HUMOUR

A MAN thoughtfully chosen as a stand-in parent is confident it is all a totally meaningless gesture.

Nathan, not his real name, 34, is blissfully unaware that his old school friend Pete and his partner Emma are expecting him to share the joys and chores of parenthood for a kid that is not his.

He said: “As a decent friend, I obviously agreed to this nice silly thing you have to do once in your life, like try sushi or go to a Butlin’s.

“When I looked up what it entails, all that ‘lifelong mentor’ bollocks, I had to laugh. You turn up when they’re tiny and can’t remember anything, then use the trustworthy godfather shtick to pull girls on Hinge. That’s it, isn’t it?

“I’ve been threatened with being called a ‘non-familial uncle’. But relatives actually care about the sprog and don’t just get them a joke gift for being born and forget about it. The most I can provide in the way of ‘spiritual guidance’ is quoting Yoda.

“In a best-case scenario, in about 15 years the kid will ask who the hell I am when they see a photo of me with their mum. Not in a weird way, because I don’t fancy Emma.”

Nathan’s friend Pete, not hox real name, said: “It’s great that Nathan has agreed to be Lily’s godparent. We basically see him as a lifetime resource we can call on at any moment so we never have to pay for a babysitter or a birthday clown.”

A VISIT to M&S has given a woman a glimpse of what her particular circle of hell, where everyone is middle class, will be like.

Helen, not her real name, visited the store to pick up a few fresh items for her Boxing Day buffet only to find everyone else of her demographic had been carefully separated and released into the shop for a kind of polite Hunger Games.

She said: “It was a passive-aggressive riot of Next blouses and bookshop totes, and we were not taking prisoners.

“You only had to reach for a pyramid of salted caramel profiteroles to hear a disappointed ‘oh’ and look into the face of a crushed woman who only needed that final detail to please her in-laws, who were travelling all the way from Solihull.

“I didn’t relinquish my grip, explaining sweetly that of course I’d usually make my own but I was singing in a choir in the town square on Christmas Eve and we hoped to raise £13,000 for motor neurone disease.

“That round I won. But when she reached the mini pecorino and chorizo tortillas before me, she gave me such a look.

“I know now what hell will be. A frenzy of professional women sweeping the shelves of delectable items ironically termed ‘picky bits’, all seething, all silent, all with SUVs outside. And when the bill comes it will be £137.82 for barely two bags’ worth.”

A RETIRED 80-year-old with no social media presence is understandably afraid his likeness will be stolen to generate pornographic deepfakes on the dark web.

Octogenarian Keith, not his real name, has asked that all pictures his grandchildren might have posted online of him in the past decade are scrubbed from the internet to protect him from becoming a victim of explicit revenge porn.

He explained: “I read in the paper that these AI gadgets take your face and put it on someone else’s body, making it look like you’re doing something you never did. Like having it off with the woman on top.

“While I wish I was romping with Kylie Minogue, and I could now Mary’s gone, it’s not appropriate for any Tom, Dick or Harry to make that into a video and share it around for everyone to see. Indonesia could be watching that nightly and I wouldn’t know.

“You might think I’m being paranoid, but I could see the treasurer of the lawn bowls club retaliating like this after I accused him of cheating last August. He’s got a computer with megarams.

“And quite frankly I’m afraid to go to the Post Office and pay my gas bill because everyone in there could have been watching me giving it both barrels to those Sugababes on their phones and laughing. It’s elder abuse.”

He added: “I’ve asked my grandson to search the web for it. He says he there’s nothing there, but I worry he hasn’t spelled ‘Steele’ with all three Es.”

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.”