From the Street

Not one to get all caught up in festive cheer, I thought I'd bring you something far more interesting.



It turns out that Kate Nash is indeed from "the street." Here she is, on "the street." I wish her well.

Santa? Santa? Who the fuck is Santa?

Fucking Christmas eh? Call me Scrooge if you want to but you have to admit that it's just a fucking ballache. Just another excuse to go out, spend a fuckload of money and decorate your house in a load of shiny shit like a gay man gone crazy. Nobody actually believes in Jesus any more anyway, so why don't we just scrap the whole thing? I mean, there's just so many things wrong with Christmas that by the time the big day comes, you just don't give a shit anyway...

Shopping;

So, you need to buy some presents eh? Well I know, lets all rush like fucking idiots into the nearest town centre and run around the place like twats, looking for some tacky shit that no-one actually wants. Sound good to you? Nah, me neither. So why does 99% of the population feel the need to do that? So that when I go into town having carefully thought about what I'm going to buy, I can't get into a fucking shop for the thousands of dickheads bustling around in fucking Santa hats? If it wasn't for you people I'd get my Christmas shopping done in half an hour. Oh, and ladies, it's not obligatory to look at every single shelf, in every single shop. Okay? Just buy what you want and fuck off home...

'Oi you, yeah, the dick in the Santa coustume. Do one, I'm trying to buy some shit, yeah?'

Christmas cards;

I know what would look brilliant in my living room... a load of cheap-ass cards from people that I don't really know! Has anyone ever said this? No. So fuck off, I don't want one the cards that you bought in a pack of five hundred for about 25p. In fact, I'd rather eat my own face than read the generic Christmas message that you thought up in ten seconds and then replicated five hundred times.

'To Adam, Merry Christmas. Lots of love, Santa'... 'Yeah, thanks Santa, I hope that reindeer bums you. Merry fucking Christmas to you too.'

Food;

Turkey, Potatoes, Sprouts, Carrots, Parsnips, Pigs in fucking blankets. Chocolate, Trifle, Christmas pudding. If I eat all of this I'm going to die of heart faliure, so if you don't mind I'll just make myself a sandwich... You want me to sit at the table with the family? What, so you can jabber on about how brilliant Christmas is and how nice that piece of shit cardigan I got from Nan was? Piss off.

'Look, cheers for cooking all of this shit Mum, but if I wanted to be a fat bastard I'd go and eat at McDonalds every day, yeah?'

Decorations;

Let's have a competition... Let's see who can make their house look the most ridiculous by putting up a big-ass tree in the living room and throwing shiny, glowing shit at it until it's so fucking bright that everyone has to wear shades to watch TV. Then, we can see who can piss the neighbours off most by placing huge flashing lights outside, aiming them at next door's window and switching them on at 6am every single day for a month. Then, once Christmas is over, we can spend five days picking tiny pieces of glitter out of the carpet. Brilliant.

'Yeah, fuck you neighbours.'

Carol singers;

Knock knock... Who's there? A load of fucking gypsies that want me to pay them for singing some bullshit songs that I didn't want to hear in the first place. Are you taking the piss? You best had be...

'Deck the halls with boughs of holly? Why don't you jog on before I deck you, you scruffy little twat.'

Christmas films;

Great, everyones opened their presents and the Christmas dinner has been eaten. Thank fuck for that. Let's go and watch some TV... Hang on. What the fuck is this? Home alone? Oh screw you BBC. Screw you.

'Now you're really taking the piss'