Sunday, 9 December 2007

Monster Raving Christmas Curry Party

So the Seasonal Party season begins with the Brussels Bloggers Bash and not a single little green cabbage-like vegetable in sight, we went for a curried buffet instead. It wasn't planned as a statement of political correctness and I personally am not at all offended by LGC-LVs, I even eat them when it isn't, you know, "mid-winter festival".

How can the PC world sleep with themselves after spending a day spouting this nonsense? Do they really talk like this at home? I hope not. I eat sprouts all the time and I don't feel the need to explode on public transport. On top of which I've maintained a healthy grasp of all the worlds stereotypes; the circumspect, the bearded and the confessors. Actually I'm a bit hazy on the whole Protestant v Catholic bit, what's the difference? Which is the one that bans women from standing at the front and then makes the men wear dresses? What a peculiar caper, maybe I've mixed it up with a pantomine.

But that's not all, the mid-winter festival existed long before Christmas so this isn't PC-ness gone mad, it's truth. The whole Christmas thing is made up, mid-winter festival is pagan, so what now? "Year End Celebration Day" Does anyone have the slightest clue just what it is we're supposed to be celebrating now? Does it matter? Maybe this is the future, everything described by bland harmless names for things we used to care about.

That was just one of the many bit's and pieces we talked about, I won't re-tell the whole evening because I can't remember. But there was one other thing, Elaib was bit miffed about not having a fatwa issued on him (against him?). So, with it being Christmas and all I thought I could help him out, here goes:

"For the heinous crime of impersonating Eliab Harvey, taking his name in vein, and the secondary misdemeanour of mis-spelling Eliab; I hereby call on the people of Hempstead Heath to take one mighty Oak and beat the false satanic Elaib mercilessly with it until he confesses and then carry on beating him mercilessly until he's dead and again for a good long time even after he's dead. The last beating is unnecessary but that's what I've decreed, it's my fatwa and anyone who disagrees with it must be a servant of Satan and will be next to receive a good thrashing. So, you people of Hempstead Heath had better get on with it, pronto. Or you can take your time, Salman hasn't had his yet so there's no rush really. Oh and don't worry too much about the confession part, if he doesn't confess just move on to the second and third merciless beatings otherwise you'll be there all night."

I think that's fairly standard phrasing for a fatwa. Anyway, it was a splendid do, I finally got to meet some Brussels Bloggers and had a jolly good night. The do finally ended in the Joyce shortly after the knockout of Ricky Hatton. Makes a change to watch someone else fall over in the pub. Boxing is a bit taboo (horrible word) these days too isn't it? Or maybe it's just in countries that don't win.

All together now, "Onward Christian So-ho-ldiers...", oh come on it's Christmas for heaven's sake. Note to heathens (inc. self); Christmas is rightly spelt with a capital 'c', stop complaining and pull a cracker or something.

Goodnight Seattle,

JJ

7 comments:

MKWM said...

I'll miss the coffees.

Nice meeting you in person, JJ.

zoe said...

not another fatwa. that man is gagging for them.

glad you had a good time.

JolietJake said...

what coffees?

I didn't know he already had a fatwa, I wouldn't have bothered.

MKWM said...

What "Goodnight Seattle" then?

The Aunt said...

Good to meet you too.

Don't encourage Eliab. It'll all end in tears.

JolietJake said...

Tossed salads and scrambled eggs. It's in the Labels.

I don't think Elaib reads my posts anyway, if he did then I would certainly not enourage him

SpanishGoth said...

'Onward Christian Soldiers' my fucking arse.

TRUE STORY - "Young man in state of PVS (Persistent Vegetaive State) at Putney Royal Hospital, and his mum and friends come in every day to sing above 'song'. Months later they hook him up to a Stephen Hawking type device and his first words are 'Mum, shut the fuck up' - Sunday Times 09/12/07