In which my dad bums some furniture
(Repost from 'Dad Stories')

Picture the scene... It's early Christmas evening. The presents have all been opened. The Christmas dinner has been demolished. Her Maj has been toasted at 3pm with the first sherry of the day (A tradition at my folks' house - though they give nary a tinker's cuss for the royals for 364 days of the year) and it's just about that sort of time when...

Ma Jimlad: "Anyone for charades?"

We never learn. It always descends into trouble. But we're all rather merry and in fine festive fettle so myself, my brother and the 'rents settle into a game.

It's all jolly good fun. To begin with. Ma pulls off an impressive 'Gone With The Wind' with a flatulence mime. I get lucky and manage to do 'Imagine' in under 5 seconds while my brother raises a few guffaws by goose-stepping his way through 'Fawlty Towers'. So that brings it round to...

My dad loves a game of charades. Though it does tend to bring out his competitive side. This will quickly be illustrated by what happened next. I'll be as descriptive as possible, see if you can guess what he was trying to do....

Having read the card he pauses for a second in thought and looks around the room.

"Are you ready?" I ask, in my role as time-keeper for the round, "Go!"

"No! Wait!" he screeches and belts out of the room.

Cue three puzzled faces from the remainder of the family while we hear him unlock the back door, run across the patio and burst in to the garage. We can hear some commotion and the clock is still ticking.

"Is it 'The Invisible Man'?" quips my bro. Ho ho!

We hear him coming back and, even though we're all au fait with his competitive nature, none of us were quite prepared for the sheer WTF-ness of what happened next.

He *leaps* back into the room. Wearing a welder's mask and a weird sort of tea-towel scarf *thing*. He has a Christmas card in his hand. The one from Aunty Carol if memory serves.

After standing there in a "Well? Isn't it obvious?" pose for a few seconds, he points at the Christmas Card. Then resumes said pose. We all look at each other, not sure wether to laugh or have him sectioned. He gives us an exasperated look then starts jogging round the coffee table holding the Christmas Card by his side. He stops and gives us a pose that screams "oh come on! You must have got it by now!". No-one's made a single guess since he returned. I think we were all too stunned. We don't know how many words or anything, he forgot about that bit.

I look at the timer and in my stunned state barely manage to blurt out "15 seconds left, do something else quick!"

I so wish I hadn't said that.

He gives us one last infuriated, exasperated stare. Pulls me off the sofa and proceeds to dry-hump it. Hard. Still holding the Christmas card by his side and occasionally looking at it as though it was keeping him going in his furniture-bumming ways.

The buzzer goes.

He continues to give the sofa a seeing-to.

"Come on!", he shouts, now that he's allowed to. "It's obvious!"

"I don't think we're gonna get it dad..." ventures my brother, which is finally enough to stop the cushion-thrusting.

He gets up, red faced and beaten. We can all sense the frustration and anger bubbling under the surface so no-one wants to say what has to be said. He looks at us all in turn like we are dirt. We're an idiot-convention of the world's worst charade-guessers and he hates us.

It was my mum that finally cracked.

"What was it love?"

If, at this point, anyone has guessed correctly then I would suggest you are some form of superior being for if we had guessed for the rest of the day I don't think any of us would have expected him to bellow:

"I'M FUCKING BATMAN!"

There's a silence.

"BATMAN! Look!", he pulls off the tea towel. "What the hell did you think this was?"

Silence. And shrugs.

"It's a cape!"

Then came the questions... And the giggling.

"And the welders' mask?"

"It was the most bat-like mask I could find!"

"What was the little jog round the coffee table all about?"

"You must know the 'Batman Run'!!!? That's how he runs!"

"Oooooo-kaaaaaay... What the hell were you doing to the sofa?"

"THAT WAS THE BATMOBILE!"

We're in hysterics at this point and he's just getting angrier and angrier. Through tears of laughter my brother asks "Since when did Batman carry Christmas cards around with him?"

