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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Twenty fifth of December, three thousand and four and already I'm down in the dumps we're round at the neighbour's via tubes that save labour propelled by some hydraulic pumps. We've exchanged all our presents and got them unwrapped once again I've got self-cleaning socks the wife's Kevlar panties, though they are quite scanty are going straight back in the box. I'm constantly goaded to eat nuts they've downloaded they'll try any tactic to feed ya but the problem, I quibble is that some have been nibbled as they're passed around on social media. We're looking for doorways or just any more ways to find a quick route to get out and escape if we're able, being chased round the table by genetically modified sprouts. They've offered a glass of Martian Pinot noir and they tell me it's alcohol free so there goes my boozing and afternoon snoozing and waking up just after tea. Grandma kids are teasing, cryogenic freezing means she won't wake up until noon to find grapes in her hair and a plum, God knows where and they've blocked up her nose with some spoons. Don't know why they have bothered with plates that can hover it seems so bone idle to me they could have just handed the pudding that's landed on the light fitting just above me. The custard's abundant but the jug is redundant administered now by syringe and so is the Brandy which, though is quite handy prevents us from having a binge. When later we get back from fresh air and jet packs remembering when we could walk I'll look back fondly then to those Christmases when we just used a knife and a fork. November 16th 2015 For Contest 'A futuristic Christmas', sponsor Mystic Rose
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