Half the cubby is here.

The other half is sitting in a loading bay somewhere in Melbourne.

The fucking courier didn’t pick it up. Thursday. They were supposed to pick it up on Thursday.

Delivery yesterday.

They are not answering their phones.

Now we won’t get it till after the New Year.

So who is going to explain to a nine year old with Autism, who has only just starting understanding the whole fucking Santa thing, WHY he is not getting a Christmas present.

I can’t stop crying.

It’s not fair.

Fuck you suck Murphy.

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Dear Mr Toy Manufacturer,

Or can I just call you Capitalist Bastard CB for short? Ta. I assume that you are male, as no woman who does 99% of the present wrapping of the world would be so fucking stupid as to allow toys to be shaped as they are.

Balls I can cope with. I have even managed to wrap a bike. My wrapping skillz are world renown. But how the fuck am I supposed to wrap this thing neatly?

yadayada.jpg    wrapped2.jpg

I mean REALLY CB, what were you smoking when you approved the shape of this thing? And what about this:

car.jpg

And this:

controller.jpg

And while I am at it, why on Gods green earth do you wrap the toys in impenetrable plastic and then not include the freaking batteries? I have to either demolish the packaging and make the kids think that Santa got the gift from the reject bin of Kmart to get the fucking batteries in or on 2 hours sleep and with a hangover that would kill a goat (from the iced eggnog…. mmmm eggnog) wrestle with the packaging whilst my kid jumps from foot to foot begging me to hurry the fuck up. By the time I have finished they have lost interest and eating the contents of their stocking while I am distracted and will not eat the turkey that took me 6 fucking hours to cook I lovingly baked.

I am thanking sweet Jesus that my girls are no longer into Barbies and the like, cause those fuckers are held down with shit loads of plastic ties, pieces of string and other paraphernalia meant to make parents rue the day they said ‘Yeah, lets forget the condom tonight’ or ‘I think I took my pill, oh what the heck’ or ‘roll over’ or whathaveyou.

Now CB, you know we will never let your profits fall cause your wonderful subliminal advertising has us wrestling each other in the toy store aisles for the last whatever-the-fuck-is-the-ultimate-toy-that-year or ringing around the world, or even whinging on our blogs trying to find our child the perfect gift that will be gathering dust by mid January, but I am pleading with you to please please make the bastards easier to wrap? Those of us with OCD tendencies want the tree to look all Martha Stewart before our tiny terrorists little angels demolish it before our sleep deprived eyes. And things that have taken hours to wrap end up looking like the dog has mauled them and make our little perfect housewife eyes twitch and have us reaching for the wine to dull the pain.

I honestly think for the amount of cash we bring your way you could keep us in mind before you approve the need-scissors-machete-every-freaking-screwdriver-and-blowtorch-to-open packaging for your wonderful must have toys.

Oh, and don’t outsource to China. Lead is not part of my kids diet.

Could you pass on a message to the asshats that make ‘clear’ tape? Tell ’em that the stuff is not freaking clear at all and if they need a lesson on what is ‘clear’ means just give me a call and after I have finished ripping them a new arsehole I will read them the dictionary definition.

clear-tape.jpg

Choke on a turkey bone and DIE yours sincerely,

Rocking in the corner with a bottle of wine Mummy.

Me-fucking-oow.

We bought Boo a cubby for Christmas.

This one.

Now look at the picture.  What do you think we get for our fucking $1100.

monsterfort.jpg

The top.

Not the poles, not the sandpit underneath and no freaking way are we getting the slide and God Forbid that ladder.

I am pissed.

But not pissed enough to actually fight for my rights it seems.

Cause I am a pussy.

I was all ‘Oh, OK, I just assumed it came with everything pictured for 1 fucking GRAND for that price.  Can I order them?  Oh, OK, yes I understand you need to take a break.  Sometime around the end of January? No fucking WAY! Well that is sort of…… oh OK.  I can go down and get it from the supplier you say? Not unless they are open between 2 and 3am cause that is the only time I have an opening in my calender. Umm, don’t know if I can do that.  Can’t they courier it up?  Oh, no they can’t then….OK.  I guess that is OK.  Yes I will come and pick up the stupid freaking half cubby ASAP.  Thanks.’

Click.

What the fuck happened there?  What is wrong with me?  No it isn’t OK!!!!

OK, jump on the internet and look up the supplier.  Call them.

‘Hi, I have just bought one of your Forts and it looks like from the brochure  that it comes with everything shown.  But I have just found out it doesn’t so I need to order it.  Oh.  Yes I understand it is close to Christmas, but you see…… yes… yes….. I know orders have closed but if you have them in stock can I buy the elevation kit and accessories and get you to courier them to me? I will have to pick it up if you deign to sell me one if you have it? Can’t you send it up?  I won’t be able to drive a 4 or more fucking hour round trip with petrol at $1.49 a litre when it would be cheaper and easier for me for you to mail it  to get there during your opening hours.   Oh, OK you want my phone number and will get back to me OK.’

Click.

I am such a freaking pussy.

Waiting near the phone.  Hovering over the phone.  Standing staring at the phone.  The cordless phone that I could actually pick up and walk around with.

No they didn’t call.

Mario-porn-star comes home.  Ask him to call.

They have no record of my call.

Fuck.

Will have to try again on Monday.

Oh please God, Allah, Goddess, my wonderful internets, please please make sure that all the bits I need are here in time for Christmas.

I will be good.  I won’t swear for like 15 minutes or something.  Or how about I won’t buy any new shoes for the rest of the YEAR!

