"Merry Christmas, you doomed sons' a bitches!

"Just then the doors flew open, the wind whipped into the room carrying with it a horrid stench.

Standing there, framed in the cathedral doorway, stood Santa Claus, holding Brian Henderson in his red Star Trek shirt, by the throat.

A group of dark figures were moving behind them, moaning something about IKEA, as Santa pressed a .38 snub-nose revolver to Brian's temple and pulled the trigger.

Blood spattered across the front wall and Santa threw the body back to Marty in the Morning, who began to suck the brains of out dead Brian's exit wound.

"Merry Christmas, you doomed sons' a bitches!" said Santa."

The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore

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I noticed, among other holy horrors of holies, that Asda is not only selling lots of Christmas produce but has a big foxtrot oscar Christmas tree in the foyer.

Chris Moore is the finest author at describing a world gone mad and you could do a lot worse than grab some of this literary lunacy this forthcoming festive season.

I'm going to read this one again come the festivities. Ho, Ho, Ho!