My dad picks up the card, turns it to face us and points with great conviction at the one detail that might have helped us.

"IT'S. A. FUCKING. ROBIN!"

He refused to play the next year
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Sun 22 Dec 2013, 4:56, 6 replies)

As I was brought up a Jehovahs witness, my Christmas anecdotes are :-
1. Spam and cream crackers for Christmas dinner.
2. No presents.
3. Listening to all the kids back at school talking about and showing all the stuff they got.
4. Sitting on my own in the library while the nativity play was on.
5. Dealing with the smell of religious fervour (similar to a cattle yard)
6. Having my nan read me the bible and then asking questions.
7. No Christmas telly.

THANKS GOD YOU FUCKING CUNT.
( Brandy_Bumwinkle, Fri 20 Dec 2013, 14:58, 19 replies)

Something Youtube has almost got cornered now, but in real life it's fun
2008, my brother was on tour in Iraq, and wasn't supposed to be home until the 28th, so would miss Christmas with the family.

He's in the air corp and wangled a flight home on the 24th, and called me to quietly arrange to pick him up at Brize Norton and take him back to our mothers house, where all our families were all assembling - about 15 people, including 6 kids.

(nobody except my other brother knew this was happening)

I grabbed a Santa suit on the way, picked him up and he changed in the car.

So I walk into my mothers house, and told the kids we had a surprise guest. He walks in, they all go 'yay! Santa!', then his 5 year old son recognises him and all fucking hell breaks loose.

Quite a merry Christmas.
(username failed moderation, Thu 19 Dec 2013, 16:44, 20 replies)

My name is father christmas and i live in lapland. it is fantastic. i bring your seasonal gifts. i like seasonal gifts. one time you lit a fire. i went down your chimney, but the flames burnt my feet. i didnt like it

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sun 29 Dec 2013, 14:52, 3 replies)

Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
but due to carbon monoxide poisoning, they were all dead.

Remember, get your boiler serviced.
( Muns, Fri 20 Dec 2013, 9:11, 5 replies)

Naughty children
When my kids were younger (one boy one girl) they fought like cats and dogs. I told them "if you don't stop being horrible to each other Santa is going to leave you coal in your stocking" the miserable little shits laughed! Right!... so I happened to have a small bag of coal in a crawlspace under the dining room so I went and got about 6 nice pieces. Dirty as hell as you can imagine so I washed them in the sink with dish soap after the kids had gone to bed and dried them nicely and put 3 pieces in each stocking with a note to the effect of if their behaviour hadn't improved by next Christmas this is all they would get.

Chrimbo morning rolls around and the kids are up on the hunt.. they get their stockings down and empty them out and find the note and the coal pieces along with some odds and sods. Now you'd think after a note from Santa and some coal samples they'd calm down a bit.. no not my kids.. one of them said "My piece looks like a gun!" and ran around shooting with it, the other kid wanted that... they were fighting over bits of coal!!!

We put the coal pieces on the mantle and they sit there to this day as a reminder of the fact that not even a gift of coal can calm down naughty children.

The eldest is off to college next year.
(Lurkaloid awarded wanking black belt on, Wed 25 Dec 2013, 0:44, 2 replies)

Dogs do the funniest things. I raise your shitting green ham.
T'was a few days before Christmas and off to the shops I did pop to purchase seasonal and festive food. My prize purchase was a huge spiky skinned pineapple, resplendent with crown. Thoughts of Piña colada at the forefront of my mind. I gave the pineapple a fitting place to be admired by guests in the living space, I knew they would be in awe of such a prize specimen ananas. I was as proud of that pineapple as I was of the three pedigree Great Danes that I owned at that time a beautiful family of father, mother and son. The father, very much the alpha and second in command.

I had to go to work, which was only downstairs in the bar. I popped back upstairs to check on the dogs. The dogs, all on their bed but looking very sheepish (not that dogs have expressions but they looked sheepish to me) - I knew something was amiss. Where's the poop? Is usually the first question but all three looked sheepish. I went into the living space and to my horror all that remained of my pineapple was the luscious and elegant crown.

