HUMOUR

CHRISTMAS is but days away, and around the country families are getting together to do dizzyingly weird shit they think is normal. What’s your bizarre tradition?

Bill McKay, subsea welder: “We have a roast penguin instead of a turkey. Christ, the awful, greasy, fish-stinking meat of it, the taste curdling on the tongue. We have it every year.”

Donna Sheridan, receptionist: “Each year, we force my sister’s husband to dress up and act in character as a celebrity we’ve lost that year. This year it’s Ozzy. In 2016 we made him change from Muhammad Ali to George Michael after lunch.”

Julian Cook, actuary: “Go to church. I know, f**king freaky right?”

Susan Traherne, confectioner: “Post-lunch we go for a 16-hour hike in the Cairngorms, ending the following morning. Only then do we open our presents. And we do so one at a time, agonisingly slowly.”

Wayne Hayes, haulier: “Instead of a sixpence in the pudding, one of the crackers has Grandad’s dick pic in. You don’t want that one! Rest in peace, old fella.”

A WOMAN is confident that every failure or shortcoming in her existence is ultimately the fault of men.

After careful evaluation, Hannah, not her real name, has decided that her unfulfilling job, inability to get on the property ladder and her toast burning this morning are all, when it comes down to it, because of the patriarchy.

She said: “Everyone knows the gender pay gap’s all down to selfish, sexist men. But I’m daring to think bigger.

“The traffic that made me late for work this morning? Guess who was driving the not one, not two, but three cars in front. The fillings I need? Because I’m grinding my teeth over men’s bullshit all the time.

“Phone battery low? Because they’re designed by men selfishly designed them with their gruff, masculine one-text-and-away power usage in mind, not women who know the necessity of scrolling Instagram. See? All it takes is lateral thinking.

“As for why I’m single, that’s obviously on men. For not being handsome, not earning for shit and boring on about the crap they’re interested in. They need to sort it out. I’m excellent to date.”

Colleague Martin, not his real name, said: “As a man, I fear nodding along to Lucy’s rant is yet another poor male decision which women will end up paying heavily for. Specifically her mates.”

A HIRSUTE man is losing his battle against the endless encroachment of his arse crack hair, it has emerged.

Despite having repeatedly shaved, waxed and plucked the deepest crevices of his behind, Anthony, not his real name, has admitted he is powerless to stop the relentless growth of hair in his bumcrack.

He said: “It was slow to begin with. A few thin wisps started sprouting when I was a teen. Nothing to worry about, or so I thought.

“Over time though, my worst fears came true. What were once odd strands thickened into a matted strip of shaggy bristles. Reaching round for a quick scratch felt more like stroking a dog than touching human flesh.

“I’ve tried epilating my anal cleft, and even gave herbal remedies a go out of desperation, but nothing seems to work. Each morning I wake up with an itchy tress rustling between my butt cheeks, and in a cruel twist of fate the hair on my head keeps thinning.

“Doctors say I’ve got six months until my bum thatch spreads up my back and connects with my shoulder pubes. I’m thinking of using the little time I have left to run a marathon to raise awareness for this debilitating condition.”

Ant’s wife Jess, not her real name, said: “I’m so proud of Tom for bravely fighting his arse locks. Although if he doesn’t stop leaving hair all over the toilet seat soon I’ll happily have him put down.”

OLD man? Look again, because according to my Spotify Wrapped, I am a svelte and fresh-faced 19. Here’s how you can get a musical age in the tantalising teens:

Music is cyclical

Instead of listening to comfortable 80s rock, why not listen to Chappell Roan? She paints her face like KISS, belts it out like Heart and the cheesy guitar solo at the end of Pink Pony Club is the equivalent of anything by Def Leppard’s Phil Collen. Plus it’s about finding true joy by being a stripper! Ignore the gay bits and that’s hair metal city.

Think sexually

But – and this is where you’ll have to stretch yourself – from the lady’s side of the bed. Because while there’s a sorry dearth of men boasting about their conquests in song, today’s young women are sex-crazed. Slap on a Sabrina Carpenter or Lola Young track about giving it up to the wrong guy, imagine yourself as him and you’re laughing.

Don’t trust your memory

Men try to reduce their Spotify age by streaming recent acts. Unfortunately getting older means your mind plays tricks, and they consider the likes of Notorious BIG, the Kooks and Fatboy Slim to be recent when actually they’re somewhat older. Spotify has loads of lists of new music; just put those on indiscriminately. But how will you stand it? Next point.

