A very Rory Christmas

I was awoken at the ungodly hour of 6am this Christmas day by the gleeful little squeaks and giggles of my two kids Tyrone and Sandra. While their smoking hot mother who lay beside me in our large king sized bed jumped up with an equally child like zest, I was less forthcoming. I sat up in the bed, reached over to my bedside locker in a daze and opened my bottle of Paddys Whiskey and took a morning shot in the eye. This shook the cobwebs off me just enough for me to find my voice and gather my bearings so with all the might of a grizzly bear I yelled at the two kids to shut the fuck up and get back to bed or I’ll burn down the Christmas Tree, their mother, bless her kind heart began to cry and pleaded with me to show some Christmas Spirit and mercy on the poor children. It was at this point I reminded her that the only reason those shit heads kids even exist is because she was a damn whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed. Of course she cried more, So to draw a line under it all I just told them if they all didn’t get back to bed in the next 2 minutes I’d cancel Christmas. The kids quickly ran back down the hall to their rooms and the wife rolled away from me in the bed and the sound of her muffled sobbing soothed me back to sleep.

I re-awoke around 11am. Unfortunately my buzz was completely lost through that horrible handicap called sleep. I shook the wife and told her to get up because I was ready. I went down the hall and gave a solitary bang on each childs door with a yell “GET UP, LET’S GET THIS CHARADE OVER WITH!”, Tyrone and Sandra both had a shine in their eyes again as they prepared to rip into their presents, the wife had a bemused look on her face that let me know I’d have to get drunk quick so I wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable feeling of guilt and regret over the years of horrible mental abuse I had dished out upon them.

Most reading this would think I’d have bought horrible presents or no presents at all. You’d be wrong. You see, for a few hundred euros I don’t just buy plastic crap to clutter up the house, I buy peace and quiet for the day. There is nothing worse than a day full of children crying when the pubs aren’t open. So Tyrone got his bike and Sandra got her tool belt, ya I know, I know she’s bound to be very good with her hands…So that’s the kids taken care of for the the day, the only one left to get off my back was my smoking hot wife. This would require all of my cunning. I could see her face light up in a way that I knew she would not only leave me alone for the day but I’d possibly get unforced sex later in the night and possibly months of little to no nagging about going to an AA meetings. I bought her a 2 week holiday in the Canary Islands by herself, which means I could offload the kids onto my parents and book off work to have a party myself. I’m actually a functioning drunk all year and manage to work a pretty decent job but those two weeks I won’t be functioning, I’ll get a piss bag and big boy diapers. Shit is going to get crazy!

I have a Christmas rule. Start drinking at least 2 hours before your dinner. By the time dinner rolled around I was pretty hammered, I managed to long neck quite a bit of Whiskey. Whiskey makes me good and angry, I was feeling the Christmas spirit though, so while I ate my dinner in much the same fashion as a Crocodile eats a full chicken, rather than yell with my mouth full this year I decided to stay quiet. I stared everybody out of it while I ate my delicious dinner. Of course I never told my wife how much I enjoyed the food out of fear she might find some self confidence and leave me.

Full from dinner I decided to retire to my bed. Unfortunately in my drunken state I mistook Sandras bed for my own. I used her toy chest as my own personal sick bag and urinated on the floor before realizing I was in the wrong room. I wrote a crude letter and posted it on Sandras door saying sorry for the vomit and urine, Blitzen had a flu. Love Santa. With a clear conscience I slept gracefully through the night. I didn’t stay awake for sex and so it was another year without a Christmas Miracle.

I just Blogged my brains out,



About thecityfathers

We sit around all day stroking our beards, clucking our tongues and discussing what's to be done with this Homer Simpson
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