Tidings
Or, He’s Put Tinsel On The Tip Jar.
Konkon’s Yawn, photographed by Tak.
As is the custom here, posting will be intermittent over the holidays and readers are advised to follow me on X, or subscribe to the blog feed at the very bottom of the page, either of which will alert you to anything new as and when it materialises.
Thanks for another 1.5 million or so visits this year and thousands of comments, many of which prompted discussions that are much more interesting than the actual posts. Which is pretty much the idea.
And particular thanks to all those who’ve made PayPal, Ko-Fi, or SubscribeStar donations to keep this rickety barge above water. It’s much appreciated. Should you be gripped by a seasonal urge to express encouragement via currency, by all means use the buttons below this post.
Just think of my little face lighting up.
Curious newcomers and those with nothing better to do are welcome to rummage through the Reheated series in search of entertainment. You may find things you’d missed. And this, needless to say, is an open thread.
To you and yours, a very good one.
And to you and yours, David. *Christmas ping*
Ho ho ho.
Just in time for the hoidays, dude explains the recent algo changes on X that help boost your posts’ rankings.
Bless you, sir, and bless you, madam. May you know the wicked pleasure of visiting a beloved sister-in-law and hearing her teenage daughter enquire about the forthcoming meal with the words, “Mom, are we having that chewy meat again?”
#TrueStory
🎅🎄🛷🦌🕯️🔔🎁❄️☃️
𝔖𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫’𝔰 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰
He he. Merry Christmas, Mr T.
*Ping*
Bless you, ladies. May you never be obliged to smile at a gift of unattractive novelty socks.
I should add that it happened more than a decade ago. I’m still not sure she’s seen the funny side of it.
Still rather tickled by the blissful innocence of the enquiry. It was entirely free of malice. More a sort of humanitarian concern.
How to return your keys.
There’s something in your stocking, barkeep. Merry Christmas everyone.
Last day at work so I’m in a good mood. Merry Christmas (and ping).
The meat with no name?
Bless you, sirs. May your inboxes be free of Substack notifications that you never, ever read.
P.S. Ping!
Bless you, sir. May your bookshelves not be in obvious need of dusting.
Well, quite. It was wonderfully non-specific. As if it were difficult to determine what kind of animal it had once been. It was just meat. With, it seems, excessively chewy properties.
I never solved the mystery.
Ah, good times.
Band name.