It's a blisteringly hot August day and I'm regretting wearing a black shirt right now. I'm sweating like a paedophile in Mothercare and I just want to get home. I'm walking past Old Orleans, the most overpriced shit hole to ever disgrace Broad Street with its presence and I'm confronted by something unbelievable -- the visage of St Nick; the brutal image of Kris Kringle; that fat cunt, Father Christmas. The faux-Deep South wankstains are foisting their Christmas meal-deals off on me by using this Coca Cola-drinking motherfucker. It's August, you lizards, fucking AUGUST.
Let's ignore the fact that only the perpetually shitfaced and/or mentally ill would want to spend Christmas in that hole for a second and concentrate on one important detail -- IT'S FUCKING AUGUST. I wanna be drinking cocktails, whining about the heat, enjoying the return of Premier League drivel at Villa Park. I do NOT want to be worrying about where I'm going to be having an awkward, bitter meal with my family, not that I'd take my family for fucking Gumbo, anyway, you stupid cockshafts.
Please explain why it's so acceptable to have the Christmas info-bukkake start so fucking early in the year? And why does it feel like it's getting earlier and earlier? No, horrid catalogue company, I will not be joining up to piss money away on useless (glorious) iPhones or fucking hampers full of disgusting (delicious) turkey. GET THEE BACK TO DECEMBER, BEFORE I THROTTLE YOU.
I get it, really, I know, it's all about people doing Christmas early, whilst they still have the time and money. I understand the economics of it, but please, can we not just wait until winter has officially started? Christmas is miserable, I don't like to be reminded of it in August, on an annoyingly bright day, when I'm trying to stagger to Sainsbury's with a hangover-induced headache that feels like a small Filipino child has been playing hacky-sack with my brain.
Just fucking stop it. Until September, at least.
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