Last minute.com is not merely a website. For many people, it is a way of life.
For example, every year I try to do as much winter Rallying as I can.
As the Stockcar season comes to an end in October, I can see the local Rally championship looming up like a great big loomy thing looming out of the dark winter nights in a menacing loomy type of way.
I have had all year to prepare a car, plus I have missed the first two events because I was testing Stockcars in Holland. Yet here we are, the night before round 3. Fitting spot lights in the snow. The wheels that were obtained to hold the Mud+Snow tyres that I was supposed to purchase in the Summer, are neatly stacked outside my dad's workshop. This is the real last minute.com.
Personally, I blame the internet. Facebook and porn are responsible for more shit not getting done than any other two things in the entire history of the universe which, if you didn't know, is a fuck of a long time!
Take Christmas for example. How many statuses have you read saying: "I really must go Christmas shopping! lol!"
Yes, you must! Unfortunately, that entails getting your fat, lazy carcass out of the chair in front of your computer, and walking further than the front door!
That's what I tell myself anyway.
And a part of me excepts that this is a good enough reason not to go.
I know that some people do their shopping on-line, but frankly, that's cheating. The Devil has a place for people who do that sort of thing. And it isn't pleasant. And it isn't Birmingham either, though you probably wouldn't notice. Parts of Hell have been compared to Birmingham and found to be nicer.
You could always simply not bother. On the face of it, this sound horrendous, but, lets just think about this for a moment;
Firstly, what IS Christmas?
Well, it is a time when all the family get together. But is that really a good thing? I mean, if you all wanted to be together, you would all BE together, wouldn't you?
Parents hate their kids being at home, eating all the food, playing loud music, slamming doors, staying up all night.
It's probably taken you 18 years to get rid of the little bastards, are you really going to tell me you want them back?
I mean, imagine how your parents would feel?
Oh wait! You don't have to! Because they're coming too! Yes, the pair of toothless old codgers have dodged their respective coffins for yet another year, just so they can come and ruin your Christmas!
There you will be, standing at the front door as they creak and groan their way out of the taxi that you paid for, and start there slow zombie-esq shuffle towards your front door.
It's like a scene from Night of the Living Dead, except, when you should be taking pot shots at them with a Luger P08, you just force a smile.
You cower as they reach you, imagining that they are shouting "Brains! BRAINS!" but they are not.
You will open your arms and with a loving smile say something like "Mum, dad, welcome!"
and they will retort with, "Could have tidied the place up a bit." as they push past and proceed to complain about the temperature of your house and the taxi ride and how long until dinner? and, oh, your father's prostate is playing up again and I hope you cook the turkey properly this year. These and many other insults will be thrown at you by the incontinent, inheritance blocking walking corpses, over the festive season.
It's already enough to make a grown man cry, but wait! Don't shut that door yet! Here come the in-laws! Waddling down the street with massive hampers full of food because "they just like to help" which, roughly translated from the in-law to English dictionary, means "Your cooking is shit and we fear we may die from it. We wish you never met our daughter and we hope your dick falls off and then climbs into your mouth and chokes you to death in your sleep, you fucking asshole."
Still you greet them warmly and they gawk at you like you have just pissed over their shoes.
Then there is aunts and uncles who don't remember anything, nieces and nephews running around screaming and breaking stuff.
The olds all sit around the Telly and The Great Escape will be on because Television companies know that, at Christmas, everyone likes to be reminded of better times.
Like the war.
All of them have seen the film and know the people in it, but, they don't mind watching it again. This is quite ironic because, they wont watch it again. And neither will you, because they are going to talk through it.
What you are treated to next is nothing short of an Alzheimers showdown as Aunt Bessie says
"OH, That's so'n'so from that thing on BBC 2!"
to which Aunt Sally replies,
"No, no. Your thinking of the other one. The one that married whats'er name."
"No, I know the one you mean, he was in that other film."
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" You don't scream at the top of your lungs.
The younger ones are now bored with wrecking your house and flicking boogies at Uncle Pete, who has polished off that nice 12 year old malt you were saving for a special occasion and is now fast asleep in your favourite chair and dribbling down his shirt.
Since no-one is watching The Great Escape, you suggest they find a dvd to watch forgetting that you used the copy of Lion King you downloaded for them last year, to record your wife doing anal insertions with a variety of vegetables.
Which brings us neatly on to dinner. There are lots of things that fall into the category of Christmas food stuffs. You have your Christmas dinner, Your Christmas pudding and perhaps some Christmas cake?
There is a reason their names all start with Christmas, and that is because you only eat them at Christmas.
Following me?
So you only eat them once a year.
And there is a reason you only eat them once a year.
Because they're fucking awful.
If any of this food was nice, you would eat it all year round! People would be jumping on the band wagon. The would be a North Pole takeaway on the corner of every street. Elves on mopeds delivering turkey dinners, two for the price of one on Tuesdays!
It doesn't happen because it's crap.
So to summarise, you are going to invite a load of people you don't like into your house, give them gifts and then sit down to a meal of stuff you don't like.
Awesome.
Oh, and if you're reading this on Fueltopia and was wondering about the Rally?
It was cancelled.
Merry fucking Christmas.
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