Christmas Mutterings

Morris is sat in his living room looking through an old copy of autotrader, there is a roaring fire in the hearth. A Johnson in a Rudolf suit is sat in an adjacent arm chair. Yolanda comes in with two mugs of tea “Just set them down there my treacle terror” “Morris, one of them is mine, and get Johnson out of my chair!” Morris looks around comedically “what Johnson? I don’t see any Johnson, maybe you mean…” “No Morris I mean that fucking bird thing in the Rudolf suit, move him this tea is scalding my hands” “Indeed it is my love, a nasty burn that could easily turn septic, especially with bacterial infection Johnson hiding in the bathroom at the moment. Johnson the ruse is up, you’ll have to move!” Johnson huffs and gets up, Yolanda puts the teas down and sits in the vacated seat. Johnson stands around kicking is feet, looking at Morris then back to the floor. “Morris, this isn’t very relaxing, make him go away!” “Let us not be so hasty, Johnson here is adding so much needed festivity to our abode.” “He looks about as interested as I am Morris, can’t he at least sit in the kitchen?” “I will not hear of it my love, you stay where you are, Johnson will sit in the kitchen” Morris gets up with his tea and magazine. “Morris where are you going?” “I am going to the kitchen with Johnson my love, are you coming with us?” “No Morris, just him go, we can sit here and have nice time, maybe put the TV on?” “I do not think it will suit you my love, besides which it is both heavy and contains dangerous electrical components.” Johnson sniggers. Now another Johnson comes with a tool kit. Begins to unpack the tools and work on the nearby sofa. “Morris what the fuck is going on?” It’s just handyman Johnson dear, he’s doing those adjustments to the sofa you asked for.” “What adjustments? I didn’t ask for any adjustments?” “maybe you mean the alleged adjustments?” “No fuck off, I wasn’t going to say that stupid line. “ “No worries my sweet, he has nearly finished anyway.” Sure enough, Johnson has worked fast and quickly converted the sofa into a passable looking sleigh. “What the very fuck Morris?! My sofa?” “What sofa…?” “Oh fuck off, you’ve turned it into a sleigh!” “I believe as discussed, you requested this.” “No no, no I did not.” “Let’s not bicker my sweet apple baked cracker! Just enjoy the festive spirit! So look, now we have Rudolf!” “Mwaaerk!” “and a sleigh!” “Mwaaaerk!” handyman Johnson gestures to his work. “but hmm what is missing from this scene, why of course it’s father Christmas himself!!” Enter Father Christmas Johnson, who in truth is Les Dawson Johnson dressed up in a Santa suit. “Mwaaerk!”  “Ho Ho Ho eh Johnson?” “Mwaaerk!” Johnson climbs onto the sofa, on which somehow a dustbin bag full of presents has appeared, whilst dressed as Rudolf Johnson has somehow attached himself to the front of the sofa and is now huffingly dragging it along the carpet. “hmm it is a little, heavy for him, let me just call Ithaqua for a little assistance” Morris mutters some awful names and chill fierce wind blasts through the house, lifting the Johnson ensemble into the air and crashing them all through the French windows and out into the sky “Ho ho smash away smash away smash away all!”

Published in: on December 22, 2016 at 6:52 pm  Leave a Comment  

Christmas Turkey

In a grand cosy cottage at the end of the road, lived Clancy the Turkey in his fine abode,

Now the Turkey had a large collection of trouser that he had obtained from a variety of houses,

The policeman, the postman and more had felt the breeze, that comes when there is suddenly naught round the knees,

And one day he stared at his wonderous collection, but noted that he missed a certain selection,

And so the year turned and the cold it drew near and before anyone knew it, Christmas eve was here.

Silence has fallen, with the snow, all through the land, but a terrible deed our Clancy has planned.

While all the good people lay snug, fast asleep, around in his chamber that turkey doth creep.

“Blplplp!” He chuckles, “A pleasant surprise!” As he sets out some cheap sherry and Lidl mince pies…

But this is no treat for that merry old elf, it’s a trick and a ruse for that Turkey’s own self

The glint in his eye is quite clearly psychotic, as he adds to the glass a pernicious narcotic.

He gobbles and giggles and sniggers with glee, “Soon Santa’s red trousers will belong just to me!

When he leaves this cottage, Blplplp, his legs will be bare!” Says this sinister turkey with a lunatic stare.

He cocks his head over, cups a wing to his ear, “Blblblp! Sleigh bells! Then Santa grows near!”

He leers at the thought of those leggings of red, then conceals himself quickly under the bed.

I’ll soon have those trousers, egad and forsooth!” As the sound of a sleigh landing sounds from the roof.

Then comes a rustling, a bustling, a rumbling, and out of the chimney Santa comes tumbling!

