Bloody Thieves.
Have a look at this pair of cheeky chappies.
I've named them Trevor and Simon. That's not their real names.
They are also thieves.
Opening a card from my Mother (Mummy Duck) on Christmas Day, I expected it to at least have a nice Christmas scene on the front, or maybe a little joke or something. It would definitely have some sort of currency in it.
My joy waned as I was greeted by the bright faces of Trevor and Simon looking up at me from the front of the card. No colourful Christmas scene, no snow, no tree, no comedy Santa and Rudolph caricature. They are smiling, as though at the end of a laughing session, having been amused by some sort of joke.
The joke is me. I wasn't smiling.
Inside the card they tell me that they have my Christmas present. A goat. There is also a nice picture of my goat. And they are laughing at me because there's nothing I can do about it. It is now their goat.
My Mother, either under pressure from these 2 rascals or more likely in the middle of some sort of brainstorm, decided to give them a goat instead of giving me my present.
The goat, which was an odd present for my Mother to buy me anyway, what was she thinking? is now in the posession of Trevor and Simon, in some African backwater.
Never mind that I would not ever need a goat for anything, unless I had a nuisance rope that I needed chewing or had something that I required butting for the fun of it. Never mind that I have nowhere to keep a goat. They have my present - and I want it back. With the receipt preferably.
I'm not sure how she got it to stay still whilst she wrapped it and I'm even more unsure about how she got it in the post box. It's cruel at the very least. And I'm extremely curious as to how she knew where to buy a goat from in the first place. That's not the point. These questions can be answered later, once I've retrieved my present.
I'm even more intrigued about how she came across Trevor and Simon in the first place. I warned her that those interweb chatrooms can be a dangerous place.
I'm not happy. I want my goat.
I've named them Trevor and Simon. That's not their real names.
They are also thieves.
Opening a card from my Mother (Mummy Duck) on Christmas Day, I expected it to at least have a nice Christmas scene on the front, or maybe a little joke or something. It would definitely have some sort of currency in it.
My joy waned as I was greeted by the bright faces of Trevor and Simon looking up at me from the front of the card. No colourful Christmas scene, no snow, no tree, no comedy Santa and Rudolph caricature. They are smiling, as though at the end of a laughing session, having been amused by some sort of joke.
The joke is me. I wasn't smiling.
Inside the card they tell me that they have my Christmas present. A goat. There is also a nice picture of my goat. And they are laughing at me because there's nothing I can do about it. It is now their goat.
My Mother, either under pressure from these 2 rascals or more likely in the middle of some sort of brainstorm, decided to give them a goat instead of giving me my present.
The goat, which was an odd present for my Mother to buy me anyway, what was she thinking? is now in the posession of Trevor and Simon, in some African backwater.
Never mind that I would not ever need a goat for anything, unless I had a nuisance rope that I needed chewing or had something that I required butting for the fun of it. Never mind that I have nowhere to keep a goat. They have my present - and I want it back. With the receipt preferably.
I'm not sure how she got it to stay still whilst she wrapped it and I'm even more unsure about how she got it in the post box. It's cruel at the very least. And I'm extremely curious as to how she knew where to buy a goat from in the first place. That's not the point. These questions can be answered later, once I've retrieved my present.
I'm even more intrigued about how she came across Trevor and Simon in the first place. I warned her that those interweb chatrooms can be a dangerous place.
I'm not happy. I want my goat.
