Christmas comes but once a year....thank God

'At least my sex life is better than Santa's. He comes but once a year, and that's down a chimney.'

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It’s nearly that time of year again. Christmas, I mean. Goodwill to all men, and all that crap. I dread Christmas. Let’s get a little bit of housekeeping out of the way before I bare my soul. There won’t be a newsletter in a fortnight’s time. It will be December 26, and I will be lying in an alcoholic stupor somewhere, making the intimate acquaintance of a gutter. So the next edition of this newsletter will be in four weeks’ time. May I take this opportunity to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and best wishes for the New Year.

It’s not so much the Christmas bit I hate. What I hate is having to be nice to relatives I only see at Christmas, whose names I cannot remember, and who are mostly female, and who expect you to buy presents for them and remember to send them a card professing the best of the Season’s wishes.

My mother is a female. She expects me to buy presents for her at Christmas. I know precisely what her reaction will be when she opens her cd of Susan Boyle, two books for the price of one from Tesco, and next year’s diary one page to a week. She will thank me profusely, tell me I shouldn’t have bothered, go into the bedroom and quietly scream at the total naffness of my presents.

This is because I am a man. By definition, a man is useless at buying presents. A friend of mine rang me last Christmas. His wife was sobbing uncontrollably and threatening to divorce him. ‘What did you buy her?’ 'That saucepan she has been hinting about all year.’ I began to understand. Women do this sort of thing. They drop subtle and not so subtle hints about what you should buy them, then they are upset when you follow their instructions to the letter. No wonder we men can never win the battle of the sexes. Women don’t fight fair.

I asked my friend, ‘What else have you bought her?’ He was puzzled. ‘Isn’t one present enough? I’m not made of money.’ I wondered if it might just be possible for him to escape with his testicles intact. Fortunately, I had an idea. ‘Go up to her, take her gently in your arms, and ask her if she is ready for her next present. Then take her to that restaurant she loves. They always have room at Christmas. And on the way stop for some petrol and buy the biggest bunch of roses you can find. Then half way through the meal order a bottle of champagne and present her with the roses on one knee with a little speech about how much you love her, how marrying her was the best thing you have ever done, and how you could never live without her.’

This seemed to cheer him up a bit and he said he would do exactly as I had said. He rang me about a week later and told me exactly what had happened. Apparently everything went well until he got down on one knee and made his speech. His wife threw the champagne at him, stamped on the roses, and screamed, ‘You bastard. You’ve been talking to that interfering f***ing wanker Charles again.’

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Now, I know we're all terribly busy at Christmas keeping the in-laws happy and rushing around like lunatics, but we mustn't forget sex. We just need to make it a priority. Here are some suggestions.... Christmas Sex

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The next edition of this newsletter will be sent to you in four weeks' time.

Previous editions of this newsletter are available at Newsletter back-issues

New pages since the last newsletter:

Wedding Jokes
Revenge Sex
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The Greatest Lover since Casanova

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