Other voices, other rooms

Who says you have to be in the same room you’re streaming in? Especially when you’ve got a multi-room Sonos set-up, like I have. Simply set Rap Caviar or K-Pop ON! streaming in the kitchen while you play Shades of Deep Purple on 180 gram vinyl. Your listening age is reducing by the minute while you’re vibing to real music.

Remember the remaster

What about when you’re out and about? Then deluxe versions, remasters and box sets are your friends. Springsteen’s seven-album Tracks II may comprise unreleased gems going back to the 1980s, but it only came out this year so it’s as 2025 as Sombr. Be up to the minute while mired in the past and it’s all on noise-cancelling cans. Nobody will know.

Grin and bear it

There are times when no substitute will do. When you’ve picked her up for the date and the leather seats in your BMW are crying out for Dire Straits? That’s when you play FKA Twigs. ‘Yeah, Eusexua?’ you’ll say, casually, ‘So much better now she’s updated the track order.’ And just like that, you’re Spotify Listening young.

A YEAR of simmering flirtation, suggestive Slack messages and provocatively reloaded printers spectacularly detonated last night at the Wexford Consulting Christmas event. 

Survivors reported the impact of free prosecco on bloodstreams only accustomed to a light lunch unleashed 12 months of hungover Tuesday erections and bored mid-meeting fantasies, culminating in a sex-crazed bacchanal at a Brentwood bowling alley.

Digital alignment co-ordinator Tom Booker said: “It was like Eyes Wide Shut on a mixed use retail/hospitality estate by a ringroad.

“All the repressed desires – Grace bending over, Gareth’s tank top phase, Chloe’s anecdote about water aerobics – burst forth in a riotous flood of festive lust. Turns out paper hats and a DJ playing SexyBack, and Gareth from audit becomes Caligula.

“Doran and Amelia – of ‘we’re just friends, we just have lunch together’ – were rutting in an alcove. Jo from HR was waiting her turn for each of them. I was going down on Carly from sale, who has a minge so comely I wish I could mention it in her performance review.

“And the buffet? I didn’t realise Harry from operations would be the sushi platter, and I’m afraid I made quite a pig of myself. At one point there were three of us tonguing his balls. He’s a promising young man.”

Workplace psychologist Helen, not her real name, said: “The Christmas party exists not to celebrate a year of productivity, but to make employees so divided and ashamed they’re incapable of confronting management for another 12 months.”

A MAN who has been told by his girlfriend it is over between them has idly wondered what it would be like to say those words rather than hear them.

Jordan, not his real name, aged 31, knows the script so well after countless dumpings he can mouth along, but for the first time found himself imagining actually being the one to end it.

He said: “I’m not relationship material. They all tell me that. Which is a shame, because I quite like having someone around to shag.

“I’d never end it with a woman, because why would you? I don’t really know what incompatibility is. None of them enjoy ten-hour Championship Manager games or a beer sesh with my mates, so maybe it’s them that’s incompatible.

“Nonetheless, because I’m a gentleman, I carry on dating them anyway until the end comes. But the idea it could be me who calls that end has never really occurred to me before.

“It must feel glorious to actually finish with someone, a real power trip. To be the one saying ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ and ‘Let’s make this a friendship and see where that goes’ while meaning the exact opposite.

“But it’ll never happen. It’s not me. I’m just too much of a nice guy and too grateful for sex.”

YOUR mother would like to know what you want to have a row about this Christmas so she can plan accordingly.

With Christmas just weeks away, your organised mum needs to find out if you are planning to get annoyed at your dad’s political views over dinner, or if you are more in the mood for getting pissed off with probing questions about your personal life.

Your mum said: “You threw a childish tantrum over what we got you for your big present last year, remember? The shirt and tie set? So I’m guessing you don’t want to do that again so soon.

“Unresolved traumas are always popular. Would you like me to dredge up some repressed memories I can drop into conversation at the worst possible moment? Coming last at sports day maybe? I’d be happy to do that if you give me some notice.

“Arguments about money are a bit predictable, and I expect everyone will be doing them this year. But if you’ve got your heart set on that then send me some recent bank statements and I’ll start finding criticisms of your income and spending.

“If you’re not fussed either way we’ll keep it simple with a squabble about when we’re opening presents or what to watch on TV. You know, the traditional disagreements.”

Your dad said: “I’ve already sorted out an argument about your mum’s cooking for Boxing Day, so try to avoid that topic.”

A FATHER explaining to his sons that he coupled school with 13 hours of twilight manual labour a week has realised in hindsight how bizarre that was.

