Paper Rock Scissors Championships which I saw a link of at the highly industrious Diversionz — infact you’d be doing yourself a favour by cutting out the middleman and just visiting him instead of here.
The complexity of the P.R.S. results defeat me, so I can’t say exactly what won, paper rock or scissors but I have a hunch it was rock.
If I ever end up in a situation where I’ve made my own people then you can bet your socks that when it comes to this part of the year and cards are sent here and there through the mail — — each person within the sox clan will be signing their own name in each of those cards.
Every year I’m perplexed by the combination of effort and half-heartedness involved in this wacky little traditon or bouncing cardboard through the national mail service.
Then there’s the actual cards. Mass produced little things with pictures of snow on them. At this point I’d like to inform the international readers that during the last two days it’s been 37degrees Celcius Plus! here.
Sandra is sitting at the kitchen table sweating her arse off, writing, “Dear Gemima and Scotty, hope you and the kids are well, happy crismas, luv Sandra, Billy and Bobby-Jo” on a card with snow on it and probably jesus too and nobody’s been to church since forever.
Giving elephants paint brushes — another fucking triumph in human wisdom.
Some advice to you, dear reader, don’t accept the gift of a painting done by any mammal that can’t write its own name.
And another thing – you kids out there: Shopping trolleys are for putting groceries in – not lairising about with.