One Fleg-protester's Twelve Days of Christmas: On the first day of Christmas I wuz sent a Partridge in a Pear Tree. Sent it back, cos it shoulda been a Union Fleg up a Fleg Pole and they know it!
On the second day it was Two Turtle Doves. That's about peace an' all that other middle-class Alliance Party crap so I tied wee flegs to the birds' legs and sent them back an' all.
Day Thee. Three French Hens. Sent 'em back. What's wrong with British chickens? I don't trust that foreign food. As I always say, "Give me a sausage anyday, at least y'know what you're gettin'!"
Day Four. Four calling birds. Ah, music til me ears... Four weemin from Belfast all shoutin, "No Surrender!!!!!" Beaudiful......
On the fifth day of Christmas I got Five Gold Rings. Sovereigns. One from m'Ma, one from "her", one from her Ma and two I lifted off m'mate's fingers when he was lyin' stocious on the settee. Nice one.
Day six I got six geese a laying. Class. Savin' up the eggs for til throw at the peelers when we start up again in the new year.
Next day, it was Seven Swans A Swimming that turned up. Had to stop m'mates from using them as target practice for their cross bows. I sez, "Lave 'em be. Only the Queen Mother's allowed til eat swans, God bless her."
On the eighth day of Christmas I got Eight Maids a Milkin'. Typical wee dolls from roun' here, goin' on an' on "You're the Daddy, you have to give me money for the chile!" I just sez, "Stop milkin' it will ye, I never seen y'before in m'life an' if I did I must've been langered so that doesn't count!"
Day Nine, nice one. Nine Ladies Dancing, know what I mean? Me an' m'mates sittin' there watching these lookers wi' the big baps givin' it plenty on our laps. Sweet.
The next day, hungover, felt like there's at least Ten Lords leapin roun' inside my head. Niver went out, just lay on the settee in m' union jack onesie an' watched WWF on DVD on the 60-inch TV.
Day Eleven. This is more like it! Eleven Pipers piping!! Yees!!! Bring it on.
Bit of good loyal music out on the protests, that'll annoy them even more. I got up and got dressed in my union jack shell suit an' matching scarf and hoked out me oul fake flute from the band marches and joined in.
There's nothin' expresses yer Britishness more than a couple of verses of The Fields of Athenry or Danny Boy played at top volume. Alls we need now is someone to blatter away on a big Lambeg....
Day Twelve. Who says God's not a Prod? Didn't he answer our prayers and send us Twelve drummers drumming? Holy smoke, the noise was deafenin'! Can't wait narr for the new year to start proper, so we can get out there in our new Christmas scarves and balaclavas and show themmins the true face of majority rule. All 157 of us. No, make that 156, my Ma's came down with the Norovirus, it's comin' out of both ends so she'll have t'give it a miss for the next wee while.
Altogether narr, "Oh I wish it could be Christmas every day...".
Here, that Roy Wood, he's not a Taig, is he??