The 21 Words Of Xmas...

[Jemble Fred]

_{That's what you get for googling 'christmas+whore' anyway.}

ROLL UP ROLL UP and ROLL UP!
For your chance to be a REAL WRITER for this year's Xmas Verbwhores Story on Cookdandbombd Radio. With apologies, I see Ginyard kicked off just such a tale in the main scribbling thread, but I thought a cheeky shift to a specific thread seemed in order, with only 37 idly-writing-filth days until the dearest day of all the year, December the 25th correct.

The story may well be read by Apexjazz if I ask him to and he says yes. So think on! The 21 word rule seems to have re-asserted itself, so let the fireside yarn commence.

=========================

Miracle on VerbyWhorth Street
A Xmas Story for CaB Radio by The Midnight Watch Baboon, Sexton Brackets Drugbust, Jemble Fred, presumably Ginyard, and...?

A bored Santa switched on the KiddyWatch-O-Vision snow-globe bought online in the internet's lawless dawn, and found his pervy eyes drawn

and quartered.

"I never saw that coming," he chuckled, showing a remarkable sense of humour and composure despite the painful experience. Being newly blind, of course, Father Christmas found it hard to feed his bloomin' reindeer that night, or his fuckin' dog

[boki]

Miracle on VerbyWhorth Street
A Xmas Story for CaB Radio by The Midnight Watch Baboon, Sexton Brackets Drugbust, Jemble Fred, presumably Ginyard, and...?

A bored Santa switched on the KiddyWatch-O-Vision snow-globe bought online in the internet's lawless dawn, and found his pervy eyes drawn

and quartered.

"I never saw that coming," he chuckled, showing a remarkable sense of humour and composure despite the painful experience. Being newly blind, of course, Father Christmas found it hard to feed his bloomin' reindeer that night, or his fuckin' dog

(aka your mum), and his internal debate as to whether the eventual placement of Rudolph's carrot was fortunate or not would

[Jemble Fred]

keep him up at night. Well, that and his devotion to Youporn.com. Since the death of Mother Christmas, Santa had been

[Ballad of Ballard Berkley]

keep him up at night. Well, that and his devotion to Youporn.com. Since the death of Mother Christmas, Santa had been

wanking himself into a juddering stupour (hence the blindness). Every night he would visit his fortress of solitude, where his wife's entombed cadaver was

[boki]

wanking himself into a juddering stupour (hence the blindness). Every night he would visit his fortress of solitude, where his wife's entombed cadaver was

given pride of place in the hallway, tastefully lit by a neon tube behind a glass case of the final contents

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

of the local glass case warehouse that had been so tragically destroyed in a highly localised nuclear explosion.

"Christmas is coming,

[Jemble Fred]

The geese are getting randy,
Please find gainful employment for the artist known as Andy,
Crane.

Christmas is commercial,
The turkey

[boki]

The geese are getting randy,
Please find gainful employment for the artist known as Andy,
Crane.

Christmas is commercial,
The turkey

looks iffy,
It's as though some vile pervert did the stuffing with his stiffy."

"Carol singing's not what it once was",

[Jemble Fred]

remarked Shuffletips, Father Christmas' chief elf, and a real dead-ringer for Dudley Moore.

"Ah, Shuffletips," replied the beardy man, "Why don't

[Mr NeverseenanIndian]

people like me?"

"But Santa!" replied the pathetic creature, dipping a bourbon into his Bourbon, "people DO like you. It's just

[boki]

that they can't afford to employ you for more than one day a year, and if they did everyone would get

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

..."

"That's cleared up now, thank you." Santa quickly interjected. "Anyway, they don't really like me, they like the presents. In fact,

[the midnight watch baboon]

fuck off. I've a huge shitting list 'ere, and with the exception of little Jimmy Titford's homing pigeons these prezzies aren't going to deliver themselves, you

[boki]

do realise that, don't you?  Jesus Christ - not that he's ever any fuckin' help - the job's hard enough without you always

[Mr NeverseenanIndian]

making it harder somehow. Now fuck off and get me a mince pie, you Christmas cunt."

"But Santa," sobbed the elf,

[Ginyard]

"I've got AIDS and Rudolph told me that if I touch any food, whoever eats it will have AIDS too!. What

[Mr NeverseenanIndian]

"I've got AIDS and Rudolph told me that if I touch any food, whoever eats it will have AIDS too!. What

bollocks, I said, but he was like it's true actually, so there - and I was like yeah, whatever, Rudolph. Everybody knows

[Ballad of Ballard Berkley]

that I love you," he smirked, smugly referring to the Divine Comedy song he knew Shuffletips had never even fucking heard of, rendering the quip pointless. Suddenly, a strange countenance fell across 

[Lookalike Mark Chapman]

his face as he realised - "Hang on. I AM Shuffletips! My inner monologue needs retuning."

By now, Santa was lying on

[Jemble Fred]

purpose to confuse Shuffletips and all the elves, who thronged around their master with menace in their teeth and demanded:

"JUST

[Ballad of Ballard Berkley]

GET ON THE SLEIGH YOU RANCID OLD CUNT!"

Santa wasn't used to being spoken to like this, not even by Mrs. Claus, who in 300 years of marriage only lost her temper once when

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

it had fallen down the back of the old sofa. Santa bitterly remembered tearing the furniture apart searching for said Temper,

[Ginyard]

and finding, instead, some cluedo based ebony porn that he should've delivered to Dennis Thatcher back in the 80s. Fortunately, there

[Jemble Fred]

is nothing that elves hate more than The Divine Comedy, so dear old Father Christmas kept them at bay by singing

[boki]

'National Express', which backfired when all the reindeer as one yelled, "Fucking catch one then, Fatty Gristlepants!" before storming off to

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

watch 'Never the Twain' to listen to Donald Sinden's grumblemumbly delivery.

Santa was livid; his slaves were all turning on him

[Ballad of Ballard Berkley]

like disgruntled BNP members, although Santa was frankly more concerned by the fact that his reindeers could actually talk. Far from being the farting, grunting imbeciles he'd always thought, they were in fact 

[Mr NeverseenanIndian]

like disgruntled BNP members, although Santa was frankly more concerned by the fact that his reindeers could actually talk. Far from being the farting, grunting imbeciles he'd always thought, they were in fact 

middle-aged men in reindeer costumes all along - out-of-work actors, reindeer fanatics, the unemployed. "How can they fly?" asked

[Jemble Fred]

Eamonn Holmes on that week's 'How Do They Do That?' But the mystery was never solved. Probably magic or something.

Anyway,

[boki]

feeling that too many tangents had been explored at this stage, and in order to advance the plot , Santa got up