Taking the crown I went to the dogs and knowing that they understood at last 25 words asked - "Who did this?" - usually one would give itself away but no they all cowered and tried to hide their faces from the pineapple crown. All guilty! Guilty, guilty, guilty. Still, animals what can you do. They knew they had done a very bad thing, we had a strict understanding about property ownership. I gave each a reprising nip on the ear to reinforce alpha command.

Business concluded for the day and time for bed. I was awoken at around 4am by the most awful half barks and yelping. Going to check on the dogs, the father was downstairs in the pub attempting to defecate but was having little success. OMG - I thought what is wrong with the poor soul. I was to quick to realise the source of the bad boys problem. Apparently he alone had consumed the pineapple. However, not understanding cause and effect he had not peeled the ultra spiky, thorny, irritating skin from the juicy flesh. And now behold, the pineapple skin being expelled from his anus not on the lovely smooth side but the scouring side. I had to assist with pulling the skin out because it was stuck and TBF I thing the dog had had enough.

That dog learnt another word, pineapple or specifically - Do you want some pineapple? would send the dog cowering to wherever was furthest away from the chance of pineapple. Like Les and chive soil.

tl:dr - Heh heh heh. That crazy Marmaduke.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 20 Dec 2013, 12:03, 25 replies)

Thiscunt
Poor old George the local Tesco trolley guy had a mild heart attack on the 22nd Dec*. After being told by his manager repeatedly that working at a large Supermarket chain he will get paid in full and stay at home so he can recover fully he turned up late afternoon Christmas Eve.
“Alright George, after all you've been through just stand politely by the door and explain that we’re shutting we don’t want to exasperate your situation when we all know that you should really be at home recuperating”
At 5 to 5 this guy came up to the door you know the type small, rat faced, lank hair and dishevelled waving a huge black dildo that, well let’s just say not only looked uncommon placed in a customer’s hands but had definitely been well used, almost as if someone had been hacking the bottom of it with Doc Martin boots, he was salivating ,spitting and drooling about the need for baby milk whilst proffering what was evidently a hand full of chocolate coins as payment , now George was getting a bit worried and decided that best thing would be to call for his immediate supervisor which was a good thing to do.
This guy looked like he had a fleet of Honda Accords at the ready and knew a thing about martial arts even though he was slightly less than George’s full height of 5’1” on tip toe, so as Doris the cleaning supervisor makes her way to front doors this guy legs it.
10 minutes later just as George was about to leave he noticed the return of this weirdo customer , as he feared for his life he got Doris to call the police and so they tried to stall him until the community at large could be protected from this evidentially deranged person demanding their names.
He managed to stalled him for a while even giving the names of Dan Germose and Beth Holjonamo, however he made his way in to the night going on to assault who ever knows

George said this guy had a look in eyes like they were in the wrong and that he wished something really bad on them, but after all it was Christmas and this guy probably had his own perspective on how the whole events had unfolded
*he told us this story at the local on Boxing Day**
** Or maybe it NEVER happened at all
( hartley hare Just some prick who thinks it doesn't apply to him, Mon 30 Dec 2013, 21:25, 16 replies)

Evil Grandma
My granny was a pretty bitter old woman who generally took a strong dislike to most things, especially people.

I have to admit I was amused by her trying to poison pigeons, keeping a large stash of cash under her mattress, and her telling her kind and helpful neighbour that he was nosey and to go away.

For both convenience and cost, I used to park my car in her resident's only space in the town where I worked, and she lived. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement - I got free parking, she got to speak to another human being who didn't care that she was a hate filled monster. I even took lunch with her once per week - we were buddies!

Anyway, long story short, the rest of my family sent a naff Jesus in a manger card, and a cheap bottle of booze at Christmas (the safe option as she liked a tipple and was not fond of...well anything really.)