This magical figure is quick to his feet, as he glances around for his classic treat,

And there on the table the mince pies and tumbler of liquid that soon will him render a slumber,

With a ‘Ho ho ho’ he makes for the table then scarfs all the offerings fast as he’s able,

Then in fine style but almost no noise, he fills the Turkeys stocking with good things and toys,

Beady eyed Clancy looks on bated breath for Santa to plunge to a sleep close to death,

But no such thing happens and the Santa is gone, back up the chimney from whence he has come.

The Turkey emerges he has quite the hump, then from up on the roof he suddenly hears a loud  ‘thump’.

His eyes how they light up, his heart how it races, He grabs scarf and coat and to the front door he paces,

There on the roof in the Christmas lights glow, is Santa keeled over face down in the snow,

The reindeer by sleigh look mournful and sadder, but that Turkey blighter is off for a ladder!

He runs to the shed, but there’s no ladder there, looks in the garage, but that cupboard is bare.

The roof is so high and without a ladder that reaches, how will the villain purloin those red breeches?

He searches on high and down on the ground, but nowhere it seems, can a ladder be found.

He huffs and he puffs and he gets madder and madder, but still he can’t find even one blessed ladder!

Then on a corner enjoying a Lambert and Butler, he espies an old friend, that spiv Mr Cutler.

“Blplplp! Need a ladder. Tall as the houses! Then I can finally steal Santa’s trousers!”

“Oo ee, a ladder you say? I think I can find one, how much will you pay?”

“Blplplp, not a rich man! Can stretch to a guinea!” “Well then Santa’s keeping them innee?”

At the thought of the trousers his mouth fills with saliva, “Blblblp, very well, I’ll give you a fiver!”

“Five quid for a ladder? I’m not impressed, a measly five quid to get Santa undressed?”

“Forgot wallet! Not being tight!” “No use to me then, I’ll bid you goodnight!”

As good as his word, down the street Cutler ambles, whilst up the drainpipe the Turkey he scrambles.

He gets a few feet, then tumbles back down, sits rubbing his bottom and wearing a frown.

“My beautiful plan has gone quite astray, soon Santa will revive, and then he’ll get away!”

Despondent, he eyes the sad scene, then his gaze falls upon a child’s trampoline.

“Blbplplblp! There it is! The solution by strewth! I’ll simply bounce once or twice and then spring straight to the roof!”

So onto the spring device up he climbs, he wobbles a second as his footing he finds,

And then gingerly tries a fluttering bounce, a first practice try for the roof landing pounce,

It’s quite a success and the Turkey he fancies, that for a bounce to the roof high are his chances,

Now up and now down, each bounce a touch higher, he nearly can reach the telephone wire,

The reindeer look on at the bobbing up head, then sadly back to the still unmoved sled,

With a fluttering bounce of considerable force, the Turkey now seems to be heading on course,

Though his landing lacks dignity quite through and through, the aim of the sproing was certainly true,

For sprawling across the snowy rooftop, the Turkey now lies all over the shop,

With a brisk “blblbp” and brush, he’s up in with a rush,

And now carefully he pads across snowy slate tiles, to where Santa lies to fulfil his wiles,

He makes it to sleigh with reindeer around, santa still sleeps, in his hear joy abounds,

He peers and he leers, thinks he cuts quite a dash, as with a magical *whssk* the trousers are off in a flash,

Holding the garment he stood there and smiled, but the event that just happened makes the reindeer quite riled,

Espying to their master some wrong has been done, they turn on the Turkey with no sense of fun,

“blblp good Rudolph, don’t be like that,  he’ll still be warm, he’s still got his hat!”

A clattering of antlers and a harsh stamping hoof send poor Clancy flying right off his own roof,

“Reallllly….!” He cries as he flies through the air, the trampoline below rushes up to his stare,

Hanging onto those trousers he’s bounced once again, and soars through the air like a Turkey fowl plane

The Turkey he hurtles like a befeathered bolt, then he suddenly comes to a bone shaking halt.

“Blplplp! Curses! Blast and Gehenna! Caught like a trout on a pesky antenna!”

The protruding aerial the Turkey’s tweed trousers entangles, and there in the moonlight Santa’s despoiler he dangles.

This simple receiver of TV transmissions, has got our Turkey in a painful position!

The Butterball blighter is feeling unwell, as the trouser suspension causes a “wedgie” from Hell.

He twists and he writhes, he squirms and he wriggles, but the only effect is guffaws and giggles.

“Blplplp Blplplp! What’s this? Oh god no!” For a small crowd has collected on the street down below.

His attempts to get free are now met with cheers, hoots, barbs and some quite ribald jeers.

“Blbplplblp! Don’t just stand there, all taking the mick, go! Fetch a ladder, and get me down quick!”

But the Turkey’s speech may as well have been Greek, for the idlers just leer and keep giving him cheek.

“Ah look at zat Alphonso, ze Turkey’s suspended! And by ze look on ‘is face, ah’d say ‘e’s offended!”

“Ooo eee I wonder how he got right up there? ‘E don’t ‘arf look a charlie stuck up in the air!

