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Hallelujah, Noël, be it Heaven or Hell The Christmas you get, you deserve |
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Designed and engineered by us just to show you how much we love you, the Collection is now available for you to download, FREE! Gratis! For nixy! Read on... |
This exclusive set will add the finishing touches to your Christmas tree, which – if you’re childless and slightly sinister, or just plain old shite – will have been up and blazing since mid-October.
Based on the Christmas spirit-wrecking outfits seen across the city at Christmas time, there are SIX Burglar’s Dog Baubles to collect, with more to follow if we can work out how to make the long-suffering mutt look even more ridiculous.
Here they are in full:
Instructions for assembly
Print the Dog images above on the best quality colour printer your workplace has to offer. They'll not mind.
Glue them to some stiff card. We recommend you use something like the Amazon packaging you've got over by the bin. You may also like to whisper a Christmas prayer for all the local retailers that your penny-pinching internet ways have subsequently edged towards the breadline this year. Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!
Carefully cut each one out. You can leave a bit of a border on if you like. There's no need to fanny on with the fiddly bits.
Take a length of string or thread* and, using your best festive guestimate, attach it to the flip-reverse side of your ornament in the place where you think the misshapen fucker will have at least half a chance of balancing. You can use Sellotape, Elastoplast, chudda, owt you like. It’s up to you!
Don’t worry too much about the clip of the back. The only people who'll be able to see it will be the rogues looking through your window, and they'll be far more interested in what they can rob from ‘neath your tree than the plight of your shoddy trinkets. Just clag it on.
Hang your baubles with pride on the tree (not supplied).
(* For a real touch of luxury, why not pluck the inevitable loose silvery yarn hanging off the nearest wear-once party frock, purchased at great and foolish expense from a leading High Street chain boutique. I dunno, sweatshop kids today have no bloody pride in their work)
Remember: when it comes to pondering the crushing anti-climax of the big day, or weighing up the insulting imbalance between pleasure gained and expenditure wasted, these special items cost FUCK ALL.
Of course, we don't want to feel that we've pressured you into anything, but like a manager offering the agency temp a festive "choice" between a peep on the pink piccolo or her P45, it wouldn’t be Christmas if we didn't expect a little something in return.
Which is why we're whoring our best-selling book by throwing in this bonus bauble for you to place prominently on your tree as a gentle nudge in the nadgers to your nearest and dearest of just what will fit in that troublesome void in the Christmas stocking.
Maybe you can use it as an aide-mémoire for when you’re taking down the tree after another Christmas disaster. The bitterness and spite contained within the pages of The Burglar’s Dog book will match your own so closely, your best bet will be to head straight down to Waterstone’s to spend the tenner you got from your grandma or maiden aunt, or indeed from anyone trying to bribe you to visit them at least once in the coming year.
Or maybe you’d prefer to use this link.
Whichever you choose, we'd like to wish you all the very best for the festivities and every success in the New Year.
Raise a glass to the once-a-year drinkers bringing carnage to our city.
Sing a carol or two while you wade, ankle deep, through glitter-sprinkled vomit.
Do a ton upon your sleigh for the jolly charmers who've already stripped every fucking shop of every fucking item in every fucking size and every fucking colour, simply for the thrill of fetching it all back, unwanted, on December 27th.
Let Jack Frost nip the noses of those festive scamps, joyfully kicking the giblets and stuffing out of each other in the taxi queue.
Leave a carrot and a whisky out for our legions of near-naked Sexy Santas, their shrieks of goodwill implicitly offering to swap a shot up the wrong ‘un for a lend of your nice, warm coat.
And if you think it's desperate in Newcastle now, just you wait until the Tup Tup Palace opens its doors. Fucking fa-la-la-la-lah la-la la-lah.
It’s that time of year once again. Multicoloured lights are blinking in the night skies, rush-hour transport is full of inebriates in reindeer antlers and we at the Dog are sick as a fucking chip. Yes, it’s Christmas time.
