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Operation Piss-Nath-Off

Submitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2006-12-07 08:09:00 EST
Rating: 1.95 on 23 ratings (23 reviews) (Review this item) (V)

November 30th, 23:59:30. A man, sat in his darkened office sits quietly, looking from his digitally clock to his telephone, the only two items that currently sit on his large, oak effect desk. As the seconds flick to 50, he picks the phone up and presses speed-dial one.

He’s allowed the perfect timing, allowing for dial and delay in the pick-up at the other end. As the clock silently turns all settings to indicate midnight on the first of December the receiver in the war room downstairs is picked up.

“GO GO GO GO!” He shouts into the phone. “Operation Piss-Nath-Off is a go!”

“Affirmative.” Replies the faceless clone that sits in the room, who turns to all the other operatives and chiefs as he replaces the phone. “We have a green light people.” He says in his boring, drone of a voice.

Instantly the room erupts into action. This is the moment they all planned for since the 26th of December the year before. Phones all rung, decorations are sped to locations up and down the country, cards are written carefully and The Switch is thrown.

The Switch. The key of all previous operations. The Switch is connected to all broadcast networks on television, radio and online. Those who couldn’t wait had already began their Christmas advertising and programming, but the other 65% decided to wait for the start of the operation. Every year the number grows in order to increase the impact, and this year is the highest ever.

There is a slight flicker on all broadcasts around the world; barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. As The Switch enters it’s ‘On’ position, where it will remain for the next twenty-five days. For that time it will be closely guarded by various members of various armed forces to ensure that it will be a constant, uninterrupted flow of Christmas broadcasting for the maximum excusable time.

After the initial half-hour buzz dies down, all clones get back to their regular, annual job. First stop is my street. Each night until the fourteenth more and more houses will become obnoxiously decorated in pathetic lights that add nothing at all to the season and hold no bearing on what is being celebrated or remembered.

At five o’clock every morning of the weekday that same process will occur, but on a wider scale. It will follow my regular journey to work, until eventually when I’m on the way home at five thirty, when it’s pitch black outside, I’ll forget I’m in a shitty little bit of the country and instead believe I’m back in Vegas. But to ensure my happy illusion doesn’t last too long, a large, muddy puddle will be refilled before each of my two journeys. The splash and resulting mud covered windows will be enough to snap me back to my disappointment.

Next on the agenda of Operation Piss-Nath-Off will be cards. Small bits of cardboard with a pointless printed message, an irrelevant image on the cover and a bit of scribble from someone I either dislike or no longer remember. The idea behind this little task is to try and riddle me with guilt for not returning the gesture. My lack of guilt is what I consider my only victory of the season.

Presents will be next. Due to outstanding social pressure I will feel as if I should purchase presents for certain people. Not many, but some. This is forced upon me by various friends and family who are all integral parts of Operation Piss-Nath-Off.

I’m sure the Operation leaders know that buying presents doesn’t annoy me, which is why they ensure the means is worst than the ends. My plans are discovered, possibly via a security leak (most likely my girlfriend or mother), and whenever I attempt to leave my shitty little part of the country to an even remotely commercial area, so will every operative. They will fill every shop I intend on using and form massive lines behind the most attractive sales assistants, blocking a second victory from me.

With presents wrapped, cards ignored and decorations scoffed at, that leaves only one remaining weapon to finally break me down and destroy me:

Children On School Holidays (COSH)

COSH is planned very carefully, with the entire school year being planned around the Christmas period, ensuring maximum time away from the classroom and maximum time to wherever I might be. Whether this is at work, shops, pubs, the library (probably) or the casino. Children manage to get everywhere. They’re like beach sand or Greek salad olives. No matter how many you dispose of, more take their place.

And what makes this worst is their happy. Excited, full of joy. I can handle kids when they’re sad and crying, because then I can mock them and make it worst, but children are bullet proof to mockery and belittlement at this time of year. They are truly the Fat Man to my Nagasaki.

At least this is how I imagine it happens. I might be totally wrong. Maybe I’m being arrogant to assume that all this mess, hassle and money is being spent purely to piss me off, but you can’t argue with results.

Review This Item




Submitted by Fabit at 2006-12-21 06:28:12 EST (#)
Rating: 2

My brain hurts.

I only just realised that Father Christmas is infact AKA St Nicholas.

Correct me if i'm wrong don't you have to be dead to be a saint?

Or fictional like St Jesus?

I'm gonna go ruin some christmas......

Submitted by Flying_buttmonkey at 2006-12-08 03:13:50 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-12-07 18:50:13 (#)
Ranking: 2

You Brits are lucky, they start in on us after Thanksgiving.

The first decorations I saw up was in October, but then I do live in Chavton-Upon-Pikey. I nearly burst into tears.


Submitted by RPharazon at 2006-12-07 21:16:49 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Meh. I like the Santas in the malls. Nothing freaks out the little kids more than a 6'2" man sitting on Santa's lap and asking if Mrs. Claus gives good head.

Submitted by TheUniter at 2006-12-07 20:09:02 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by JonnyX at 2006-12-07 18:50:13 EST (#)
Rating: 2

You Brits are lucky, they start in on us after Thanksgiving.

Submitted by brokenlizard534 at 2006-12-07 16:32:35 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by Orgasmatron at 2006-12-07 16:22:22 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I'd totally flick you in the ear repeatedly right now.

