Clichéd Christmas Carping: Part 32(b)

I've heard it stated that Christmas is a cruel joke perpetrated upon the broke, the lonely, and the depressed. A plausible, but maudlin and slightly pretentious statement. Granted, it's a right old pain in the crotch, but since it's 'but once a year', it's one I can live with. Anyway, top things about Christmas: Christmas market in Argyll Street with it's neat little wooden stalls and amusing tat. (obviously stolen from Lapland New Forest...) German sausage sellers. Without them, I'd have died of hunger on many of my abortive Christmas shopping trips. The lights on the trees in Sauchiehall Street. Lovely! In fact, the plethora of Christmas lighting strung up over various bits of greenery at St Georges Cross and Cowcaddens. Beats the cack in George Square. Not that you'd know it was fucking christmas in my current place of work. Half-day on Christmas eve? Ha! Don't be so fucking silly! No, if you want to leave early, you need to make up the time apparently. How about I turn up at 4pm tomorrow and take 45 minute lunches for the next two months? If we're going to play silly buggers, I want to be the king of the castle! Buncha Crotch Pheasants! On top of this indignity, the cretins decide to pay us on the 23rd. Every other fucker on the planet seems to get their Christmas wage a good week before the 25th, you know, so that they can go and do their Christmas shopping........... Not the employees of the company I work for! Instead I have to fight the clock as well as the crowds in an insane after work dash, two days before the day we all celebrate the birth of the little babby Jimmy Christ, usually by getting wasted and buying each other the finest consumer durables China has to offer. Stereotypical Christmas bitches in no particular order: Endless queues? Check! Doddering fools? Check! Pile upon pile of worthless tat? Check! Pissy weather? Check! Shakin Bastard Stevens and Paul Fucking McCartney on the PA? Check! (x100000) Do my shopping earlier? Fuck off! I have neither the time nor the inclination to think about the annual orgy until I need to, it's just that a three mile trolley dash in the dark is about as much fun as listening to the Catholic church whingeing about a childrens party song. Next year, I do it all on-line................ All malignance aside, have yourselves a safe, sane and gently innebriated Christmas.

Low- Just Like Christmas