It's the laaities I feel sorry for. Xmas is all about the spirit of giving and, if your co-workers are particularly unimaginative, the giving of spirits. There's nothing like a bottle of hooch to show how much your colleagues really appreciate you, especially if it comes in a plastic, rococo presentation case with matching ceremonial boxing gloves included. I kid, of course. Boxing gloves are always included. At a gig recently I witnessed this particular bit of rum fuelled foreplay:
HE: I'm gonna moer you so hard! An' it's gonna be heavy sore!
SHE: Moer me? I hope you gorra good lawyer.
HE: I don' need a lawyer... I'll moer you MYSELF.
So we celebrate the Prince of Peace by giving the gift of karate-juice. Of course, nowadays every booze pusher wants us to drink responsibly. Never mind the time honoured South African philosophy of "If you're too pissed to blow into the bag, be a pal and breathe into my tank." We aren't supposed to drive or even walk drunk anymore so presumably we're meant to stay in the bar and get bent until we pass out safely. Aren't we lucky to have some concerned capitalist looking after us? They must have got the idea from the casinos that advise us to gamble with our heads and not our hearts. (And here I was naively thinking they insisted on money.) Next time you go to the beach you can expect to find sharks renting out surfboards.
But as you, me and Raymond Ackerman all know, it's the children that make the festive season special. That's why, on the stroke of midnight of the 31st, we have to be hit with the first "back to school" ads. Most of the little yoblets haven't even finished wrecking their new toys yet and we have to remind them that the school term is only a couple of weeks away. I know the ads are actually aimed at parents who may be relieved that they only have a limited time to spend with their mongrel kids, but let's spare the poor darlings' sensibilities. At least screen these vicious "back to school" ads at a time when most children aren't watching because they're busy trolling the internet for porn.
Why are the child actors in these travesties so happy? They're misrepresenting what school is like, the Judas goat, turncoat little fucks! Either that or mommy is mixing a bit of Prozac into the Ritalin to keep Junior, the child star, from realising how the other kids at school are going to stick large bits of gym apparatus up his arse when they recognise him from the "back to school" ad.
Standard 7 (Grade 9) was tough enough without any extra pressure. All the kids in my class were erupting into puberty. Everyone sounded like they were alternately being possessed by the spirits of the Bee Gees and Barry White, sometimes both in the same sentence, except for me and one other boy, Devlin. I was still soprano of voice and bald of scrotum. Devlin was shaving, driving and shagging the Geography mistress.
Much as I hate to interrupt the image of my scrotum that's running around your head right now, let's return to those TV ads. We've got to be pragmatic. Since the makers of Bata Toughees school shoes are never ever going to give up trying to convince everyone that the polio victim look is still "in", and since school itself is the most cost effective way of brainwashing young lemmings until they tune in to CNN, it looks as though the "back to school" ad is going to be with us for the foreseeable future. Why not help the weenies enjoy them a bit more? Perhaps the copy could read something like...
School, the best time of your life, because afterwards you'll be unemployed, divorced and probably die of cancer. But buy these Fugly shoes 'cos they'll make every day seem like an eternity.
Now that's an ad the whole family can enjoy. Happy New Year!
Al
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