I’m feeling mental…Senti-mental


Last Christmas. Good times

As we await the end of the world, at least there’s still this. When I’m sitting in my dinner on Chrimblas Day, ready to stab a sibling with a wishbone and carefully keeping an eye on the volume of alco-liquid that will get me to bedtime, I will be humming ‘Fairytale of New York’ in my head. Best watched/listened to alone as adding one other person makes it feel like some kind of formal Irlanda ‘salute the flag’ event. If heard in a pub, it provokes a selfish reaction as you scowl at some pissed-up tit in a Chrimblas jumper, wanting to tell him, “I remember when this came out you little prick. You probably think the Killers are legends. Go to Arnotts for your Chrimblas music you dick.”

Anyways, It’s about the only thing worth looking forward to at Christmas. Everything else disappoints, except functional alcoholism. In this awkward time when people are worried about ‘other’ people saying Happy Holidays, taking the Christmas out of Christmas, worrying about a war on Christmas, just remember one thing: nobody is actually doing that. If someone says Happy Holidays to you, you can say Happy Christmas to them. They don’t care. Nobody cares. Muslims don’t care. Buddists don’t care. Evangelical Ewoks don’t care. Scientologists don’t care because they want your Pass Card. I don’t care.

There is no God. No evidence of its existence. No evidence that it doesn’t exist. No one knows. Nobody actually knows. So, if someone says Happy Christmas to you, you’ll probably go Happy Christmas back, despite you both dropping your religious education aged 12 and only go to a church for a wedding or a funeral. You say ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes. That embarrassed person usually mutters ‘thanks’ through soaking hands. They don’t actually think that your ‘bless you’ means that you are an ordained priest or are a dark wizard with healing powers. Fuck that and fuck you. Giving me a cold I don’t fucking want.

I once heard Ronan Keating singing this song. He won’t be doing that again.stretch-macgibbonxmas

Fairytale of how awful Lilywhite may be

awfully awfuly

awfully awful

Watched this last night and made me feel kinda teary for Kirsty McColl, not so much for her tragic death, but more for her unfortunate marriage to brassy blonde Steve Lilywhite, who comes across as a vacuous brassy blonde Steve Lilywhite. Also, you almost feel sorry for Ronan “my life is worthless” Keating after narration by a vicious Richard E Grant tends toward the Nun mentioning Father Ted’s FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES at the Golden Clerics awards. So harsh on poor Ronan, although KarmaMan pretty much reckons the fucker deserves it.

25 years and mad chrismassy/highly depressing reach for grain alcohol cheeriness: That’s right, Fairytale of New York

Hey Keating, ye prick. This is how to lean against sumthin

Hey Keating, ye prick. This is how to lean against sumthin

Stretch has said it before and he’ll say it again. Kirsty McColl is dead and Ronan Keating still walks this earth.

His pathetic version of this song wasn’t the abomination that would bring the end of days. I may have exaggerated. To my family and friends, I am sorry for putting you through that. It seemed a viable threat. His stupid stubbled chin and life dramas and the way he leans against shit when he sings and his stupid affair with a woman equally as ugly as his wife who in turn is equally ugly as him seemed to suggest the apocalypse. Again I’m sorry.

Anyways, here’s the song that makes most people kind of melancholic, ruining most Christmas parties where this is a catalyst for crying and having to listen to people’s innermost bullshit. Keep it to yourself and go back to listening to self-help crooners Elbow.