Halloween is over, Bonfire night is done and Christmas aisles have been springing up in supermarkets accross the country like victims in Hollywood.
Yes, it’s that time of the year again, pre Christmas. The first merry cunt in your street will have his lights up by the end of the week, and Wham will be raping your ears every day on your morning commute by the end of the fortnight.
Long gone are the days of short Christmases. Now IT’S CRIIIISSSSSTTTMMAAASSS! for at least a fucking month. It just gets longer every year like a list of disgraced politicians.
It’s not truly Christmas though until you’ve lost a tooth in a Tesco fight for a shit 50 quid TV or end of line Dyson on Black Friday, or at least been to a fucking ‘Christmas Market’.
People love all that crap don’t they? Bang a few log huts up, play some shit generic festive saxophone music and boom! You can charge a fiver a shot for some hot wine, or 4 quid for fucking a macaroon and cunts will flock in their droves, standing there in the biting cold, skint, squashed by hoardes of other cunts all saying how fucking lovely it is.
Well make the most of this year and next, because after Brexit you’ll be walking around normal market stalls with inexplicable Cockneys shouting at you to buy fucking tomatoes and only dreaming about macaroons, when the Germans realise that not even the thickest Brits will pay 30 quid for a sausage and a stein of lager.
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