Predictably, I fucking hate Christmas. If I wanted to sit on my arse all day eating rich food, drinking until I have gout and trying desperately to amuse myself with pointless diversions I would have been an aristocrat in 18th century France.
Have you had your works “do” yet? I bet it was great wasn’t it? Loads of people you already have to put up with all day, every day (except now it’s on your own time and you are expected to buy a drink for that fat cunt from accounts as well) crammed into an over-loud bar and all sweating onto each other, talking about work and having a jolly old fucking time indeed. Hateful, hateful extravaganzas… I’m not going to ours this year, as I think I’d rather die of rectal haemorrhaging in prison than attend another.
At least we aren’t expected to send xmas cards around the office this year (which lets me off the hook as I never send the fuckers anyway), as instead we have decided to take the money we would normally have spent on cards and give it to a “worthwhile charity”.
This suits me as I spend fuck all a year on cards, so I’m just going to send the charity a note saying “pull yourself up by your damn bootstraps man!” instead.
YO HO FUCKING HO….
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