The Kennel Kernel

Dear Mr Claus

This year I thought I’d start by giving something back. Perhaps not quite in the way you might be envisaging. But it does have spirit. Of a bathtub brand.

You might be wanting to bring a skip.

And then I’d very much to give you:

All my destructive behaviours. Blow the bally lot up.

All my anger. Apart from when I have to lift something heavy. Or need to destroy things.. Comes in useful then.

The 4am despair squid-negative, pointless & self-fulfilling worries. Give them to somebody neurotic. Or the dole workshy. The inside of my head should give them something worthy to worry about & to get up for in the morning. Hard work would be highly therapeutic.

The highly concerning occasional urge to destroy things. Except when they need destroying. Apart from the kettle that is, which looked at me in a funny when I was carving a joint. I swear if I hadn’t have given up smoking a week before I’d never have stabbed it.

That bastard thing I seem to have, & always have done, that makes me unable to leave anything alone, esp. trivial stuff & things that are bad for me. Like TRC.

The ‘oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I can’t think, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, runaway’ furby. It keeps whispering in my ears at the most inopportune moments. You could, of course reprogramme it. ‘Jump you fucker jump’ would be fine. Or ‘we’re gonna kick your fucking heads in.’ Or give it to someone who could do with an arrogance correction. Lord Mandelson maybe. Actually he can have the inside of my head too.

The dream a little dream of me. It’s not the quality of the reproduction. Or the somewhat extravagantly creative content. I’d just like a change of show reel please. Weekly would be fine. When it is ‘my’ night can it have some sex in it too please? With a woman. A pretty young & willing one. And after I’m feeling afterglowily wholesome you can bring in something Ducati Pete might fancy.

Christmas. A bit odd agreed, but this year take it away & stamp all it’s wee baubles to splintered smithereens. Err, which takes right back to the beginning really. Okay, give it to FA. She can do what she likes with it’s decorations.

Right-I suggest you pour over it all that cheap sherry & carbonised mince pies & set it alight? I can’t picture it being recycled. Well, actually I can, very easily. That’s rather the point.

Would you also be able to rootle about the landfill & see if you can find a few things I threw in the skip you delivered a while back? Yes, I remember I said to burn the lot as well. I’m hoping you might have done a ‘me’, & whilst nodding your head & saying ‘yes, of course. Thy will be done’, you actually had no intention of doing what I asked at all. What I was hoping for you to bring back are:

My sense of humour. The real one. I like weeksy & shouldn’t have laughed at jabbo’s cruel little joke. Or not at least as loudly as I did. Or for so long. Like now.

That small amount of compassion I wasn’t happy with. But not all of it. I’m not a fucking hippy.

Acceptance. The right sort. I’ve the wrong one at the moment. I think it’s called resignation. My fault for not being more careful about what I asked for. Again.
You might be able to swap the compulsion I said to destroy above, assuming a major upgrade, with concentration. May I have the one with the automatic priority pack & the context zoom option to pull back & take a bigger look? Otherwise I’ll be buying a new BMW & we’ve all seen what happened to Balbas.

Those lumps of care. This should be easy-just be sure pick the one’s with the don’t still on them. Got a bit carried away & threw a bit too much of that. I’ll Saturday Swapshop it with my CBA mood.

Love. I don’t know where that quite went. Was here one minute, turn my head & can’t for the life of me remember what I did with it. I hope I just lost it under the bed, rather than threw it out with the sweetie wrappers. It doesn’t feel far away. But then again neither do the fruity sweets-in the way that there might not actually be any here but there’s plenty in Morrisons. Ah. Oh, I see. Yes, well the reason there aren’t any lovely fruity sweets here is that I’m greedy & will eat them all up at once. It’s just the same with Hitchikers.

The ‘other people’ manuscript I said to torch. Well, actually a reworked one of those. I’m pretty sure I don’t want the original, because that was too much about being concerned by what other people (might) have thought about me. But I seem to have discarded the entire human race past & present, or coloured them in with unsuitable colours or drawn spectacles, moustaches & yenormous willies over them. I think it’s time I thought more selflessly about people I care about. See below though. You can pass the willies around. I was going to say not to put them in the Christmas Crackers, but I’ve thought about that a bit more. Where would Christmas luncheon be without a nob gag?

Me. Can I have that back too? I don’t like this one. Yes, I know I didn’t like the old one much either, but it had better points than this model & at least you know where you were with it. I can quite put up with it needing to go left, get lost a bit, make another left, get a bit annoyed at getting lost again, (which was entirely it’s own fault for going off in it’s own direction just to see what was down there), & one more sloppily lucky left to make one single right, rather than this standing at the cross roads, looking at the signpost, with my map & Slenver’s GPS iphone, completely unable/unwilling to make any progress. OTOH we could pop them both into the blender, apply 6 trillion genetically modified & irradiated volts across it & see what kind of an Igor’s crossbreed we’ve made. Not sure that’s entirely responsible, but at this minute it can’t be much worse. Could it? I mean that’s what that bloody programme says we’re all doing with our dogs anyhow. However, I have this terrible suspicion that it could. Very well. Can I then please have a copy of the International Mind Benders Old Possums Bumper Book of Knots, Incantations & Recipes for Harmonious Mental Cocktails & we’ll $6M it that way? I promise to follow the instructions faithfully at least once before I mess about with them. Can’t say fairer than that. Sorry, what was that you said? How about looking after the one I’ve got? Feeding it, cleaning it, exercising it, take it the menders, give it a service & generally clothe it & polish & tidy it up a bit before you think about part-exchanging it? WHAT are you IMPLYING? Look it’s perfectly all right-it’s simply not as nice as the old one. Yes it could do with a wash & the hairs a bit unkempt, teeth need attention, glasses are a bit wonky, does smell a lot of stale booze & ciggies, complexions a bit off & it hasn’t been out much. It’s only cosmetic. It’ll all T cut out & it’s perfectly sound underneath We’ll wind it up a bit & put it on the table top & then you’ll see. Oh. It’s going round in everdecreasing circles. Ahem. Must have startled it, let’s do that again. Hmm, yes it did fall over quite heavily didn’t it? Hope it didn’t break anything. Best out of three then. Blimey. That was the quickest I’ve seen it move. Straight over the edge, no messing about. I’ve seen it get pretty close before, which is how I just managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Yes, just like the old one. Yes, yes, the one I took apart to see what made it tick & it never went back the same way again. No of course I didn’t stitch you up. Well maybe a bit on the postage, but everyone does that. Oh. The one you used the parts of to make this one. Sigh. Oh well. How else could it have happened really? I suppose that makes us even & you’re completely right of course. It is a bit of a shonker inside & out & it would be interesting to see what happens if I sort it out before we think about extras. Ah fuck it. Just give me a kenwood juicer , one of ENA's volvo HT leads & access to the National Grid for a few minutes. About time David Tennant met a proper Monster.