Dear Husband, It is time that I must have my say,
I've taken your shit day after day.
I've kept the home peaceful year after year
Now there is going to be changes, so listen my dear.
So you're famous, everyone knows your name,
And you're a specialist by gum, in the transport game,
You think you're so grand with your important job.
But I'm telling you my dear you're a worn out old yob
363 days a year,
You sit on your arse drinking scotch, rum and beer,
You claim it is to keep up the shine on your nose
So Santa can see where he bloodywell goes.
...
Another Lonely Christmas for Mrs R Reindeer....
An Eighties Christmas Flashback
Christmas Party times of the 80's. How that generation "tiptoed through the tulips".
A Politically Correct Christmas Story
'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck... How to live in a world that's politically correct? His workers no longer would answer to "Elves".
A middle aged, sad bloke writes a letter to Santa in the hope a having a buxom lass delivered down the chimney! Note: This poem was created in Lancashire - UK (It helps if you imagine the accent!)
I've been getting ready for Christmas, I'm revving up for the great day. My credit card's cracked and my freezer is packed coz I started my shopping in May
I've been getting ready for Christmas, I'm revving up for the great day. My credit card's cracked and my freezer is packed coz I started my shopping in May.
A Guy's Job
A guy sticks his location,
In a girl's destinstion,
To increase the population,
For the next generation.
Do you get my explanation?
Or do you need a demonstration?
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