Just please make this happen for my little guy.  It will be the ultimate.

Oh and can you help me find this stupid freaking thing:

images.jpeg  It is called Hyper Dash and all the stores are sold out.

It is ALL he wants for Christmas.  He has never asked Santa for anything before.  So if you could organise for it to fall in my lap I would, like, be rool happy and shit.

Ta.  Smootches.

Oh and P.S.  make the biatch who fucked this up for me get a huge zit on her arse forcing her to wear loose pants and stand all day.  Then have it burst painfully.  That would be awesome.

Oh and perhaps give me some balls for Christmas.  Looks like I could use ’em.

Seems these days you have to fill out a freaking form for everything.

Except to have kids.

Any fuckwit can go get up the duff and completely screw up a child and raise the next Charles Manson/Osama Bin Laden/Britney Spears.

But I digress….

Last year I received this in the mail from Santa.

Fat bastard needs this before he will deign to come down my non-existent chimney.

santaform.jpg

So you better get your forms in quick people. If it is not stamped and filed by his little minions in time, little Johnny and Sarah will be baying for your blood come Christmas morning…… and the only blood I wanna see come Christmas morning is in my Bloody Mary….

So print it, get your little people to fill it out and hand it to your local shopping mall Santa.

And make sure you can see his hands at all times.……

here is the easier to read pdf version: santaform.pdf

You know them….. previously seen in such posts as:

Letter to my neighbours….

and

Bugger off will ya?

If you have not read these posts before, click on them to catch up.

It’s OK, we will wait……..

A few weeks ago a strange looking couple came to my door. It was 8pm, a bit late for the Jehovahs Witness suits, but they were clutching trifold papers. So I opened the door ready to give them a piece of my mind for interrupting my TV time.

Turns out they were my neighbours. Who would have thought that he survived all this time and he actually had a wife with hair the colour of Santa’s suit?

They were inviting us to a Block Christmas Party.

‘Now we know that Boo has dietary issues, so just let me know what he likes to eat and I will get it’

I gave her a dark look. What the FUCK? I have never seen this woman before, I thought her husband was dead in front of the television for Christs sake, and she knows that Boo has ‘dietary issues’ and HIS FUCKING NAME?

‘How do you know that?’ I start scanning the ceiling for bugs or video cameras and my mind races back to the times when there were no kids in the house and it was just me and Mario-porn-star……. OMG!!!!

‘Oh we know Sue and we drove her out to your parents house a few weeks ago to pick up the oven….. Your mother is such a wonderful woman with everything she does for you and surviving breast cancer and caring for your father…….’

Oh PUL-EEEESE!!!!

So tonight we finally get to meet our neigbours. The ones mentioned previously, the new family across the road (next door to the freaks) the chick down the road who it turns out is in charge of approving Boo’s funding, the freaky goth who used to go to school with Moo, and the old bloke who apparently owns half the block.

And there will be alcohol. And cricket.

I will update later. Should make for an interesting post methinks.

I am tired. We are on night 4 of the fucking stealth ninja moves (AKA Boo wandering around the house and keeping me up! Ninja day is TOMORROW Boo….. shiiiiite)

Any way. A quickie tonight, not a longie. Any one guess what movie that is paraphrased from? It is obscure, like me…. but here is a hint, it is about a vampire. The line is ‘No. With you never a quickie, always a longie.’

Yeah, I’ve had some wine. Can you tell *snigger*

I am glad that everyone else is as pissed at Blogger as I am. I have seen a few posts saying that people using other blogging platforms are just bitching because they are not getting the ‘link’. Asshats. Betcha those biatches would be the first to bitch if their pretty little avi’s disappeared…

But as a whole, there is a shit load of bloggers up in arms about this little scheme of Blogger. Meg the amazing has another post up with more information. Pop over there and have a look, oh and tell her I sent you cause then she will lurve me *smirk*

Now everyone is waiting with bated breath (WTF does that mean, you smell like fish heads? Wiggling dying worms? Ewwy. Go brush your teeth) to hear the fate of the Bathroom Tree™. Well as the inmates went all girly on me I relented and took the gorgeous tree out of the bathroom. It is now in the hall

hallway-tree.jpg

Isn’t it purdy? The door on the left is my room and the right is Boo’s so we get the scent of Christmas all night long. Mmmmmm

But you didn’t think I would let the bastards off that easily did you?  Scarlett needs her tree as God as her witness remember? So here is the bathroom tree.

bathroom-tree2.jpg

Fuckers have moved it over. But I got em back. Oh yes I did, dear internets. They now have the pleasure of tinkling while they tinkle. See those ‘baubles’?

They are BELLS!!! Just brush past the tree slightly and the sound of bells echoes through the house! Bwaaaa haaaa haaaaa!

Teach em to mess with me and my tree.  Now I need some wine induced sleep.

*************** 

Comments are still open to think of a new name for Mario-porn-star.  Well at least until I work out how to do a poll on this blog so you can vote properly.  Meg?  Snoskred?  Help a chick out?  Again? 

At Santa apparently.

Today at school he had to draw a Santa in Art.

Boo does not like being told what to draw especially when he has to do something just like the example.

Oooh, he doesn’t like that.

So after his aide C regained her hearing after the wailing, she managed to convince him to draw the picture.

Then asked if he could draw another picture.

He drew Santa.

On fire.

Screaming in pain.

His face melting.

And he was happy.

Little freakshow.  I am sending that to Santa as a warning.  Don’t fuck with Boo.