By Phil Seaman
Let me present to you a quite blissful scenario. I am walking home from a rather stressful day, kicking the first autumn leaves in a way best suited for a ten year old. The sky is blue, there is still a hint of the summer warmth in the air, and the new Oasis album has done the job. In summary, life is good.
I get home, put my feet up in front of the TV, and put on Sky Sports News. It's in the middle of an ad-break, which is irritating but at least that fucking Halifax bastard hasn't been on with his politically correct group of singing demons. Apparently, his 'comedic light-hearted' style of advertising is no longer appropriate in the current financial situation. I prefer to think that someone has finally taken him out, Scarface style.
I was so busy praying for Howard's demise that it took a while to click that a new DFS advert had been launched. They have already managed to make me physically sick this year with their decision to pair a terrible Nickelback song ('rockstar') with loads of fucking annoying RADA rejects dancing around sofa's that are not even fit for Nickelback, let alone a respectable member of society.
They have, however, stooped to greater depths of depravity. It took me about a 3 minutes and a large liquor drink to try to understand what had just unfolded in front of my eyes. The advert started with a singlular chord which resonated in my mind for a split second. What was this chord? It brought back memories from seemingly a long time past. No... it couldn't be...
The first chime of Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas Is You' is one that most people can remember, but in mid-october, I tried to convince myself that DFS would not continue on the capitalist tirade to gradually make every day in the year one closer to that magical day in late december. But it was no good, the bastard thing was right there, inpregnating my very being like a rabies ridden, sexually repungnant chav. Needless to say, my day was completely ruined thanks to these sofa louts.
The date was 16th October. My maths suggests that this is 70 days before christmas. That is about 1/5 of the year that, as a result of DFS, is now taken up with preparation for christmas. This means that chav mothers can now raid the local Co-op festive discount asile almost as soon as they have returned from their late-summer trip to the costa del sal.
Fuck you, DFS, fuck you very much.
Let me present to you a quite blissful scenario. I am walking home from a rather stressful day, kicking the first autumn leaves in a way best suited for a ten year old. The sky is blue, there is still a hint of the summer warmth in the air, and the new Oasis album has done the job. In summary, life is good.
I get home, put my feet up in front of the TV, and put on Sky Sports News. It's in the middle of an ad-break, which is irritating but at least that fucking Halifax bastard hasn't been on with his politically correct group of singing demons. Apparently, his 'comedic light-hearted' style of advertising is no longer appropriate in the current financial situation. I prefer to think that someone has finally taken him out, Scarface style.
I was so busy praying for Howard's demise that it took a while to click that a new DFS advert had been launched. They have already managed to make me physically sick this year with their decision to pair a terrible Nickelback song ('rockstar') with loads of fucking annoying RADA rejects dancing around sofa's that are not even fit for Nickelback, let alone a respectable member of society.
They have, however, stooped to greater depths of depravity. It took me about a 3 minutes and a large liquor drink to try to understand what had just unfolded in front of my eyes. The advert started with a singlular chord which resonated in my mind for a split second. What was this chord? It brought back memories from seemingly a long time past. No... it couldn't be...
The first chime of Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas Is You' is one that most people can remember, but in mid-october, I tried to convince myself that DFS would not continue on the capitalist tirade to gradually make every day in the year one closer to that magical day in late december. But it was no good, the bastard thing was right there, inpregnating my very being like a rabies ridden, sexually repungnant chav. Needless to say, my day was completely ruined thanks to these sofa louts.
The date was 16th October. My maths suggests that this is 70 days before christmas. That is about 1/5 of the year that, as a result of DFS, is now taken up with preparation for christmas. This means that chav mothers can now raid the local Co-op festive discount asile almost as soon as they have returned from their late-summer trip to the costa del sal.
Fuck you, DFS, fuck you very much.
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