VERBWHORES XMAS STORY 09: The 21 Words Of Xmas

[Jemble Fred]

did none of the above, but quickly cracked the mystery of the missing wi-fi, like a clever boy.

"It's still 1938."

The Verbwhores sadly packed away their laptop scrapbooks and pencils and began to sing the latest hit number by Louis Armstrong, '

[Emma Raducanu]

"I don't care what the weather man says, when the weatherman says it's raining, you'll never hear me complainin'" Jemble turned,

looked outside and saw it was raining and immediately threw his trumpet on the floor with enough rage to scare Santa

[TotalNightmare]

Interestingly, the song itself was the one piece of music that really got to Evil Arnold Santa. I caught him listening

to it late one night after the store had closed. He was filled with tears and cried out "Hortence" with pain

As i stirred from my unconscious state, i wondered if i could use this 'Hortence' as some kinda word weapon that

[the midnight watch baboon]

would stun and hypnotise the slow and the Welsh. I noted some perverse creature of the latter, watching the ensuing mayhem ensue,

and enquiring about penis size of all participants in the mayhemessence.
"HORTENCE", I cried in her valley, which held her rapt and

[Jemble Fred]

tagged with the legend 'Merry Christmas Uncle Philip'.

One mention of that name and Santa seemed to swell to fourteen times his size, though it was only nine times.

"WOAH, FELLA!" cried the Chief Shepherd, "We don't want no trouble here, y'hear? It's the time of peace and goodwill to all goddamn scum-sucking-jay-walking assholes. Cool it."

Everyone looked at everyone else, except mook.

[Ginyard]

Then....silence. Devestating silence. Santa pulled from his pocket a device with a big red button marked simply 'Apache Spunk Hose'.

[Emma Raducanu]

Everyone took a nervous step back, hoping they weren't going to be the one to get spunked on by Santa, who

was panning the aim of his spunk hose across the room, as if playing an evil game of spunk roulette, then

Mook leaped forward and presented to the room a stick of fresh celery, which he used to conduct a wonderfully Christmasy

orchestra of "Oh Hortence, oh Hortence, afforded me the greatest glee". The whole room sang, fry even started dancing like a

[Cerys]

bloke in a dress (pale mauve silk, encrusted with diamonds, pearls and fossilised frogspawn).  A hush fell upon the crowd, killing

[Emma Raducanu]

the quiet, woolly sex offender who was so at peace with the world, in the safe arms of the head cop

he felt he could breathe through the lungs of trees and hold his own breath forever; his eyes gently closed, smiling

[Ginyard]

happily, as what was left of his brain slithered from his crushed skull and fell to the shopfloor with a splat.

[Jemble Fred]

Outside in the cold, a small befreckled orphan gazed in at the warmth and jollity of the proceedings, and wept a

big, salty, tear. He gazed up at a star shining brightly in the sky, and called out, "O, Mama, why did

[Ginyard]

the chicken cross the road?"

"Don't you be talking 'bout no chicken now, son. We gotta do us some shopping, y'hear?"

[Emma Raducanu]

"But doesn't shopping involve a monetry transaction? You're just taking things and stuffing them down your pants, look your arse

is the shape of a dolls house and your boobs are playing a nursery rhyme, I was better off on the streets"

[Jemble Fred]

"Shutcha face you shit, this is a Christmas miracle and you ain't no orphan no more, you better get used to

[Ginyard]

this life. C'mon, we gotta see santa about a dog"

The pair walked in throught the main doors and up

[Lookalike Mark Chapman]

the small ladder to the attic. As their eyes became accustomed to the dim light, they became aware of the scene

confronting them. A grim, graceless, grotesque parody of the nativity - the 'Bible' one - featuring a soiled manger containing none other than

[Emma Raducanu]

Jonathan King who clutched the baby. "Put the baby down", commanded a cop - "It's not real". The orphan hid himself behind

[Lookalike Mark Chapman]

his vast erection. Jonathan King continued greasily - "There's nothing wrong with buggering plastic Jesus."

"Well actually, sir, under the Blasphemy act

[Emma Raducanu]

section 2.13, anyone found buggering plastic baby jesus must be crucified and stapled to the top of the town's Christmas tree"

[Ginyard]

growled the cop.

"Hank Studerbakersteinman II...is that you?" said a high, throttled voice from somewhere inside the plastic baby Jesus.

[Cerys]

'No,' replied the cop, wearily.  'Just as it wasn't the last time you asked.  Or the time before that.  Or any

[Emma Raducanu]

other Jewish name you decide to call me. I'm black for fuck sake and I'm rastafarian and and and"

Not-so-subtly covering his face with someone else's hand and edging into a shadow the cop proceeded with his unconvinging denial in

a high-pitched voice, while piss slowly trickled down his trouser leg. Plastic Baby Jesus leapt to his feet and produced a

rubber gun; "I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and

destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee." The orphan

[Ginyard]

kicked his heels on the floor and out of his weathered size 4 spats shot two blades, one of which he used to disarm plastic baby Jesus by kicking his head off. There was a round of applause from somewhere, but we never find out where. At the same moment, Santa, disturbed by the lack of storyline he was getting, decided to mount the ladder.

[Jemble Fred]

"Watch out, Santa!" I remember crying, but he just purped an ocean of digested-turkey gas in my eyes and carried on

[Cerys]

roughly stripping the varnish from its rungs and thrusting his vast, impossibly festive hips in time to the rhythm of the

[Ginyard]

shite. However, his shoulders were too broad for the loft, and his stomach too podgy. In rage he shouted   'Shoulders? Stomach!'

[Emma Raducanu]

And there he appeared, riding a helicopter, laughing mutanically, firing rice crispies at Santa who now straddled a pole on top

[Cerys]

of the Empire State Building, clutching a Barbie doll and roaring incoherently as he swatted at aeroplanes, BASE jumpers and other

[Jemble Fred]

figments of his figgy imagination.

Through all this the Christmas Non-Orphan kept up an ear-splitting wail of sadness which quite put

[Emma Raducanu]

a downer on the cheer that had developed in the grotto, where verbwhores shared mulled wine and old stories of the