Roses are red, My memes are all dead, The fear of getting WWlll drafted fills me with dread. The jokes on you, For what you do has no effect on me You see I don’t live in the land of the free. I live in England with Tea and Brexit. Now I will make an exemplary exit. So next time you blow up a leader of war, Don’t come knocking on my fucking door.
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December 23rd
Hey, I’m Jingle. If you’re reading this then you’re a nosy asshole and I respect you. But if I find out who you are I’ll shoot you and your wife.
Anyway, Christmas has been pretty rough this year. These kids have been little pricks and keep asking for more and more each year. Who the fuck do they think we are? A charity?
Little Timmy’s in the shock of his life when he see’s that Santa gave his mommy toys too. Yeah a fucking dildo. What a classy chap.
The work shop ain’t what it used to be. Old Man Twinkle is now a pimp. He sells Strawberry Shortcake dolls to all the sexually pent up elf’s for around £50/$55 each. He used to Jingle other people’s bells, if you get what I mean. But ever since Santa caught him he hasn’t been the same.
We start packing the sleigh tomorrow. Let’s hope all the shit fits and that the feminists don’t come after us for global warming or something.
December 24th
We packed the sleigh and Santa’s off. I can guarantee that handsy has fucked Mrs Clause at least five times already. I think everyone’s had a go on that bimbo. She’s had more rides then a fucking merry go round. Pretty sure that Rudolph’s had a rummage around in there. Red nosed fucker. The kids all think his red nose is magic. I can tell you now that it’s bull shit. He was sniffing coke with Dancer and Prancer when some glow stick liquid got mixed up in there. His nose has been brighter than my ass ever since.
I can guarantee that most of those other jolly fuckers have written in their journals about the magic of Christmas. And the amazing feeling of making others happy. Well fuck that. The only thing that can deck my halls is snowflake, she mighty fine.
If you’re reading this snowflake then hit me up. Because I can guarantee some mother fucker, probably Cretin, will post this shit online.
Okay I’m gonna drop kick the baby reindeer, bye.
So you’re probably reading this and thinking, who the fuck is this ass hole? Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Alex Roman, a millionaire player. I get all the girls and guys I want when I want. Why? Because I’m rich and your not, dipshit.
My life was going perfect. I had everything I wanted! Hookers, money... more hookers. You know? Classy shit like that. But then that fucking ass hole took all that shit away. I was making an honest living! What right does he have telling me that you can’t sell crack to junked up celebrities? Am I right? Of course I am.
Anyway, there I stood, face-to-face with that princess of Marvel, Deadpool. A gun was clutched in his hand as his face was painted in the blood of my security guard. I mean rather him then me right? But what was he coming after me for? I had nothing of interest to that freak show. I mean nothing. Not unless he wanted some crack, which was doubtful.
“Hey, Junk-o!” He called out, I was assuming to me. “What?” “A little birdie told me that you sold something to a guy I’m after. Goes by the name Crusader. Seen him?” He walked over and placed the gun against my head. “Well?” “This isn’t a safe place. No one uses any real names.” As I spoke he pushed the gun harder against my flesh.
“John Crusum, also known as Crusader. You’ve never seen him?” “Never.” “Bullshit.” “Why would I lie? You just killed all my men with not even a hint of remorse. What would I gain from lying?” “You tell me, Alex.” His arm slacked slightly. Though the gun was still in it’s place.
My mind searched trying to think of anyone I’d served who may go by such a name. Kind of stupid in my humble opinion, but it was life or death. And you’re fucking wrong if you think I’d choose death.
“Last chance, big guy.”
“Wait!”
“Start talking. Before I blow them dick sucking lips right off of your gorgeously, smooth face. Do you moisturise? My mother always told me I should but I-“
“He came in last week.” “Now we’re getting somewhere. Maybe every third base because damn your beautiful, Mr Roman.” “He said something about going to Chicago!” “Chicago? Why’s it always Chicago? Why not, fuck I don’t know, Florida? Fucking Chicago.” He placed his hands on his hips, removing the gun from my head.
“That’s all you know?” “Yes. Honest.” “Cross your heart?” “I-“ “Cross it. I love that Disney film. And we can reference it because guess who owns Marvel? Looking at you in the audience, you know who you are.” His attention came back to me. “Pleasure doing business with you but now I’m gonna kill yah.”
All I heard was a bang.
Then the dark came.
And here I am now. Stuck in a shitty short story for you amusement.
You amused yet?
“Miss Sullivan!” Called out the old, boring English teacher. “What, Sir?” Replied Constance Sullivan. Her face was stuffed with her favourite food, rice pudding. “Put that bloody rice down and sort your tie out. It’s all over the place-“ “A bit like your eyebrows, sir,” she reached into her back pack and pulled out some tweezers. “You ever seen these before?” She called out. She lifted the tweezers into the air for the whole class to see. Amused by the blonde girls antics, the class erupted into laughter.
“I’m warning you, Sullivan.” He pointed his sausage like finger at her face. “Anymore nonsense and you’ll be having your rice pudding in the head teachers office.” “A first date with Mr Rooney? Oh lucky me,” she cracked. The class chuckled yet again and soon the lesson continued as the English teacher, Mr Letterman, had planned.
That was until his false hair began to slowly peel from his scalp. No one had noticed at first, they were too busy taking notes for their up-coming assignment. The as the lesson progressed it became more and more evident. Until eventually it ended up falling into the poor man’s cup of tea. It landed with a plop and a soggy splash. Needless to say, no one expected it.
“Bloody hell, Letterman! I think your wig just won the worlds best diver award!” Yelled Yasmin.
“Yeah, what a dick head!” Boomed Boris.
“It’s alright, sir! I have something else you can borrow!” At that moment Constance Sullivan, yet again, reached into her bag. Then slowly pulled out her swimming cap. “See, Sir! I can’t tell the difference!”
“CONSTANCE! GET OUT! NOW!”
