X-Mas Special – Mr X-mas Day

Benny rocks up to Christmas day after a shirtless night at the Leftbank. In between pint spillin’ and floor pissin’, he managed to hook a slippery slurry-fish by the name of Jodee.

In the spirit of sloppy misadventure, Benny decides to bring his recently unemployed lover to the family lunch. Grandma greets the sleepless pair at the door and politely grimaces as the thick aroma of unprotected mistakes wafting in the un-merry breeze.

Jodee’s cleavage struggles helplessly against the tide of intoxication, while the family try their best to ignore the half dressed elephant in the room. All except for Keith, the resident drunk uncle who feels his mighty ivory tusk becoming endangered-ly enlarged in his stained cargo shorts.

Alas, he knows he must be on his best behaviour after the shame of dacking his son’s girlfriend like a tentacly cuntopus in the pool last year. Relationships have since been rebuilt.

Eventually, dear sweet nan announces that it’s time to open pressies and hands the first gift to her 11-year-old granddaughter. The infinite joy of surprise soon turns to blank disbelief as she rips away the paper to reveal her gift: a copy of the Guinness Book of fucking Records 2018. A clear re-gift.

The room falls as silent as the seconds preceding a 2 pump chump’s blaze of glory. The girl’s father gives his cheap-fuck sister an ocular American History X’ing as the offending tight-arse basks in the savings made.

By the end of the session, it looks like a Lynx shower pack bomb exploded but blew nobody away. By this stage, the generational resentment is seeping through like the sweat stains on a maths teacher’s shirt.

Fortunately, the food is ready, and everyone can stop pretending to like each other and fill the void of family-fuckery with buttery dinner rolls. Benny and Jodee struggle with their pinga-shrunk stomachs while the males fist their ham-holes like they were Iain Hewitson on the loose in the Chrisco hamper factory.

After pitifully gnawing on the same prawn for 20 minutes, Benny leans back on his chair and pulls out a dart. The spark of the Bic ignites the charge towards the powder keg of nan’s patience. She has absolutely had a gut-full of the shameful display from her family.

She goes full Harold Bishop and wobbles the turkey neck of disapproval: “that’s quite enough young man! Should you have returned from the war, your wife would have sent you back!”

Nan’s vintage diss hits Benny harder than any of his previous failings. There is nothing for Benny to do, but enter a state of yew-ceptance and mutter out a half-arsed apology.

Fortunately for Benny, the gods of looseness shine upon him, as his mum stands up and points at a shambolic display at the head of the table, “for fuck’s sake, Keith’s bloody pissed himself!” Like a piss puddle in a drunk uncles chair, so are the days of our Christmases.

Art by Shakey

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