The Pound Shop Nativity



I was no 666 in the queue

pawing the ground in the shape of a hexagram

with my cloven hoof.

We snaked in a conga line with our soon to be prized possessions.

I had inserted pound shop ear plugs to stop the pound shop carols accosting my ears.

but they didn't work.

My horns were hidden under my cat shaped hat but I think some had started to notice.

Behind me a baby started crying and my tail started to swish with impatience.

All of a sudden, a man who I had paid scant attention to, started divesting himself of his vestments and there he stood, all in white with a crown of thorns, his blood an excuse for someone to try out their mop.

"I hope he's paid for them" said a woman behind me. 

I turned and winked and she nearly died.

The crackle of self important walkie-talkies accompanied

3 Full English Breakfast Security Staff.

There were more of them than people on the tills.

With that the Pound Shop Jesus was escorted from the establishment for another year.

Some looked down at their baskets full of Pound Shop

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh

and thought

"Fuck It, I'm getting out of here"

The queue had thinned out considerably by the time that I, Beelzebub, got to the till.

I handed over a Toblerone and shook my head

"What have they done to it?" I drooled

"It's not in the spirit of Christmas at all"