I’ve come to the decision that the people of Britain have been far too naughty this year, what with all the looting and rioting and striking, so instead of wasting my time on Christmas eve delivering presents, I’m going to have some well deserved ‘me time’: a soapy wank in the bath, quaff a couple of bottles of Baileys and watch the Downton Christmas special in my slanket. Do you think this a good idea or is Downton Abbey a load of overhyped shit?
Why is it that you and my parents are so obsessed with the idea of being good? Why would you sit in the library with boring old Cynthia Walker and trace over pictures of baby Jesus when you could be running free with Oliver French in the playground, chasing the stray dog that’s got in through the fence. It may be risqué, but who could resist throwing stones at its head when it stops to do a massive yellow poo on the football pitch? And, although it was Oliver, not me, who picked up the dog turd and flung it at the nursery it did make a splendid yellow splat on that lovely white wall and it would have been rude not to stand there and laugh. Anyway, I’d much rather be sitting at the naughty table, sniggering at Mrs Dodkin’s moustache and flicking bogies at her back than watching that cow Cynthia blunt my favourite glitter pen on the baby Jesus’ massive, boring halo.
Hope that helps, and Merry Christmas!