Submitted by jfreakman at 2006-12-07 14:56:15 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Fuckin A.

Submitted by Crystle at 2006-12-07 14:47:58 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-12-07 11:03:15 (#)
Ranking: 2

So where do I send your christmas card?


Submitted by Sphagnum at 2006-12-07 12:44:24 EST (#)
Rating: 2

How Sphagnum has rated other users

w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m (user info) 206 on 103 = 2.00

Submitted by Sphagnum at 2006-12-07 12:42:29 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Everything you ever wanted to know about w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m
User id: 16301
Registered on or around: 2005-02-10 04:06:17
# Messages posted: 267
# Reviews written: 2619
# Times these posts have been reviewed : 7825
# Hits: 353791
Average rating of all messages: 1.68

Nice stats beeyotch!

Submitted by Tony_the_Tiger_is_a_Pedophile at 2006-12-07 12:29:28 EST (#)
Rating: 2

for refernces to blowing up Japan

Submitted by Amontillado at 2006-12-07 11:43:07 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Little kids piss me off too.

Submitted by Beano312003 at 2006-12-07 11:12:03 EST (#)
Rating: 1

Kids are full of snot and Marmite.

Submitted by Davros at 2006-12-07 11:03:15 EST (#)
Rating: 2

"They're like beach sand or Greek salad olives"

A way better analogy would have been the gherkins in a Whopper. No matter how many of those fuckers you remove, there are always a few hiding under the cover of ketchup.


So where do I send your christmas card?


Submitted by DrogoRoch at 2006-12-07 09:40:15 EST (#)
Rating: 2

You forgot to mention work christmas parties. I have to go to suppliers and Sub-contractors parties. I had to go to 8 last year and so far i'm booked into 7 this time. By the time the actual day arrives I will actually strangle someone if they put Turkey anywhere near me. I'm having a christmas Curry this year.

Submitted by redskieslookfake at 2006-12-07 09:25:27 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I just concentrate on eating and drinking and staring disdainfully at anyone who attempts Christmas cheers.

where the fuck is my cranberry sauce mofos?

Submitted by Hiredugan at 2006-12-07 08:57:01 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I think HTBD has the right idea.

Submitted by Hadley at 2006-12-07 08:51:25 EST (#)
Rating: 2

This is where our big ass SUVs come in handy. Drive one through a crowded mall and it really fucks up the spirit of the season.

Submitted by Doodles at 2006-12-07 08:47:49 EST (#)
Rating: 2

And what makes this worst is their happy. Excited, full of joy. I can handle kids when they're sad and crying, because then I can mock them and make it worst, but children are bullet proof to mockery and belittlement at this time of year. They are truly the Fat Man to my Nagasaki.

BUllshit, tell them Santa doesn't exist, that their parents lie to them, then tell them that nobody loves them and that's why they're not going to get X for Chrismas, and instead only get clothes.

Submitted by phuzzygish at 2006-12-07 08:25:53 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Buy a humbug.

No wait.

I said that wrong.

Submitted by professorfuckface at 2006-12-07 08:11:58 EST (#)
Rating: 0

We said goodbye to a friend yesterday,
The kind of man that the wind takes away,
Something like a hurricane,
Weather that can take all hope from a face.

Got a call from his best friend,
I could hear his heart breakin' as he told me 'bout the end,
Something so inevitable,
From someone so unforgettable.

And it'll only take 9 hours
If you take the Hume Highway
And stop in for a cup of joe at the Paragon Cafe,
At the Paragon Cafe.

Broke up 'round the capital town,
Thought I'd spend the night to stop and think and throw a couple down,
Wound up on a toilet floor bleedin',
Seems so appropriate somehow.

I kept expecting you to pop up anytime,
"Hey Rogers! Make mine a big black pint!"
I guess that's gonna happen sometime when you had that face
That lit up like a highway neon sign.

It'll take a good 9 hours, To clear the Hume Highway
And stop in for some raisin toast at the Paragon Cafe,
At the Paragon Cafe.

Now everybody scrubbed up so clean,
I guess funerals'll do that, the shock leaves a sheen.
Man, the faces that came out
it was like the Annandale Hotel in '93

Your Mum, Dad and Pete made some hell of speeches,
Talkin' 'bout the life you crammed in so short 'n sweet,
And how you bowled a real good fast one as a greeting
to every new foreign street.

Guiness at eleven, with some kind of Schnapps confectionery,
Stories so fuckin' funny from every direction,
All until there was a silence and someone choked,
And like dominoes everyone broke.

Is it my cue to go? Scream at the road
With nothing but volume and too many smokes
What the hell do you when the lights you've been
following trail off to nowhere?
Do you just give up and fall in? I don't know.

And it'll take a good 9 hours,
To clear the Hume Highway
She sells sanctuaries, sending me off, down the Paragon...

Coffee toast from that waitress - man she never smiles!
to break a long and lonely drive,
Make some sense out of this damn day down the Paragon Cafe,

Down the Paragon Cafe
Down the Paragon Cafe.

Submitted by firefly at 2006-12-07 08:11:25 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Marge, what's wrong? Are you hungry? Sleepy? Gassy? Gassy? Is it
gas? It's gas, isn't it?

-- Homer Simpson
Fear of Flying