T'was the night before... some day or other, point is everyone was all festive-like or some such merrymaking and some other rather casual hey-nonny-nonny-ing, well... everyone that is exept "miserable git" the usually jolly shoemaker down on dury lane (next to that o-so-popular-muffin-man who had now opened a rather large chain of bakerys staffed by slave-like imps, oh well, at least it gave them something to do), if you consider smelling pungently by the curb any form of living.
Today things had gone rather badly, it wasn't that Mr git envied the neighbors and their fancy crimbo dinners, he was quite content with a manky old boot caked in salt (yum yum) but today the rat traps he had set up failed to yeild fruit (in this case with wormy tails and more warts than naturaly possible) so his christmas treat was absent. You see, miserable didn't ask for much, and he got even less but he still looked to the undauntedly, as I mentioned before-hand he was therefore rather upbeat, unfourtunately today he was going to indulge himself to a romantic evening dinner with his sweetheart, "old crone" a beggeresse down on pudding lane and who was highly regarded by the economicaly challenged due to the fact that even her warts had warts and her expertise at shouting ininteligebly at people 'till they gave her a shilling or two to go away.
Mr git dreamed of those crusty warts, that greasy nose, those distant and slightly terrifing eyes...
And now Miserable had eaten the candle he had saved for a month or more (good eating it was to), had been forced to give up some of his best pickeled shoe soles to a roving band of ferotious puppys and the traps had failed to yeild a single fruit (worm tailed or otherwise).
What was he going to do!
...join us next week or...something for the next exiting instalment of:
The christmasy misadventures of "miserable git" (part 2)
