As I leaned over my parapet and poured hot soup down onto the heads of the carol singing street urchins who dared to darken my doorstep just now; a terrible choking feeling took hold; intangible, unassailable, hard to get the measure of.
Some form of ubiquitous peer group pressure coercing me into buying lots of mass-produced goods of roughly equal value to those bought for me by others, similarly coerced.
Seeing through this cynical retail ploy, I cast off this humbug with a snarl, and waddled back to my worn out armchair, snapping at my underpaid clerk to place another lump of coal onto the pathetic burner.
Then I whipped him for his bare-faced insolence, threatened to sack him for no reason whatsoever, and made some comedy pantomime bad guy remark about “the surplus population”.
It’s the only way he’ll learn.
It’s funny, as I get older, Scrooge is starting to make more and more sense and the other characters in A Christmas Carol are starting to look like incredibly naive arseholes. Especially that showboating Tiny Tim phony. Where the hell does that guy get off? I’m not buyin’ it.
But maybe that’s just me.
I digress, as is my wont.
Rather like Terrence Malick releasing a film, but minus the artistic genius and Hollywood buzz, I decided to lift my blog embargo momentarily to share with you a jolly festive Christmas poem I just wrote. I hope it warms your chestnuts and gets you in the mood for a Holly Jolly Christmas…
You scratch my back I’ll scratch yours,
careful with those Santa claws,
giving gifts to tick a box,
silly shit like Simpsons socks.
Thieved of our prerogative,
choosing why and when to give,
force-fed phony snowy scenes,
prostituting what it means.
Global shakedown shopping scam,
scored by Wizard, Slade and Wham!,
winding tired from store to store,
no-one seems to know what for.
Used to be the Pagan Yule,
buried thanks to Roman rule,
underneath a Christian pall,
also thieved as I recall.
Now the pall has worn threadbare,
not enough belief or care,
keep the icons, lose the rest,
leaves a vapid shopping fest.
Mindless shotgun gift exchange,
join in or they’ll think you’re strange,
empty all your pockets out,
that’s what Christmas day’s about.
Scrooge aside though, may the force be with you this Christmas.
Peace and love to all of you!
And God bless us,everyone
Ah shaddap Tiny Tim!