This day the Doubpuppettino family cleans its house.
An unfortunate division has emerged within the notorious Doubtpuppetino crime family. The Don’s sister, The Cuntessa di FuckingMajorFuckingAttitudeProblemsino, has chosen to side with the Don’s clinically SHIT father, Don NarcissisticFatTwatti, in his increasingly abusive behaviour, thus instigating a shitty family feud.
This of course means two things:
- Hating these stupid bullets by the way – NOT MY CHOICE!
- Oh fucksticks – so that’s 3 things now I guess
- NO NO NO NO NO NO NO that’s clearly 4 things now! Oh this is some aggravating bullshit this is. THAT’S 5 things now! FINAL FUCKING ANSWER CHRIS. Won’t get fooled again! …
- OK so this is the first proper thing, just to clarify: Later on, the Don’s sister will be taken out to the middle of the family boating lake under the false premise of seeing some lovely new born kittens. Then she will be blown to smithereens instead(that’s right – the old exploding kitten trick)
- And thing 2 is that the Don gets to spend Christmas Day alone today
- Oh fuck no – how do you get out of these stupid bullets now? OH CMON this makes it 6 things now but it’s not my fault?! Some major fucking bullet sabotage goin on here if you ask me! Time to roll up my old HTML sleeves and go deep on this little WordPress bitch ….
Theeeeeeere we go. That’s how we get it done in my manor. Who’s your Daddy WordPress??? Hmmm?????
What’s that you say – Go Daddy? Hmm well I guess that does actually make quite a lot of sense. Good answer.
You just earned yourself a reprieve.
Perhaps it’s time to continue …
Well this post is going well for a nice change isn’t it(rhetorical). I should write for magazines really. It’s just one big effortless storybook pleasure boat ride-o-rama isn’t it. I haven’t been sued by a reader yet though. I can say that. So it can’t be that bad surely.
I genuinely cannot remember what the fuck this post was even about now. Ahhhhh this is embarrassing. I apologise. Give me a minute people. I need to go to my meditation chamber to collect my thoughts. This doesn’t happen very often but when it does it’s very embarrassing for me as a world-renowned writer.
If only I had some editorial control and I could somehow conceal these things after the fact.
Never mind – it is what it is and we shall carry on – balls out, devil may care, three sheets to the wind(no idea what any of those phrases actually mean if I’m honest).
Ok I remember now!
So boo hoo – Christmas day on my own. Oh I can take it YOU FUCKERS! Solitude is my middle name.(it’s not really – it’s William).
This is nothing. Do you hear me? N O T H I N G!
A haaaaa ha ha ah ha ha ahaha asha;iusdegli;oasugedvkluy89wn eq98;ref
I live for this shit. I could do one of those Mars missions where it takes 2 years to get there, then get stranded, and build my own colony of bearded volleyball worshippers. But then the volleyballs would unexpectedly rebel and overthrow me and incredibly I’d end up on the bottom rung of even THAT pecking order. So FUCK THAT NONSENSE! I’m staying put thank you very much. NICE FUCKIN TRY THOUGH NASA.
No cigar shaped UFO this time fools!
Red wine may have been consumed at this point in the proceedings. Not that I feel it particularly affects my journalistic style very much.
So the point I’m circling around here at the speed of descending pitch(google it – it’s a real thing, but I really can’t be arsed to find a screenshot or a link), is that I took myself for a walk through the woods up the road earlier on.
It was around 3pm so I had a good idea that no fucker would be about and that’s just fine cos I’m awesome enough to carry it off on my own. And besides, unless you’ve got a dog, people assume a single male out for a walk in the woods is either a flasher, a rapist, a serial killer, or some sad cunt who has no Christmas dinner to go to. So an absence of judgemental people was just fine by me.
However, I did stumble on something that warmed my frostbitten heart by a couple of degrees. Someone had gone into the middle of the woods and decorated a normal tree as a Christmas tree. It made me properly smile, and even though I looked rough as fuck after my booze-addled crappy sleep last night, I just had to take a photograph. In fact I had to take many photographs because I tend to look like either a flasher, a rapist, a serial killer or some sad cunt who hasn’t got a Christmas dinner to go to on photographs.
Furthermore, the results were so very poor that I even made myself laugh. Maybe the phone’s camera is broken somehow because it doesn’t even look like me on some of them. I look like a squished up Paul McCartney alien hybrid. And no one needs that. So I have selected the two best photos here to share with you today. If any smart arse is tempted to call Samaritans or something on my behalf, it’s OK, I am OK despite my emaciated sickly appearance. I drank alcohol last night, and slept like a cursed man awaiting execution, plus yknow, I’m kinda getting old here now! So don’t panic. That’s all pretty normal for a hungover me.
Ah who am I kidding – I look like shit all the time!
Which is my roundabout way of saying … Happy Christmas people!