Scratchit Family Dreaming Of A Shite Christmas

Funny story written by Skoob1999

Thursday, 16 December 2010

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Skinned Robin Roasted For Xmas On A Fire. Honest!

The UK government and the Bank Of England are hoping that the population in general will go out into the nation's High Streets, supermarkets, and shopping malls this Christmas and spend, spend, spend in order to boost our ailing economy.

Which is all well and good - in theory - if you have money available to spend in the first place, which the Scratchit family, from Todmorden, in West Yorkshire, do not.

It promises to be an austere Yuletide for the Scratchits - Bob and Elsie, and their fourteen children, aged from one to fourteen, as money is in short supply.

"How can we spend money which we don't have?" Elsie demanded. "We're all on't dole in our house. We have nowt. Bloody govinmint should pull its finger aht and gi' us more i' benefits if the' wannus ter spend. The tight bastards."

The Scratchits explained that they could barely survive on state handouts, and revealed that they were forced to supplement their modest income by selling drugs in the nearby towns of Burnley and Halifax, and by putting eldest daughter, Vosene, 14, out on the streets of Bradford to hawk her mutton (sell her arse) to assorted weirdos and paedophilic perverts.

"We'd no say in't matter," Bob Scratchit told Skoob News. "T'reality is that't lass is as thick as two short planks, she's illitrit, and she'd burn bloody water in't kitchen. Ah mean, worrer we sposed to do wi' 'er? Might as weel cash in on her arse cuz t' poor bugger's got nowt else goin' forrer. It's a shame like, but needs must..."

The Scratchits are expected to spend Christmas day much like they spend every other day of the year - lying in bed until 4pm before getting up and turning on their 72" 3DHD TV set and watching Sky+ episodes of the Jeremy Kyle Show.

Eldest son, Rivington-Complex is apparently a dab-hand with an air rifle pellet gun, and has so far shot a robin redbreast, two sparrows and a pigeon. So Christmas promises to be not as shite as expected for the Scratchits, as one of Vosene's punters, a farmer named Gyles Pissintwatter has offered a bag of rotten spuds and a packet of frozen sprouts towards the Scratchit's Christmas dinner.

"Tight bastard," Bob grumbled. "We might as well enjoy it though. We had filet mignon with truffles and caviar last year. How the mighty have fucking fallen."

We didn't understand any of this either.

More as we get it. If indeed we do.

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

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