Christmas Letter Erroneously Delivered To The Mobar Gazette

Dearest Acquaintances and Relations,


It would seem that the sun is setting on 2008, and what a year it has been. You are undoubtedly wondering what the Spiffington-Farnsworths have been up to for the past twelve months, foaming at the mouth and quivering in anticipation of yet another cracker of a Christmas letter like the rabid hounds that you all are.

Well, I am certainly not about to disappoint you. Nestle yourself in a satisfactory armchair, furnish yourself with a fine brandy, and be dazzled by the peerless brilliance of our particular strand of DNA.

For those of you whom were kind enough to express concern for Boris’ business interests in the wake of the recent credit crunch (how I loathe the expression, blasted liberal media), thankfully all is well. The closure of the Nicaragua and Bogotá factories have ensured a healthy profit and equally healthy bonuses for the executives. Maldives here we come!

It was probably for the best, as the company was finding the new child labour laws an unnecessary hindrance. I suppose one must expect these draconian measures from countries fixated on misguided dreams of creating their very own socialist paradise.

Our eldest, Rupert, is enjoying his second year at university, still studying medicine and applied chemistry. There was some unpleasantness after a slight misunderstanding regarding the university policy on extra-curricular use of the chemistry laboratories, and the subsequent police investigation. Thankfully it has been cleared up.

I understand that he leads many late night study groups and is rather popular on campus. Earlier in the year, he seemed to hold some unfathomable infatuation with a coloured girl, however after a chat with his venerable father it would seem since then that he has seen the light. No pun intended! We expect he shall sow his wild oats until graduation, then perhaps settle down with a lady of more refined pedigree.

Lucinda is unsurprisingly excelling in her final year of school and is expected to graduate with top marks. We would prefer that she study either law or medicine, however she has some fanciful notion that political science and feminist literature would be more to her liking. It would be hilariously preposterous if she weren’t so serious, but you know how teenagers are.

We suspect her best friend, Portia, of planting these ridiculous ideas in her head however we cannot complain, as she has been a very positive influence on Lucy. They have sleepovers most weekends, locking themselves away and studying for hours on end.

Our little Hubert continues to astonish with his ingenuity and entrepreneurial talents. They shall undoubtedly miss him when he begins secondary schooling next year. Earlier in the year, the teaching staff (and ourselves!) were astounded to discover that he was running his very own student casino at recess and lunchtime.

It was unfortunately shut down after Hubert caught one of the Asian students counting cards and had him beaten by a couple of burly sixth formers acting as security guards. We felt this a tad reactionary, but it transpires that the parents of the lad that was on the receiving end of the hiding own a car manufacturer and hold some sway with the administration.

As for me, I busied myself making good use of my allowance. The wine and caviar enthusiast club was once again a roaring success, despite Georgia Charlesworth creating quite the scene at last week’s Christmas party. I sincerely hope that the waiter that found himself the object of her amorous advances never suffers such an indignity again!

I suppose that is all the pertinent news that I have for you. I do hope you have all had as delightful a year as our clan. I expect I shall see many of you at our new year’s eve soiree. FYI, Georgia – I made sure to hire only female help, for their sake and for yours.

Merry Christmas to all of you and your respective families from the Spiffington-Farnsworths!

Yours fabulously,


Mrs Helen Spiffington-Farnsworth

A Very Tightass Christmas

Written by Eoinín McAlpine

Ah, Christmas. That special time of year that allows even the most vice-ridden soul to mask his or her rampant alcoholism under the guise of festive cheer. A holiday season where even the most soulless atheists sing cheery songs of the zombie lord Jesus.

For greedy little children, it means a swag of gifts they neither deserve nor appreciate in the days following the big day. For office photocopiers, it means a month of the threat of pressed Christmas hams and/or fruit baskets.

For the rest of us, it usually means spending a whole lot of money we don’t have on a bunch of gifts we probably don’t want to give. The good news is that there’s no reason for you to blow your Christmas bonus on a bunch of expensive crap.

That’s right. Ignore your pathetic government pleading with you to spend your way out of the recession. You can still give your loved and not so loved ones the hottest gifts this Christmas yet still have enough money left over to ply yourself with enough mulled wine to sink a ship.

An iPod

Oh, criminy. In the history of man, there has probably never been a more overrated device so prone to epic failure. That said, the great unwashed still possess an insatiable desire for these buckets of crap.

I’ll let you in on a secret – most people don’t want them to store music on. Even if they did, it would probably just be that bloody umbrella, ella, ella, ay, ay, ay song on repeat.

No, people want them for the headphones. White headphones are the status symbol for a generation of people that measure success on how many SMS votes someone receives. So if they want white headphones, give them white headphones.

They’re a fraction of a cost of an actual iPod, and unlike an iPod they will almost certainly last until next Christmas.

A Nintendo Wii

Ah, the Wii. Not willing to accept that they peaked with Super Mario Kart, Nintendo go and release a console and work out session all in one.

With their innovative “wands” that allow the user to play both real sports (tennis) and flimsy excuses to drink beer disguised as sport (ten pin bowling), the Wii has got a generation of morbidly obese tweens off the couch and using their arms for something other than stuffing their fat little faces with more chocolates and chips.

That’s all well and good for Joe Disposable Income and his four car garage, but the rest of us blue and white collar slaves, we can’t be shelling out hundreds for something these tubby little urchins will probably grow tired of in five minutes or break somehow with their flabby arses.

So put away your wallet and give the offspring a gift your olds would have been proud of – the threat of physical violence and/or denial of meals if they don’t do what you say.

Put something active on the telly – a triathlon, rock climbing, or perhaps even an ultimate fighting championship held in a cage of death. Give the kids their special “wand” (the remote) and tell them to emulate the characters on the screen or else they can kiss their beloved cheese-stuffed potato croquets goodbye.

A GPS Unit

Brilliant. Just when detachable stereo faces were almost forcing car thieves to get real jobs, someone comes up with the idea of leaving giant suction cups on windscreens that may as well say ATTENTION: EXPENSIVE GPS UNIT IS JUST A BRICK THROUGH THE WINDOW AWAY.

Unfortunately, it would appear that our education system has failed and the ability to read a map has been confined to the too hard basket, presumably along with birth control and basic literacy.

So why not give a gift that serves society AND helps someone negotiate that confusing route to the corner shop? Give them the all new Hobo GPS unit.

A recession brings with it an abundance of vagrants – obtain one for a small fee, wrap him in Christmas paper along with a pen and paper.

All the recipient has to do is plot their course before they leave home (you can do this on a computer if a map is too troubling), then give the written directions to the hobo. Seat the hobo in the front passenger seat and pay him a nominal fee to call out the directions as you drive.

Brilliant in its simplicity, an iota of the cost of an actual GPS unit, and very unlikely to draw the attention of car thieves. Throw in a club lock if there is a high rate of hobo theft in your area.

And so ends our guide to budget presents. Merry Christmas from the cretins at the Mobar Gazette. Stay tuned for the detailed report on the predictable debauchery of our office party, which will almost certainly conclude with Logan Bluetooth defiling Peter File’s desk in some horrible manner.