THIS ONE MIGHT BE MY FAVORITE! JUST HILARIOUS!
Brothers,
I don't want to ruin anyone's festive season, but I couldn't hold back from posting the following tale of some horrible injustices visited on a couple of dear colleagues and fellow Iron Warrior Brothers of mine.
Nobby was sentenced to community service, stemming from a violent altercation at the gym.
His 'community service' was none other than a stint as Santa Claus at a local shopping mall. Marvin, a mentally retarded lad from the gym, and I went along to lend him moral support, and the following events transpired.
The three of us arrived at the mall, Nobby and I both a tad intoxicated, and the shopping mall manager suited Nobby out. "HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING??!!" the scrawny mall manager snapped at Nobby as he helped him put on the Santa coat. Nobby seized the fellow by the tie and pulled him up in the air and an inch from his nose. "FOOKIN ROIGHT!!" he snarled, then threw the little worm into the wall, knocking him unconscious!
Nobby's massive, tree trunk thighs and telephone pole arms barely fit into the spacious outfit.
Nobby lumbered out to Santa's chair, and I stood within earshot, and in between sips from my flask of whiskey I listened in on Nobby's touchingly warm and gentle manner with children. A lad of about 7 climbed up on 'Santa's' lap, and Nobby snarled "Wot the fook yew wontin this year, pal?".
"Well, Santa, me friends beat up on me, and I could use something to defend myself with...maybe a book on karate.." the young boy whimpered. Nobby reached into his pocket, and produced his bike chain. "'Ere, son. Give em a few fookin belts across the face with this. URT THE BAHSTAHDS!" Nobby said in a warm, fatherly tone. The young lad, filled with joy, seized the bike chain, jumped off of Santa's lap, and ran up to another youngster and began beating him down with the chain, screaming "Who's bullyin who now, ****in arsehole!". I grew misty eyed, as the joy of Christmas was so touchingly spread by Nobby's special way with children.
The next youngster was a little girl of perhaps 4. She looked terrified, and Nobby hit a double-biceps pose in her face, the seams of the sleeves bursting open under the pressure from his cannonball biceps. "Mama, Santa's a monster!" the little girl screamed, and ran off crying. Santa's merry 'Ho Ho Ho' echoed through the mall, and I joined him in thunderous laughter. The girl's mother looked most displeased.
The next lad, about 6, hopped up on Santa's lap. "Santa, I want
a toy gun...but my parents are making me want a ballet outfit" he snivelled. "Wot the fook?!" Santa gasped. "A fookin real gun is what you need, laddie" . "NO HE WANTS A BALLET OUTFIT!" a bitchy voice screeched. Two 'wimmin', obviously 'partners', angrily approached Santa. "He is our son...yes, WE adopted him...and we won't have him becoming a violent male pig...he WILL enroll in ballet" the manly-looking lesbian snarled. Nobby calmly put the boy aside, then exploded in rage. With a mighty roar of "FOOKIN POOFTTAAHHS!!!" he sprang from his chair and, both arms outstretched, dealt a devastating double-clothesline to the two abberations of nature, sending their fat, pants-and-sweatshirt forms flying through the air and into the shopping mall fountain.
I turned to Marvin, our down-syndrome afflicted, 2-inch-thick-lensed glasses wearing, fellow Iron Warrior.
Pointing at the calamity ensuing between Nobby, the lesbians, and the little girl's mother, I pointed out "Will you look at the way those horrible people are treating Nobby? MARVIN, ARE YOU JUST GOING TO BLOODY WELL STAND THERE AND LET SANTA BE ABUSED?!" I screamed in his ear. Marvin began trembling in rage, then charged forth in one of his celebrated, Japanese 'banzai' charges and, seizing a plastic Christmas tree, began attacking the growing crowd of angry parents that surrounded Nobby. He charged into them, bashing heads with the tree until it broke apart, then began clotheslining, kicking, and biting his way through the crowd. Nobby and I headed off, as a crowd of security guards arrived on the scene, and after emptying a few cans of mace into Marvin's face, pummelled him into a pulp with their clubs.
Nobby and I ducked into the liquor store, and on leaving Nobby seized one of our whiskey bottles and hurled it towards the crowd of security guards, screaming "FOOKIN BASTAHHHDS!!". The bottle sailed through the air and, as cruel fate would have it, hit Marvin smack on the head, shattering into a million pieces! We made it out of the mall as the crowd fled, screaming, and roared out the parking garage in the Rolls Royce, like a bat out of Hell!
Nobby has since been fired by the mall management.
What on earth ever happened to the Spirit of Christmas? Where has it gone, for the love of GOD!?
