Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates.
“In honour of this holy season,” Saint Peter said, “you must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.”
The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. “It represents a candle,” he said.
“You may pass through the pearly gates” Saint Peter said.
The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, “They’re bells”.
Saint Peter said “You may pass through the pearly gates”.
The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women’s soiled panties.
Saint Peter looked with a raised eyebrow and asked, “And just what do those symbolize?”
The man replied, “They’re Carols”
Anybody would think it was chuffing Christmas already.
I don’t watch a huge amount of television, so I’ve thankfully managed to miss the avalanche of cheerful, colourful Christmas-related adverts that always infest the schedules from October onwards. However, our retailers’ favourite season has managed to catch up with me this week.
I got to band practice on a Monday night and I pick a couple of other guys up on the way (for the blow, you know). There’s one house in Chilwell that has already got his Christmas lights up. The idiot has plastered the whole front of his house (and no doubt parts of the rear and insides) with the most revolting lighting arrangement I’ve ever seen. Powergen will be looking forward to their next bill from you then.
It gets worse. Our rehearsal was just jam-packed full of Christmas music for some up-coming concerts. Naturally, people seem to want to listen to happy Yuletide tunes around that old pagan Winter Festival and so we’ve been rehearsing some. All night. There was no escaping it, although at least we didn’t play Little Fucking Donkey.
Then, in order to further reinforce the concept of an impending Christmas, we had a camera crew in work today. They were filming something for the firm’s TV station which is piped to all sorts of offices all around the world in order to provide news and business notices. They wanted to film some employees wearing silly hats, looking cheerful and singing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. I managed to avoid getting into choirboy-mode but did over-hear the singing, much to my Scrooge-like distress.
Oh well, Christmas is coming. I shall look forward to the time off work, nearly two weeks with my girlfriend and lots of booze and food. I’m even looking forward to the sprouts – I love sprouts! I just hate the rampant commercialisation of the whole bank holiday season. Roll on the new year.