The REAL Christmas Gift Guide

It’s Blogmas. I’m not taking part in it (obviously), but it has gotten me thinking. I’ve seen so many Christmas wish lists and gift guides over the last few days, and I think most of them are utter bullshit. In fact, utter bullshit isn’t strictly true. They’re the gifts you *should* buy the people you love, know, live with, and/or work with.

What about the gifts that you *wish* you could buy them though …

That’d be a funny list, right … ?

Well, I decided to write that list. The things I WISH I could buy people this year.

Ready?

For the ex-husband you can’t stand: Divorce papers. And a vasectomy, because that man should never have kids. Condoms too, because he’s a really dirty fucker.

For the work colleague who keeps getting pregnant and dumping her workload on you: Condoms, contraceptive pill, an appointment at the family planning clinic.

For your mum: A Nokia 3310. Because that’s all the technology she should be allowed to have.

For that friend who always comes to you with their problems, but never listens to yours: A box of glitter. Firstly, to add some sparkle to their shit fucking life. Secondly, because I bet they’ll enjoy cleaning that glitter up for MONTHS! They’ll be thinking of you every time someone says, “You’ve got glitter on you.” 

For the person who gets upset when you unfriend them on social media: A life.

For the housemate who always steals your milk: Their very own four-pinter, complete with laxative-lacing.

For the pizza delivery guy who constantly loses the location of your home: A-Z of the local area. Also applies to taxi drivers who can’t find how to get from A to B without taking you the REALLY long way around.

For your teenage stepson: All the fucking toiletries in the world, especially ones designed for foot odours.

For the person who likes to stir shit in your life: A toilet cup. They’re so full of shit, they might as well drink out of the shitter.

For your step son’s biological womb-donor: Arsenic.

For your drug dealer: A watch + written notes on how long one hour really is.

For the work colleague who keeps getting drunk and hung-overly dumps their workload on you: Alcoholics Anonymous leaflet, a carton of orange juice, vitamins so that they can get better quicker and do their own fucking work.

For your boss: A sex toy, because they really need to go fuck themselves.

To that friend who won’t take a hint when you try to ghost them: Vagisil because it’s apparently great for an irritating cunt.

For your next-door neighbour who always bangs on the wall when you have your music on: Earplugs, plenty of them, decoratively placed in a box so that they spell out, “Fuck you!”

For your other next-door neighbour who always gets up stupidly early (7 am) and does housework to loud music on the weekend: A CD of Foo Fighters Greatest Hits, because at least then I’d like the shit I’m forced to listen to.

Alternatively: A hammer, for me, so I can kill them.

To that smelly person that everyone knows: Lynx shower gel set. You know that stuff is the only shit they use. Even Lynx is preferable to high levels of BO with zero antiperspirant.

For every cheapskate dad/uncle/friend who never gets a round in: Tesco Value Christmas jumper. It’s brilliant. I want one for myself.

For that guy who ghosted you: An empty cardboard box, wrapped in Christmas wrapping. Why? Because, aren’t you relishing the thought of him getting excited when he rips open that box, only to find out there’s fuck all inside.

That’s how ghosting feels, asshole.

For the jellyfish friend you pretend to like but don’t: Chewing gum. She’s so perfect that you just can’t think of anything bad to say about her. You just don’t like her. She does occasionally have bad breath because her oh-so-perfect boyfriend makes her delicious sounding French dishes, loaded with garlic, while the only garlic breath you have is because you devoured a 15” pizza to yourself, completely alone, with cheesy garlic bread on the side.

To that client who always fucks you about when it comes to payment time: An invite to your email spam folder. No money, no more worky.

To that boyfriend/girlfriend who always fucks you about:

(Exactly that: sweet fuck all.)

For that ex-girlfriend who just won’t leave your guy alone: A Clone-a-Willy Kit. Make her a fucking clone of his dick and hope she pipes the fuck down.

You know what, I’d actually like one of those Clone-a-Willy kits myself. I bet Bear’s dick would love the attention … 😉

Anyway, yeah, those are my thoughts. Who have I left out? Feel free to shout out your suggestions below or on the Twitterscope.

Love Y‘all! 

Merry Christmas! 

xo 

𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕖

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