Because I knew my place as the special grandson, I trotted off to the shops feeling all lovely inside, and purchased her a beautiful broach with diamonds and sapphires - she was an old girl but she dressed well! I done good, and this touching, personal (and expensive) gift would reach the cold caverns of her icy heart, and cement my place as favourite grandchild (and top place in the Will).

However, I underestimated her icy meanness, and failed to understand the depths to which she resented being alive. The gift rather backfired.

On picking her up in my car, to taxi her off to the parents for Christmas Day dinner, I was promptly and in no uncertain terms bollocked for being late - the fact I had a 2 hours detour to run this service was of no consequence. Despite having a large cosy house in which to wait, she stood outside for an hour in the snow to prove her point.

I was sure that she can't have opened the fantastic gift I had left wrapped for her, she wouldn't have spoken to me like the other vile humans!

"Did you get your little present from Santa, Grandma?" I dared to ask

" I did...and it's a damn horrible ugly thing, how the damn hell do you you expect me to put that on with hands like these..." shows twisty gnarly fingers like twigs, with talons for nails... "It's neither use nor ornament, I'm fed up of people giving me things I don't want and didn't ask for...."

She continued on a bit, but my brain filtered her tirade of complete ungrateful and insensitive evil, and I started to feel a bit dizzy. For a fraction of a second (well, maybe about 10 full seconds) my gaze fixed on a post at the side of the road, and I wondered if I released her seatbelt and drove into the post, if it would kill her, or make her stronger.

On arrival at my parents gaff, despite her being crippled up and barely able to shuffle along since I can remember, she unfastened her safety belt with her gnarly twig fingers, jumped out of the range rover, and marched into my parents house. It was a Christmas fucking miracle.

I cried, no one spoke at the dinner, she was taken home by my dad who was given the piece of jewellery to send back to me, and never bought her another present.

She's is in a nursing home now, stroking a stuffed bunny rabbit that she calls Flopsy.

I kept the broach as a reminder of the woman I used to know.

Merry Christmas.
(jairzinhor, Mon 23 Dec 2013, 13:56, 18 replies)

We once had a big ass ham for christmas that didn't get eaten, and went green about two weeks later so we binned it
Our dog fished it out of the bin and ate the whole rancid fucker. The first sign was when he vomited ham chunks on the carpet in front of us while we were watching the six million dollar man. the next few days he had uncontrollable diarrhea around the house, making little shit piles of macerated ham in some sort of yellowy goo. The hamshit seemed to go on forever.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Thu 19 Dec 2013, 22:27, 8 replies)

if you've had a perfect christmas
with no fights, no tantrums, no unwanted or just plain shit presents, no embarrassing drunk relatives, no turkey disasters and no remembering something vital 5 minutes after the shops have shut, you're either living alone or lying.
christmas isn't perfect. we want it to be, so we try so hard to make it what we want. it'll never match up, so we feel it's been terrible. failed at christmas? yeah, just you and every other fucker. stop trying to control it and go with the flow. it's so much easier. save the grief for next month's credit card bill.

EDIT: this is basically to everyone who's stressed themselves out. i haven't, but i've seen it everywhere in the past few days and it's pointless. mums especially, calm down, we really are enjoying it!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 26 Dec 2013, 16:43, 32 replies)

Tescunts
Wife gave birth to first child on the 22nd Dec. She wouldn't latch so was kept in to try to help breastfeeding. Eventually got home in the early hours of Christmas Eve.
By Christmas eve afternoon it was evident that baby wasn't happy on the boob and was distressed and hungry. Wife was sore and distressed too, so I was sent to Tesco's to stock up on formula to see us through Christmas day and Boxing Day.
Arrived at 5 to 5 as they were closing. Security knob on the door wouldn't let me in. So explained the situation expecting either logical sympathy or seasonal sympathy, or just plain common sense.
Prick still said no.
Felt like twatting the guy but he was bigger than me. So asked to speak to the manager.
Whilst waiting for him to appear, I fucked off to the petrol station that were open later and found some in there, so was almost happy.
Once the formula was in the car I went back and carried on waiting for the "busy" manager. When he eventually turned up, I ripped him a second arsehole and told the security guy what I thought of him too.
After I had calmed down I told thwm both that I'd be writing to their head office after taking their names.
I never did, but I hope their Christmasses were shit.
Cunts.
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Mon 30 Dec 2013, 18:18, 80 replies)

In December 1990 we got our first fax machine in the office
It came with dire instructions that it was only to be used in emergencies and to help customers...or else.

