Rusty belongs to the anonymous commenter formerly known as Trillion. He went to live with her last Christmas after being given as a pressie by yours truly (or is it faithfully or sincerely?).
Anyway, during a conversation with Trillion this evening, she rumbled me and figured that I'd purchased "Rusty Cock 2 - The Daddy" for one of her Christmas presents. There's nothing like keeping Christmas special I suppose. RC2 didn't have any bar code or price so I had to ask at the till (T K Maxx) where I begged the young lad to ask his supervisors for a pricecheck on a "12" rusty cock". He opted instead for "It's not very big... no, no more than ten, maybe twelve inches. No not as big as that, it's quite small actually".
Not-so secret Santa
I love where I work at Base 2a. The entire NHS depends on the people there and EVERYTHING is so very, very important. To the point that every single point of discussion has to be bled dry in two to three hour heated debates. I'm talking serious things here: latest Aldi bargains; holidays; what's on the menu at the canteen.
I turned up today to find that only two people were left to be chosen for the Christmas gift thing, I made my choice. "Oh good", I said, dying inside.
You see, in normal workplaces where they do this sort of thing, you either choose in secret, so that nobody knows who is buying for whom, or everybody just buys a pressie to a certain value and people pick something out of the - I called it a tumbledryer earlier - tomboler. Anonymity is key. Here, however, everybody knows who is buying whose present. This is all part of the anti personnel psychological warfare that is ingrained in the culture there. It automatically takes the fun out of the entire exercise because you can't buy racy pressies, or things that are a bit close to the knuckle, or remotely humorous. The presents that are exchanged are generally very safe, very tedious things. Let's face it, if you're going to get something that you don't want, it might as well be rude and tasteless, rather than just tasteless tat.
"Oh good", I said, dying inside.
The second my victim discovered that I'd the one buying their present, they swooped and stood in the doorway of my office, trapping me there.
"I hear you're buying my Christmas present. I'm really very easy to buy for..."
Not as easy to buy for if you didn't know it was coming from me... "Yeah, just jot down two or three things that you'd like and I'll see what I can do."
"Really, I'm not at all fussy, I'm very easy to buy for."
Jesus, this is the person who's taken 4 weeks to decide on which digital camera to buy from a choice of one... "Oh good, yeah, that's great. It's better if I get you something that you'd like. Just write down two or three things that you might like..."
"Yeah, the only thing I don't really use are books. I don't really read books, so cookery books or gardening books wouldn't really be any use. But I'm very easy to buy for, so toiletries and jewellery, anything like that is great."
Fu-king-hell, please stop the screaming, the pain is killing me... Jewellery for a tenner? You having a fucking laugh??? You'll get a Dove selection box from Boots like every other fucker! "Oh, that's fine, we'll get you sorted, don't worry."
Berrrlimey! Harmless, nice, decent people, but not my cuppa tea.
No brainer
Apparently, they're also called "bran tubs", where you put all the pressies into a big tub and pick one out. Bran tub, why's that then? Bran...
I had Trillion explain "no-brainer" to me earlier too. You hear it loads: "Well, it's a no-brainer, isn't it?" Eh? What you mean with this "no-brainer"? I no understand. "Like you don't need a brain to understand or to make a decision".
Why's that then? Of course you need a brain to understand, dickhead.
You know what I mean? At the end of the day, err basically, it's a no-brainer.
Fuck.
So, that's Trillion's surprise ruined; it wasn't cheap either. And to think I was going to get her a Toby jug gravy boat with the face of Robbie Williams. No-brainer, really.
Santa Claus is coming to town
Already here in the Sniffy household, where the residents are so happy, it really is like Christmas every day!
Bollocks to that.
For some reason, I was singing "Santa claus is coming to town" earlier. Max had been whinging at me and it just started: "You'd better not shout, you'd better not cry...."
"SAAAAAAAAAAAANTA Claus is coming to town - oh yeah!"
I never say Santa Claus, it's Father Christmas as far as I'm concerned.
And of course, I was singing a hybrid of all the popular versions of the song, which a bit odd, considering the weird tempo of the Jackson 5 rendition. Of course, the one version that I didn't incoporate was Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen's. This is so dreafully awful and un-Christmassy that it's analagous to the gratey-throated union man coming round to your house on Christmas day, shagging your mum, killing your dad, slitting the cats' throats and shitting on the turkey.
No, no, no! It'd be like fucking Coldplay doing "Last Christmas" or Travis coming out with "All I want for Christmas is you". It's just WRONG! But it can't be wiped from our memories, can it? Bruce Springsteen has effectively ruined Christmas.
Thanks Bossman, you utter twat.
I can't believe I've done a post about Christmas already. I might do a Sniffy Advent Calendar, with each day representing another joyous occurrance, meeting or coming to blows in my run up to my Christmas dinner.
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