Shitmas!

Intermittently traditional.

That's what it's going to say on my headstone.

And here's why.

As much as I like to follow tradition (should it appeal to me), I'm equally as fond of starting traditions.

This year I decided to break with family tradition by having Xmas Eve out - shock, horror, sound of multitudes of Oma's spinning in pretty European graves.

But I have been responsible enough to counter-balance by initiating the tradition of Shitmas also.

Shitmas works as a Kris Kringle draw for dreadful/inappropriate presents.
The gifts are to be opened on Xmas Eve, with the sensible gift giving having to wait until Xmas Day - not standard in European households.

I tried to make the budget $2 per gift, but was cried down by Yoga Boy on the basis that a restrictive budget would force him to think about it too much.
And this is a pity because that was my cruel objective all along.

I don't know what all the complaining was about, I could manage to buy something ghastly for each and every person I know for $2 and still have each gift be relevant, annoying and endearing, for that has clearly been the superpower allocated to me during this fleshly existence.

I've used it well without becoming conceited, I believe.

So, all the money, time and trouble caused by Christmas, and I'm really only concerned now with the giving of Shitmas gifts.

The names came out like this:

Sim --> Jeff
Jeff --> Adrian
Adrian --> Sim

I bore witness to Jeff's purchase for Adrian of a giant tin of Croatian sausages that appear to have foreskins.
I also took the time and trouble to add into Adrian's stocking of horror, a light up Pooh pen - he hates novelty items - a Rolf Harris 3CD boxset which I'd bought just so I could burn Six White Boomers onto the Xmas CD that I made for Gretchen.
So, I guess Gretchen is kind of a proxy member also.

Adrian tells me that he's making my gift and yes, I'm very, very concerned as making things really isn't his thang.

As another ring-in member (that's what she said), Adrian's girlfriend, Lynda, although not a formal participant of our inaugural Shitmas, seems to have jumped in, courtesy of what I suspect has been a poorly informed purchase.

Recently, they were sitting on the lounge with me, and Lynda asked if I'd seen a mini-series called The Tudors.
Please...
I've been excited and focused on Tudor history since childhood and have read any number of dry history books with glee.
I went to London specifically to visit Elizabeth I's underpants...

And yes, I have seen The Tudors.
I hated it.
What a chronic load of crap.

I hated the casting, the script, the glaring inaccuracies, charcterisation - Lord, I could go on forever.
Whatever they did, I hated it.

And naturally I saw no reason not to make mention of this when she asked me.

I was mildly surprised when she seemed a little put out by the violence of my response, and when Yoga boy went somewhat quiet, but gave it no more thought than I should have.

That is, until Yoga boy informed me that Lynda will be with us on Xmas Eve and that she has a Shitmas gift for me.

"That's odd," I thought, "she's not the type to be jumping in the deep end."

"Oh well, good," I added mentally.

But later it dawned on me that my Shitmas gift from Lynda may very well be a DVD of The Tudors.

And whether she purchased it before or after that conversation, shall determine how I view her sense of humour for the rest of my days.
I hope she goes for gold, because I like her.

But I'm not sleeping under the same roof as that thing.
So there.

Today, I took myself to Hot Dollar, home to the best Shitmas gifts in the world, and picked her up a bottle of evil perfume oil called Australian Bush (teeheehee) and another called Poison.
That ought to do it.

I did Jeff's Shitmas shopping almost in one go.
He's so easy.
He wears his hate on his sleeve, that boy.

I'll come back tomorrow and insert a description of the items and photos after he's read this through.

OK, he's gone now.

Knowing how much Jeff loathes the Australian flag, due to not only the British bully boy colours and Union Jack, but also it's tendency to be worn by drunken, shirtless, racist cricket yobs under the pretense of being Australian.

I'm with him on that.
We need a new flag something savage.

Bearing all this in mind, I cannot tell you how delighted I was to happen upon a range of Aussie flag merchandise at Hot Dollar.

Jeff's Shitmas stocking is loitering with intent, filled to the brim with Aussie flag toothpicks, pens, sun visor, a giant flag with sleeves so that he may wear it in proudly public and of all things, an Aussie flag whirlie-gig wind catcher thing for the zen area near the koi pond.

Won't that look lovely?

Streuth! The cricket yobs would be proud.

But not as proud as me on Xmas Eve when I unleash Hell and perhaps end my 19 year relationship due to a lame sight gag.

Maybe I've gone too far?

Nah.

If anyone knows where I can purchase Southern Cross (the new swastika) fake tattoos, please let me know, cause that'd be grouse and that.

I found a Jesus bracelet on the counter of Hot Dollar and they gave me a free pen, so he's getting that as well.
Merry Shitmas!