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Saturday, 31 December 2011

image for Martin Shuttlecock's New Year Address I Pray None Of You Get Piles Too.

Good Evening.

I'm Martin Shuttlecock, and speaking on behalf of my beloved wife and myself, I would like to extend the warmest of New Year's greetings and felicitations to those who read this.

The ones who don't can all fuck off.

Right - It's traditional to look to the New Year with optimism. It's the done thing to hope for a peaceful New Year, and wish happiness, health and prosperity upon those whom we hold dear.

We don't hold with that bollocks in our house. We've been doing that for years now, and it never works. So this year, we're just going to pray for mercy and hope that our loved ones, and our friends, make it alive long enough to see 2013.

We aren't pessimists or anything like that; it's just that no matter how hard you wish for stuff at New Year - it just never seems to work out.

People get sick and they sometimes die. People have accidents and sometimes die. There's always some megalomaniacal prick itching to start a war, and you can fucking forget all about praying that the trains will run on time. That's not going to happen.

This year, the wife and I shall be praying for mercy. We'll be hoping we make it through the year, manage to hold on to our jobs, and hoping that the bastard bailiffs don't show up at the front door.

The world is apparently broke, and nobody seems to know why, so we're gonna pray we don't become victims of identity theft, or get mugged, or caught up in a riot or something. In light of the current financial climate, we'll be praying for the bankers, and the movers and shakers in the high flying worlds of finance and politics, hoping they are spared the hardships of recent times, and hoping that we don't end up paying out a disproportionate amount in taxes to bail the inconsiderate bastards out again.

While we eat shit. As usual.

Anyway. (I seem to say 'anyway' all the time recently, and I have no idea why. It's strange, but my voice has also gone a bit nasal. No idea how that happened. Anyway...)

In the spirit of political correctness, the wife and I have made New Year resolutions vowing to abolish midget tossing from our agendas in 2012. It just doesn't seem to fit in with the Olympic spirit.

In a massive gesture of self sacrifice, I have agreed to stop drinking alcohol. Between the hours of 23:59 and 00:01 on 31/12/11 and 01/01/12 respectively. It's a massive and traumatic undertaking, but with the help of friends and family, I think I may do it. I will certainly give it my best shot. I sincerely hope that others will follow my lead, and sacrifice something equally meaningful.

The wife has also agreed to stop stroking the fruit bats.

We couldn't possibly do much more than that.

Anyway...and that...look, I'm moving about again...

Silly me! This isn't a YouTube video! (Takes time out to roll a fag and get another beer from the fridge.)

Right...

The creeping onset of old age acts as a timely reminder to us all, that surely this year can't be as bad as last year.

Or the year before that.

And that.

I'd just like to take this opportunity to advise my closest friends not to agree to meet up with Lynton and CJ in London and go on the piss down Covent Garden. What will happen is that Lynton will probably bugger off, then as you're rushing to the tube station CJ will disappear and you'll probably inadvertently head butt a lamp post as you look around distractedly, wondering where he went.

And end up in A&E. In an ambulance.

And please take care of yourselves in this cold, damp wintry weather. Wrap up warm and be sure to put your coat and hat on five minutes before you venture outdoors, otherwise you won't feel the benefit. And never sit with your back to the fire, because the heat will dry out all the marrow in your spine and turn you into a hunchback.

And never go out in the dark unless you eat loads of carrots.

The good thing about all this sage advice is that it might help you to avoid contracting second degree pneumonia. Nobody needs that. It's a right pisser. Ask George Michael if you don't take my word for it.

Oh, and try not to smoke in 2012, and try to avoid being stereotypical. That won't look good to foreign visitors in Olympic year.

Do that sort of thing away from prying eyes. Like wot me and the wife do.

In closing, do go out and buy a copy of The Dorking Review - it'll whet your appetite for volume two, due out later this year to coincide with the next war. You never know - it might even make you laugh.

Apart from that, just go on and do what you normally do. Pretty much. That's what we'll be mainly doing. Although we have vowed to devote more time to experimenting with various chemicals. Using all those unmarked jars we have under the kitchen sink.

And remember - if you want to sponsor a snow leopard or a colony of fruit bats in 2012, just send me a cheque, or your credit card details and I'll sort it out for you. It only costs £33.1/3 pounds plus VAT.

Oh, and go easy on the internet porn downloads. It nearly crashed my laptop earlier today.

Look after yourselves my dear friends. And if you can't be arsed to do that, send me all your money and worldly goods and I'll sort something out.

As the late, great, Dave Allen said: "May your God go with you."

Failing that - the wife and I will come.

This was Martin Shuttlecock.

Signing off. Thank you and goodnight.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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