Needless to say, our first fax* was to the branch up the road, an A4 sheet with the hand-scrawled legend:

MERRY CRIMBO! WE'VE GOT A FAX MACHINE!


*actually the second, because we put the paper the wrong way up first time.
(rogerzilla, Thu 19 Dec 2013, 19:58, Reply)

Christmas Eve charades...
My great aunt has a go.
Four words...
...TV show...

Right...

...fourth word...

And she starts miming hacking her leg off.
"Saw!"
"Cut!"
"Chop?" we shout out.
Her head shakes - and it's back to the mime of her sawing her leg off.
"Maim?"
"Sawing?"
"Amputate!!!"
Getting desperate now - not getting very far.
Until, eventually, we give up.

"What was it?" we ask her.
And so she tells us, exasperated.

"It was: Are You Being Severed", she explains.
(SigourneysBeaver took off and nuked the entire site from orbit on, Thu 19 Dec 2013, 18:53, 1 reply)

get fucked

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Wed 1 Jan 2014, 1:13, 9 replies)

A little Christmas magic ...
Over here in sweltery hot Australia, Christmas is now done and dusted. We are all enjoying our well earned hangovers and considering getting in the pool.

This year, I am hosting family including a two year old. My kids are 10 and 6. A bit too old to believe in Santa. I conscripted them into a little magic on Christmas Eve.

We cut out reindeer footprints and laid them down from the front door, into the lounge room, with a little tango in front of the Christmas tree, before proceeding through the house and out the back door.

And a large pile of sultanas as reindeer poo. Squeals of delight from two year old niece on Christmas morning was awesome.
(Que?, Thu 26 Dec 2013, 21:40, 6 replies)

Pranking the kids
It was better than twenty years ago, back when my sons were about four and three respectively. They were typical small kids, constantly squabbling and hitting each other and being generally evil little shits to one another most of the time. (Today they are pretty close and rarely argue, fortunately.) The usual Santa threats were trotted out as most parents do, including the fake calls to Santa telling him to skip our house this year. ("Nooooooooo!")

One of the recurring jokes was that Santa wasn't going to put toys and such in their stockings, but would fill them with reindeer poop. ("Nooooooooo!")

So the night before, once I knew that they were asleep ("Santa's gonna go right past us if you keep getting out of bed!" "Nooooooooo!") we put the usual things in the stocking and set out the presents. And then I did a brilliant thing: I poured some chocolate covered raisins in each stocking.

The boys raced down the stairs in the morning, and as I'm making coffee my oldest pulls out a chocolate covered raisin. "Dad? What's this?"

"Reindeer poop, of course."

"EEEEWWWWW!"

I chuckled to myself as the coffee brewed and I got out the cinnamon rolls. I was just getting my first cup of coffee when he bursts into the kitchen with a look of panic. "Dad! Dad! Come quick!"

"What's wrong?"

"Alex is eating reindeer poop!"

I managed to speak around the giggles as I explained the joke. He pelted me with raisins.

The following year the joke was that it would be broccoli and underwear. I stuffed their (clean) underwear into the stockings the night before, and the next morning had them thrown at me.

I can only imagine what they'll do to their kids.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 24 Dec 2013, 17:07, 6 replies)

The shits
hewhowalks tale of the The Great Mince Pie incident of 1985 reminded me of last Christmas when I had the shits all Christmas eve, all through Christmas day and Boxing day and then continued to have them all through the following week. I couldn't go out on New Year's eve and was also at home all through New Year's day with the shits again. Then I continued to have them all the way through the weekend until they finally went back to school on the 7th of January.
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Sat 21 Dec 2013, 15:52, 2 replies)

Shits and Giggles
So my Scottish grandad came round Christmas day, he's blind so as you do when your 86, your wife's died and you've gone blind. You drink yourself blind drunk every day (see what I did there).

