a sharing basis"

Hold on there cowboy! I'm pro-pasties! What's all this Anti-Pasty malarky. Guess what - the first course is basically Tapas. Shared. On a plank.

Fuck that for a game of soldiers! No-one in their right mind orders Tapas!!

Honestly, when 3 courses are advertised, I wants three courses all to meself. I don't want to share my first course with some greedy fat pig who will take more than their fair share!

Besides - it's unhygenic! I don't want to get Salmonella & Listeria because some unwashed post-toilet fat fiend with fæces filled fingers has fouled the finger food. Especially after picking their nose and wiping snot down their arm, dripping delicacies with disgusting diarrhœa, dysentry and diverse dirty diseases!

And, judging by the office lavatorial wall splatter, man-mayonnaise could well end up being part of the dish... although I suppose I could exclusively share with the Pretties for some inadvertently flange battered apéritifs. Encrusted minge flakes I could take at a push, but not salty cock paste.

And not just bacteria ridden appendages they pollute the provender with - they stick their forks in, and rummage about selecting stuff, further contaminating the platter with their spittle driven illnesses. I want her peas and coleslaw¹, not herpes and coldsores!

And certainly not off Jamie Oliver!

If I want E-Coli I can stay at work and use someone's keyboard and pick up eCauliflower from their keys infected by their rancid dung-encrusted digits!

I wants me £10 deposit back :(

Shared AntiPasty planks my best hat...

¹ WHICH MAY WELL BE A EUPHAMISM. AND KNOWING THE XYM, IT PROBABLY IS. AND IF IT ISN'T, IT DAMN WELL SHOULD BE!

Christmas is coming and your tummy's getting fat...

So said a Pretty as I passed by her flat

"If you don't slim your belly, no girls will fancy you

And if you want to pull a bird, shave off that 'tashe too!"

Oh waily waily!

The Partaking of many an Xmas lunch and buffet with much quaffage of carbonated beverages of an inebrial nature has left me somewhat rotund about the equatorial belt of my vast frame.

Nude Year's Resolution was 600dpi (if you know what I mean, and in this case, I'm not sure even I do!)

However, New Year's resolution is to get all slim and svelte again!

Perhaps I need to begin *shudder* The Exercise* *gulp!*.

I'm trying - I mean, last night, I ran all the way from Markarth to Winterhold. You'd think that charging over terrain for hours, fending off wolves and twatbastard Ice Trolls would get me in shape! But no - even being chased round a raised dais by a dread draughr overload doesn't lighten the load about my belly!

All them expended endorphins¹, and I'm still porky!

Mind you, she may have a point on the facial follicle adornment, for last night there was a dampness in the air. And unlike a regular chin-merkin, the twiddly 'tashe (being horizontal instead of a verticality) tends to store up the dusk based dew.

Hirsute soupcatcher condensation is probably not all that appealling to them Young Womens I hear about. Tonsil tonguing saliva sharing snogifications are all the rage - but a bit of natural golden shower of ye goddes accumulating on the lip-ferret, and it's Ewwww! I'm not snogging you!

Maybe I can impress them with a new flickery finger idiosyncrasy! Stripping out the 165,000 pints of Guinness from the ends of me 'tashe² in elaborate fashion!

¹ WHAT EWOKS FIND ON THEIR FISHIES
² THIS IS TRUE, FACT FANS! AS PART OF OUR DEPARTMENTAL XMAS SOIRÉE, THERE WAS THE NOW LEGENDARY QUIZ. ONE QUESTION OF WHICH WAS 'HOW MANY PINTS OF GUINESS ARE LOST THROUGH MOUSTACHE ENTRAPMENT EVERY YEAR'. ANSWER: 165,000. JUST THINK - SOME SAD GIT WENT AROUND WRINGING OUT A YEARS WORTH OF STALE GUINNESS FROM SODDEN MOUSTACHES!

Xmas is coming and my bellend's getting fat...

Please spend a penny in an old man's hat

If you haven't got a penny

A number two will do

If you haven't got a number two

You probably need that Dulco-Ease what them haggard old trouts whitter on about in coffee shops.

Alas, due to oversleeperies, I know not if further harlots are Going About Their Business in their chemise of a morning.

I would nip over to Castle Mall gardens and Ogle The Office Pretties That Lunch as they sit in the sun in their binkineenies as they guzzle down their Special K & violate each others personal soup with their rapey Ryvita biscuits.

But I'm too busy at work for lunch-based lechery (although Foreign Serving Wench complimented me on my purple plumage whilst purchasing revoltiong Morrocan stew - maybe I's in there!¹)

But speaking of The Lunch remindeth me. The Office Xmas meal is all booked!

But Xym... It's October! Surely it's far too early to be considering Saturnalian celebrations?

But, booked it is, by the social scout who be not Xym.

Mmmmmm - turkey with all the trimmings! Xmas pud in a sea of cream! Where be this year's venue for the finest of Winter solstician repasts?

Captain America's!

Yay! Cap- eh, whut?

* checks menu *
* note lackage of specific Xmassy based menu *
* discovers Cap'n A's doesn't have a Xmas menu coz it's a burger bar *

Well peel my tangerines and glaze me figgy pud - there is no fecking seasonal munchage available! Not even a turkey & sprout burger! Captain Amerca's? Captain Arse, more like! Taking the Xmas crackers and wiping his great fat arse with 'em. Bastard!

An Xmas meal of BeefBugger & chips? Well, whoop-de-fecking-whoop. Might as well go to Maccy D's as they at least have a 'Festive Pie' of spiced fruit mincemeatery filling. My only Xmas meal of the year, and it's a twatarse bogstandard buggering bastard of a burger I get get any day of the week.

Oh well, looks like I'll just have to make up for it with one of them Turkey Meals for one (2 for £1.99 from t'Co-Op) on Xmas Day instead.

:(

¹NO XYM, YOU'RE NOT. AND NEVER WILL BE.