I looked and saw ‘im and I says to meself Gorblimey Dennis, he’s fat for an elf!”

In fact these onlookers carry on something fearful, and poor dangling Clancy begins to grow tearful.

“Oh friends I beg you, don’t just mock me and tease me, there’s a big fat reward for the fellow who frees me!

Don’t pillory, bait and otherwise deride me! The seam of my drawers may neatly divide me!

I’m dizzy from swinging in this wintry old breeze, and my beak and my ears are starting to freeze!”

“Oo you said you’d no money you old trouser snatcher, and now you say you’ll reward the person who’ll catch yer?

You’re just a cheapskate,  come on now gang, it’s nearly last orders, let’s leave him to hang!”

“Zat’s raht mes amis, let’s leave ‘im to blub, it’s chilly out ‘ere, but it’s warm in the pub!”

“Ja Ja, ze hour grows late, leave zis bird to its terrible fate!”

And so off they go, ignoring his pleading, away down the street, their footsteps receding.

And as he still dangles, the snows starts a falling, the situation, thinks Clancy, is frankly appalling.

Instead of enjoying his I’ll gotten pants, he’s  marooned in mid air on the side of a manse.

There’s a certain justice here, although and albeit, it’s not unsurprising that Clancy can’t see it.

He cries and he curses from his agonised perch, the people who left him there in the lurch.

And now it seems, as he rightly suspected, if not rescued soon, he’ll be frankly bisected.

“Alas and alack, and woe unto me! Is this the end for poor CBT?

But just when he thought that his fate was quite sealed, he suddenly recalled a thing he might wield,

To help him out of this water so hot, his trusty old scissors will hit just the spot,

He manages to retrieve them from inside his jacket, the cranes to the problem to see how to attack it,

If he can just free himself with this handy cutter, on his vestigial wings he may manage a flutter,

To slow his descent to ground far below, though he notes there is also the padding of snow,

So he twists and he strains and reaches and snips, then slowly but surely something loud rips,

And quite unprepared he falls through the air, his own trousers ruined, his behind quite bare,

His landing mercifully lucky and painless, but the state of this trousers leaves him far from shameless,

Fearing the cold, derision and laughter, there seems just one course that now can come after,

With a heavy heart, for he dislikes despoiling his prize, He looks at the red trousers to check for their size,

And noting the waist looks just about right, he squeezes his legs in, they’re just a touch tight,

But now feeling safe in his seasonal ware, he next must ensure he returns home with care,

These trousers have already caused him much trauma, though at least his rear end is now once again warmer,

So he walks round the corner back to his house, he peers and he creeps he is quiet as a mouse,

He reaches his door, into which he would go, when behind him he hears a loud ‘Ho Ho ho…”

Standing behind him looking far from merry, is an angry Saint Nick with a bottle of sherry,

“Ho ho you Turkey blighter!  You come back here! Give back those trousers in the season of cheer!”

But Clancy is quick and he scuttles inside, that scoundrelous fowl is determined to hide,

He may well be nimble but Santa is tough, his trouserless leg knocks the door down like fluff,

Clancy now flees up stairs with all speed, badly ruing this ill thought out deed,

He runs to his room and hides under the bed, trembling as he listens to Santa’s near tread,

The Turkey with fear doth shake and doth quiver, as Santa roars “I have gifts to deliver!

Now give me those trousers, and give me them gladly, then, just perhaps I won’t beat you too badly!”

Twixt avarice and self preservation the Turkey debates, he just can’t decide, and now it’s too late.

In Santa’s furious figure storms into the room, sees the Turkey neath the bed in despite of the gloom.

“Ah there you are you robber of breeches! I think that now I’ll damage your features!”

The terrified Turkey gives voice to a shriek and in a excess of fear he clutches his beak.

Santa continues as he slowly advances, “You Miserable Turkey, I don’t fancy your chances!

Now you must pay for your nefarious deeds, you devious skulking rascal in tweeds!

Bad enough to drug me with some vile soporific, but on Christmas Eve? That’s frankly horrific!”

The Turkey is sweating his pulse it is racin’, as, Santa, quite clearly, means to smash his fat face in.

“Oh please St Nick, for mercy I’m begging, I regret now most deeply my theft of your leggings!

I’m covered with shame, and filled with deep sorrow, and remember dear Santa, it’s Christmas tomorrow!”

“Yes and while the good people enjoy festive lunches, your ribs will be fractured by old Santa’s punches!

Now, I’ve heard enough of your cowardly chattering, the time has arrived for your merciless battering!”

Now for our younger readers the next bit’s not suitable, suffice it to say that the Turkey proves bootable!

And when it is done, and the fowl is a pulp, Santa swigs off his sherry with one mighty gulp.

“Ah! That’s better, and with my trousers restored, Clancy has been given his fitting reward.

Now on with my mission of spreading good cheer, and to you all, merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

Published in: on December 22, 2016 at 6:50 pm  Leave a Comment