So he turns up, already been in the pub and had a few sherberts, he starts telling me and my brothers stories about the war, which he only ever talks about when pissed.

He told us about how one time during training for WW2 he got a promotion on the Monday and lost it on Tuesday after being found drunk on parade after celebrating his promotion. "I can only tell you these things when I've had a drink you see" Quality stuff. Then he shat himself.
(bumless The man with the hole in the middle, Mon 30 Dec 2013, 13:56, 5 replies)

I got socks
...and, and, and a box of those little extreme chili sauces from New Mexico, and a blow up zimmer frame and a cardigan and an unexpected guest and an indoor helicopter and another bottle of Bombay Sapphire and they let me cook sprouts and eat them and didn't make me leave the room when they kicked in and then we played with Mrs. Scars new espresso machine and then we watched Dr Who.

Whee!
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Fri 27 Dec 2013, 12:11, 10 replies)

Mine has been fine until today
I bought a few crates of wine for my clients which I dished out with the blithe generosity of the honest local businessman, doing his best in a competitive market and many thanks for all your orders and instructions during the year and I forgive you, you cheeky scamps, for sending me on 70 mile wild goose chases and all the best and I'll see you next year ha ha more of the same, eh, bigger and better.

They weren't TOTALLY cheap - I tend to use my Nectar points off the years diesel towards Sainsburys wine crates. Specifically, there were 18 bottles of Pinot Grigot and 18 bottles of Shiraz.

There were three spare bottles - my reward for taking them - and an hour ago I decided to have a little treat and scoff one of the Shiraz.

It is fucking FOUL. I know a bit about what wine should be and I know a bit about red diesel and this stuff is definitely the latter. I had half a glass and an hour later my mouth still tastes like I've been chewing a gull after an oil spill.

I've given 16 bottles of this to people upon whom I rely to keep me in a living and I'm going to have to look them in the eye sooner or later. I suppose a few of them will just hold their noses and scoff it out of the bottle but I do have - did have - an element of respectable, discerning clientele who have received from me a present of fence preservative masquerading as Shiraz.

Cock.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Thu 26 Dec 2013, 18:44, 7 replies)

I used to hate Christmas.
My former long term partner compelled me to go to the celebrations at her parents' house.

Frankly, I would have preferred self-trepanation, an ice-pick in the eye and a corkscrew in the urethra, simultaneously, than go to Crimbo at her olds.

Offers of Xmas away overseas at delightful resorts or adventure holidays or relevant to her current interest were always declined. There was no other place she would be at Christmas than her parents' home. Ugh.

Her mum was already legless on the cheapest Chateau C'ardboard by 10:00 am - falling down drunk legless - and she was the cook.

The other family members, two brothers and a sister, had only one speaking volume: LOUD. Ear-piercingly loud - and they all talked at the same time at the table.

Sis-in-law was a teenage nymphomaniac (a minor) who made unveiled overtures to any non-family male, even my gruesome self, in front of her parents, and often. Nice tits, shame about the age and the relationship by marriage.

Bro-in-law-MK-I was milder, and did his best to not attend, but he fitted in rather well when he did, much to the chagrin of his fiancée.

BIL-MK-II was a drug fiend and was either stoned, peaking, speeding, on the nod or a combination of all, and constantly sodding off the the loo to load up again. His gf was usually hallucinating after a two or more day bender on goey or ice.

Father-in-law had his own bad tale of his own doing, but at least that was less visible.

Issues? Oh yes - they had a few. I didn't find out about these 'joys' until after the wedding...

