Ah Christmas. Tis the season to be trollied! La La La La La I’ve lost my keys.
Love it or loathe it, the ultimate mash-up between Big JC and Ol’ Dirty St Nick is on the horizon and with it, a slew of festive work parties will be shitting their way through the month like Rudolph with IBS.
On the run up to the one day of the year its socially acceptable to be lashed by 9am, many of us Manxies will be up to our t!ts in booze, reindeer horns on the head, screaming that, when all is said and done, we truly do wish it could be Christmas every day. As Bing Crosby once soothingly crooned “I love downing the jagers boii”. And quite right too, Bing.
Still, such frivolity needs to be delicately handled. Quite often this is with your work colleagues. Some of whom you silently wish death upon on an almost hourly basis. A few too many Shandies and you could end up with a black eye and unemployed.
Luckily Gef is on hand…
- Befriend the drunkest oaf there. Scope them out early doors and stay close. No matter how much of a blethering, Slade-loving wreck you are later, you can always rely on the oaf to steal the headlines for Monday morning.
- Keep an eye on Alky Alan. That snake will be nabbing all the free wine.
- Dance like nobody’s watching! Not because it’s liberating, no. Simply as it’s the only time of year it will be socially acceptable to throw shapes like you’ve just been tasered.
- Take your own booze in a gift bag pretending it’s a Xmas present. The ultimate crime. Probably.
- Still bring £150 as you’ll end up in the Cazzy.
- Put it all on black. Or red. Sh;t! Maybe black. You’ll know what to do.
- Book a taxi in advance rather than pacing manically along Douglas Prom with your thumb in the air. This isn’t the American Midwest, mate.
- Kick off if there isn’t any turkey on offer. Yes, it’s a bit shit and drier than desert bones but by the balls of Cliff Richard it’s Christmas damnit! Kick.
- Ignore anyone crying. You will be of no assistance. The booze has them now.
- Generosity should be a red flag. Make a mental note that when you utter “Get one for yourself, dude” to the barkeep that this means you should head home immediately. You’re not bloody Kris Kringle.
- Hug your mate when East 17 come on. Cry too. Let it all out.
- Order the resident DJ to “cut the music” and start freestyle rapping.
- Collar your boss and chew their ear off about your innovative plans to “seriously make some changes around this place”
- Ideally, try not to soil yourself. But, if you do, just stay calm. Do not sprint to the toilets, take off your underpants and try and frantically clean them in the sink. Incidentally, this has never happened to me. Just a thought.
- Slut drop with the boss. You are not a member of the Pussycat Dolls. Yet.
- Become the drunken oaf. See above.
- Think you’re in a RUN DMC video. Accept that you resemble a rabid ferret when you’re on the dance floor.
- Wear spanx and trough your way through three roast dinners at the Carvery. You will be sorry and you will vomit (although you’ll still look great so, every cloud?)
- Think it’s OK to kiss anyone under the mistletoe. Not in this political climate.
- Proclaim “I DON’T CARE!!” before stripping nude as “Mistletoe and Wine” jingles away in the background. Come Monday morning, you will care.
- Tell anyone what you really think. This will not end well for you.
Have any hilarious stories from your parties? Share them with us!