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Santa should be dead, and two other conversation starters to ruin Christmas lunch

Christmas lunch is fast approaching. Don’t worry about the food that needs preparing, what you need is to prepare your small talk to endure it.

 

 

Picture the scene. The afternoon of Christmas Day. The euphoria of Santa’s visit has long been supplanted by neg vibes, as you find yourself at the juncture of lunch, and ahead of you is only forced conversation. You might know the faces across the table from you, you might not, but a simple fact remains. You’ve got nothing to talk about. You’ve nothing to share with these people beyond generalised queries about how whatever it is they do for a living is going. To be fair, no-one wants to talk about that, otherwise, they’d have managed to shoehorn their successes into an unrelated conversation.

No, Aunty June, no. I don’t want to talk about cryptocurrency.

What you desire most, are topics. But nothing dangerous, (or worse, personal), what you require is something universal. So why not discuss the holiday you’re all currently suffering at the hands of? In no particular order, enjoy these three random conversation starters, and how you should frame them to your distant blood.

Happy holidays!

 

Conversation starter #1 – Santa should be dead.

The jolliest of all men needs to pop himself on that naughty list, as he’s clearly not looking after himself. Considering his diet solely consists of what we leave out for him, which spreads anywhere from Sherry to warm milk, from mince pies to cookies, he’s an extremely high risk of obesity and hypertension. Not to mention that his diet is awfully unbalanced, as we’re not sure that he eats during the rest of the year. Unless he hibernates like a bear. If so, I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to do, Mr Kringle.

Moreover, his respiratory system is probably crumbling like a fruitcake due to the excessive amount of ash he’s been exposed in confined places (read: your chimney) over his long career, a condition colloquially known in mining circles as the black lung.

Let us not rule out the fact that he probably also possesses a particularly serious case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a condition that has run long over the night, undiagnosed, unchecked, as he believes that a list for every child must be made, and checked twice.

That being said, his dog, Rudolph, may also have some health problems, as one academic argued that his iconic red nose is caused by an undiagnosed parasitic infection of his respiratory system.

Regardless, according to one Danish survey, the general public perceive Santa as being as trustworthy as a doctor.

The man has health issues. What is wrong with you, Denmark?

 

Conversation starter #2 – Children are the ultimate last minute gift.

Yes, Grand-Uncle Greg, while you might take crack out of everyone’s Christmas poppers with your anti-retail diatribe that the holiday is not what it used to be, not like the thoughtless gifts kids get today. I’m going to tell the family that I discovered your filthy secret. You were a last-minute Christmas gift. Your parents, the ones we never met, were not noble, nor were they the salt of the earth, but lazy impulsive creatures of sexual habit. Like the rest of us. I when you birthday is, we were all just at it. September 25. J’accuse smut.

Why yes, Greg. I do have evidence.

According to the thousandfold evidential clickbait on the web, September is the most popular month for birthing.

 

 

Source: Office for National Statistics

Womp womp.

Conversation starter #3 – Christmas baking is tantamount to doing a handful of amphetamines.

The aromatic symphony of Christmas is often the best part of it, a sensory kick for us to overindulge in. On a harmless, I didn’t inhale level of addiction, you have the casual charms of wrapping paper or that pine smell, but for those looking for the next hit should bake nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves as those spices apparently produce chemical a reaction similar those felt when one does amphetamines. Not that I’d know.

Natural mood enhancer or not, as long as it makes the intolerable music danceable, be a darl and hand me that baking paper.

 

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