Pissed mum-in-law always fouled up at least one significant dish to the point of unpalatable, putting it mildly, even if she had help in the kitchen. The foul-up usually involved enough salt to recreate Lot's wife, or enough garlic to slay all vampires, or appeared to be her attempt at a burnt offering, sans altar. Her desserts, on the upside, were delightfully artery-clogging and very tasty and never failed. They were usually made the day previous.

Father-in-law always put out a few bottles of nice scotch. It was to his taste and not to that of any other family members, other than his Mum who had a wee dram. Me? I hit it like the fist of an angry god, putting away a bottle before lunch. At least that gave me an excuse to go sleep it off in the front parlour, far away from the dining room, after eating and being sociable while the 'festivities' continued.

Christmas these days? Rather more pleasant.

I choose to invite who shares the table. Good friends who also have families far away are much more pleasing than unfavourable folk forced into one's life, as are good friends who want to be with friends and eschew their family at this time of year.

Happy? Yes, rather.
(EffinNitWit asks his tobacco where his whisky is, Thu 26 Dec 2013, 11:52, 32 replies)

One of the pikey houses up the top of the village
left a big blow-moulded plastic Santa up on their front wall after Christmas 2001.

He stayed there until Christmas 2004, by which time three summers (including the record-breaking bastard hot one of 2003) had bleached every bit of his red coat so that he was completely white.

That's class.
(rogerzilla, Sun 22 Dec 2013, 13:23, 2 replies)

My first ever 'bad' Christmas day.
My sister in law doesn't really like our side of the family. She is somewhat of a controlling person and seems to feel uncomfortable without the same sense of power over us that she does with her own parents/siblings. It's particularly odd, as my parents are very amiable people and get along with anyone (including my and my sister's partners), including catering to my SiLs whims.

Last Christmas day, seething that my brother insisted they spend Christmas with us, she concluded rather out-of-the-blue that my 2yr old niece has a fever, and having just been upstairs where no one could hear she'd called NHS direct who agreed they needed to get to A&E immediately. Cue her scooping up my niece who was happily playing/running around/laughing with her new toys, and my brother and my mother (as the only one sober and could drive) being forced to spend next 6 hours waiting at the hospital, just to be told there was nothing wrong.

Such a shame, we had a pretty good, laid-back and feud-free immediate family until she came along...

To offset the sour Christmas above: one xmas back in the late 80's my nanna and her sister got really pissed over the course of the day and were laughing so hard my nanna was rolling around on the floor for nearly 10 minutes, like some kind of Internet-cliche. That's the image I have in my head whenever I read 'ROFLOL'.
(DaftenDirekt, Sun 22 Dec 2013, 5:13, 7 replies)

My Dog once got a squeeky toy
that she squeeked non stop for 8 hours straight...
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Sat 21 Dec 2013, 21:28, 1 reply)

My dog dun a poo

(McChinaman banned, Sat 21 Dec 2013, 17:12, 3 replies)

Before I did all my Xmas shopping on Amazon
I was shopping in town and I was draw in into a nightmare. By a horrible synchronization of the endless loops of Christmas 'favorites'

Every single shop I went in the song playing was 'I wish it could be Xmas everyday'

Every shop

It's fucking shit anyway but hearing it continuously made me almost loose the will to live. I gave up shopping before the self harm started.
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 19 Dec 2013, 16:38, 3 replies)

My dad gave me a radio controlled helicopter for this christmas.
I'm 31.
He offered to show me how to work it and immediately flew it into a tree.
I believe it is still there.
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Mon 30 Dec 2013, 12:36, 3 replies)

Christmas on QOTW lasts two weeks, apparently.

( Zuowan, Fri 27 Dec 2013, 11:39, 4 replies)

Christmas, same old question - uppers or downers maybe something from the hallicinogens. A little
bit of crack in my pipe. A little bit of leaf for my bong. A little bit of E for my gum. A little bit of salvia in the sun. Honda Accord.

MASSIVE DRUGS

Peace out
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 23 Dec 2013, 20:45, 13 replies)