SNOGGO Saves Christmas

SNOGGO was halfway through receiving his second blowjob of the day when the phone rang. Summoning up his superhuman strength he came immediately and pushed the beautiful Sukhalot (his dear Thai mail-order bride) aside and picked up the telephone.

'The Great SNOGGO speaking,' he announced, casually wiping some spilled semen off his velvet trousers before they became stained beyond redemption. Sukhalot was slightly surprised to hear the unmistakable Scottish burr of the Prime Minister coming through the earpiece. 'Fuck off out of it, Sukky dearest,' snarled SNOGGO, 'This is too important for your lovely little oriental ears.' And she sadly left the great study at SNOGGO Manor, the taste of her dear husband's superhumanly salty sperm still tingling her tonsils, a slight compensation for the immense loss of face in being dismissed like a common little tart (which is what she actually was).

'Mmmmmmm', said SNOGGO, as he listened to the Prime Ministerial drone down the end of the line. 'Mmmmmmmmmmm. Well, Gordy, I'll have to think what I can do. Since you say it's a matter of national emergency, I'll solve the problem for you at a discounted rate.'

SNOGGO burst out laughing at what the PM suggested next. 'Up yours, Brown, no way do I work at that rate. Five percent discount is my last fucking word. And cash up front. I don't trust anyone from sodding Scotland.' Gordon had no choice, that SNOGGO knew. Only he, the great and wonderful SNOGGO could save Gordon's bacon this time.

After putting down the telephone, SNOGGO sat and ruminated for a few moments. What the PM had told him was incredible, simply incredible. Santa Claus had apparently parked his sleigh outside Great Ormonde Street Hospital and nipped in to distribute some cheapo Chinese-made presents to the kiddies in the terminal ward and, what do you fucking think, would you fucking believe it, an illegal immigrant Nigerian traffic warden employed at cut-prices by the local Socialist Council had slapped a £100 parking ticket on the sleigh. When Santa came out and told the warden his fortune in marginally racist terms (being a pure-bred Aryan Lap), an altercation and serious breach of the peace had followed and a Metropolitan Police hit squad armed with AK-47s had come and blown them both to pieces on suspicion of their being Muslim terrorists. The reindeer had all been despatched as well to get rid of any witnesses. The street had looked like a Baghdad hospital after friendly fire from the US Marines.

Santa was dead. The children of the entire world would get no presents this year (well, the good ones anyway would lose out, the nasty little poverty-stricken ones would have got nothing anyway). And it was all the fault of the British Government for having arse-licked the American President and joined in on the illegal invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan, which had turned London into a target for terrorists. The Blair twins had a lot to answer for, thought SNOGGO philosophically. Only SNOGGO could save the day. But the fee he would charge would make the Bank of England wince.

SNOGGO phoned up China and spoke to his head elf and told him to pull out all the stops. He wanted 20,000,000 toys by the end of the week. Chop chop. No arguments. And nicely wrapped too. After summoning Sukhalot back and consoling her by allowing her to give him another blowjob, SNOGGO got down to work.

It didn't take him too long to design and build the atomic ultrasonic SNOGGOSLEIGH, complete with cloned automatic titanium reindeer. It would be the only machine in the world capable of delivering 20,000,000 toys to the waiting little boys and girls on Christmas Eve.

And thus it came to pass that SNOGGO whizzed all over the world in the space of only twelve hours in the atomic SNOGGOSLEIGH in his new tastefully designed purple velour Santa Suit with white mink trimmings. The children's happy faces as they saw him coming at supersonic speed with their tawdry gifts from Chinese sweatshops made it all worthwhile for the brave and very handsome SNOGGO. And the £50 million cash in used £100 notes from the Treasury helped too.

In honour of brave SNOGGO, the superhero who brought a temporary smile onto so many kiddies' faces (until the shoddy toys broke the next day), here is a new Christmas Carol, composed by Edna Sweetlove for you all this Chrissy.

                                                            SNOGGO Bells! SNOGGO Bells!
                                                                 SNOGGO's on his way;
                                                            Oh what fun it is to snog-
                                                                 snog-snog on Christmas Day!

                                                            Whizzing through the skies,
                                                                 See old SNOGGO come;
                                                            If you don't like your gift
                                                                 You can shove it up your bum!

                                                            Oh, SNOGGO is the tops,
                                                                 Yes, SNOGGO is so great!
                                                            SNOGGO is our Saviour,
                                                                 He's the kiddies' bestest mate!

                                                            SNOGGO Bells! SNOGGO Bells!
                                                                 SNOGGO's saved the day!
                                                            SNOGGO's got gifts for all  
                                                                 In his lovely SNOGGOSLEIGH!

                                                                                    ~