Christmas is cancelled this year when the Coalition Government expands its “turn back the boats” campaign to include reindeer and sleds. Santa is promptly intercepted by Border Force officers over Northern Territory airspace and, after a brief interview, is immediately transferred to a detention camp on Nauru where he spends the next three years being abused and spat on while he waits for his holiday visa to be denied.
Top of the list for this year’s news year’s resolutions is “get rid of that box full of rabid baboons”. Most random Christmas present ever.
You are successfully sued by Richard Branson’s team of lawyers after they argue in court that the name “Virgo” impinges on the intellectual property of the Virgin brand. As a result, you are stripped of all your cash and forced to move to the UK, where you will spend the next 10 years serving over-priced, under-caffeinated coffee to always-delayed, never happy commuters on Virgin Rail.
As you try to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, you are visited by three spirits – the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. Unfortunately, times have been hard in the ghost world since Dickens’ era and the trio of ghoulish Scrooge spookers have discovered that burglary pays much better than serving as a moral compass for Victorian England. The three of them beat you up then rob the place. The last image you recall before you fall unconscious from your injuries is the spectral form of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come squatting in the middle of your ransacked living room floor and curling out a huge turd as the other two spirits laugh and goad him on.
2016 claims its last celebrity victim when Eddie Jones chokes on a turkey bone while trying to make a joke about Aborigines at a Christmas AFL function. Truly he died how he lived – as a fat, racist bastard.
With the right wig and make-up, you bare an uncanny resemblance to Donald Trump. You are duly hired as a body double by the new US President to help foil the inevitable assassination attempts during his tenure in the White House.
Christmas is here and that can only mean one thing – that’s right, it’s time for your annual infestation of cockroaches. Don’t forget to put Mortein on your Christmas list.
You get drunk at work’s Christmas party and end up shagging someone behind your partner’s back. You almost get away with it until your partner reads this horoscope and discovers your shameful secret.
There’s a knock on your front door on Christmas morning and, to your great surprise, it’s none other than Australian tennis star and ATP bad boy Nick Kyrgios – and he’s holding the biggest cooked turkey you’ve ever seen. Before you can pick your jaw off the floor, he explains that he was visited by three Christmas spirits the previous night who taught him to stop being a massive arsehole and start being nicer to people – starting with you and your friends. You welcome him in and the next few hours fly by as you drink and laugh with Nick and everyone you hold dear over a slap-up Christmas lunch. Things end on a slightly sour note, however, when you ask him why he chose you to have lunch with. Nick nods sadly and explains that when he was visited by the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, he saw that you would die of bowel cancer by the end of next year. Merry Christmas, everyone!
With the British pound plummeting in value, you manage to buy the county of Suffolk for $5.50 and a ploughman’s lunch.
You finally get round to watching West World to see what all the fuss about but end up accidentally watching Wild Wild West, the late nineties film flop. You then make an utter arse of yourself when your friends ask if you’ve seen the latest episode and you start singing the Will Smith tune ‘Wild West’ in its entirety.
A double blow for you this month when your friends not only forget your birthday but also forget to get you anything for Christmas. Still, that’s what happens when you’re an unpopular twat.