Uncle Jasper was a jolly, happy soul; some might a little too jolly, his cheeks a little too rosy. Uncle Jasper, you see, was a bit of a lush. Every year he’d bring presents like a little Saint Nick and before long he’d be rocking around the Christmas tree, grabbing anybody he could to dance with him. Oh yes, Uncle Jasper had himself a merry little Christmas all right. Right up until he started stumbling around, speech slurred, bumping into everybody and everything in sight before ralphing up his turkey and passing out.
Dear old Uncle Jasper; a joy to the world.
So when he turned up yet again that year everybody silently wished he would melt like frosty the snowman, or that they’d decked the halls with poison ivy and deadly nightshade instead of boughs of holly. Let it snow, they thought; maybe he’d get lost on the way, unless his bulbous erythema-stained hooter illuminated his path like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.
There was no putting it off however. Before long the doorbell rang merrily on high, and there was a loud rapping on the door.
It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas.