No drinker at the Moaning Cow public house will ever forget Mr. Angry’s Christmas address.
“My friends” he shouted as he fell off his stool. “I remain a great entrepreneur. These Christmas crackers I have for you are ridiculously underpriced at £36 per dozen. That’s £2 each. You’ll find wonderful toys inside. Don’t all rush at once.”
“Can we pull one Mr. Angry?” asked the man playing the fruit machine.
“Certainly not. You should know that to do so can trigger bad luck. Don’t all rush at once.”
“But how do we know that they’re any good?” asked a lady sitting by Mrs. Angry who was knitting Mr. Angry’s Xmas present.
“Because the doctor’s surgery has ordered them” he retorted. “That must be a sign of their value.”
“How many have they bought?”
“Er.. budgets are tight. That Ed Miliband, the Minister for Health, is cutting everything.”
“How many Mr. Angry?”
“I heard them say “sevens above” so that must be their order.”
“How many have you sold Mr. Angry?”
“I was late starting. I’ve been worried about Britain’s triple AAA rating.”
“That’s not the only triple you’ll be involved with” said a teenager.
“Mr. Angry” shouted Rita the bar maid “It’s the surgery on the phone. Apparently you misheard them before. They’ve had the results of your brain scan. What they said was “Heavens above, he’s crackers.” There’s a white van on its way.”
“Will you be back for Christmas lunch Mr. Angry” asked Mrs. Angry.