Malcolm aged 51 from Broome, not his real name or age, was telling his two disbelieving sons that for much of his teenage years he would rise before dawn, collect a heavy bag, walk empty streets delivering newspapers, then go to school, then do the same again in the evening.

He continued: “I got paid a tenner a week for that. Other kids who couldn’t get paper rounds were well jealous. What the f**k?

“Out in the cold and the pissing rain carrying 12 pounds of newsprint – 24 on a Sunday – traipsing round rough estates where every other house had a massive scary dog hurling itself at the door. Seven mornings a week, six evenings a week. That shit was mental.

“I’d arrive at school exhausted. I’d leave school and go straight to the newsagent. Why exactly did my parents put child labour ahead of GCSEs? To save on pocket money?

“If you found out 14-year-olds were setting alarm clocks to deliver your Amazon parcels at 7am you’d think it was weird, right? Some minor celebrity would go on The One Show and launch a campaign to stamp the practice out.”

Son Ryan, not his real name, said: “I do not believe I should have to work until I am 25, and I do not believe Dad.”

THE only employment available once the AI revolution makes humans redundant will be as an estate agent, experts have confirmed.

As every other job is replaced by AI or, for practical jobs, a person holding up a phone with AI on, estate agents will continue to be a human-dominated profession because of the necessity of lying right up in people’s faces.

Estate agent Helen, not her real name, said: “Ask ChatGPT to describe a single room with mould on the walls, a leaking tap and a bed that sags down the the floor and it’ll be honest.

“Ask an estate agent and it’s the latest in urban living, an oasis of comfort in a rapidly-gentrifying area with bathroom facilities shared between six to help the environment. No algorithm can lie that confidently.

“It can write code, diagnose illnesses and create artistic masterpieces, but can it convince a young couple that £1,650 a month for a windowless basement is a ‘rare opportunity’? No. Instead it hallucinates other rooms ‘because nobody should live like this’.

“In a decade, the economy will be just AI and men called Darren with gelled hair who collect nine per cent of GDP for sending three emails a month. Youngsters are training now by standing in broom closets, clapping their hands and saying ‘this feels like the one!’”

Estate agent Martin, not his real name, said: “As long as humans want to live indoors, we will survive. Though if indoors isn’t a deal-breaker for you, I’ve got a patch of waste ground in Haringay for 820 large.”

YOU believe the relationship ended with dignity and mutual respect. What she’s telling her new partner is a great deal funnier than that. Here’s what they’re laughing about:

Every monumentally stupid thing you ever said

It’s easy to repeat bollocks you’ve not thought through. Your guard was down. You didn’t really believe there was a hook-handed killer hiding in the back of your car, though she’s recounting it as you very much did and crapped yourself. Everyone’s gullible occasionally. It’s not fair you look an idiot and he gets sex.

Every bad gift you ever gave

Poor planning, lack of funds, an attempt at humorous irony or just misplaced spontaneity means yeah, you gave your share of shit presents. That doesn’t mean she has to take him on a little tour of them while ignoring all the good, thoughtful gifts. While if he gets her a naked woman apron and sex dice it’ll be adorable because he’s new.

Each one of your sexual failings

Obviously you’ll be unflatteringly compared to him. But while at the time she claimed she didn’t mind that sex didn’t drag on, it wasn’t as brief as she’s making out. That bastard she’s with now is going to turn it into a recurring joke, calling you ‘hair-trigger Tommy’ and ‘Johnny come-early’ which isn’t accurate because it was actually very fulfilling.

All the times you got too pissed

You were having fun! Vomiting over yourself after getting thrown out of an Uber, deep-frying a frozen pizza, those widely separated urination incidents; each was a good night. He doesn’t need to look saddened you’d put her through such horrors then begin giggling ‘What a pathetic twat, though’. Bet she’s not mentioned when she fell asleep on the toilet.

Every ex you ever had, as evidence

How did such a wonderful woman end up with such a prick as yourself? Well, she memorised your exes and is listing them in order of comedy value to emphasise that she was the exception. Don’t imagine there’s any solidarity between women: anyone you shagged who was fat, thick, ‘common’ or mental is up there.

He’s just realised he knows you

You live in the same city, you’re similar in age, and the new boyfriend has just realised, uproariously, that he’s actually met you. And you were, he is happy to confirm, one of the most pitiful pricks he’s every had the misfortune to encounter. ‘That’s so funny!’ your ex says, while frantically worrying about all the stories you could tell about her.