Please don't be shit.
As our Christmas countdown edges into double figures and you realise that you have, what, three days left to do your shopping (don't forget about Susan in Marketing, because you know she'll get you something even if you've already done Secret Santa and it's always awkward), what better way could there be to fritter a few minutes of our last pre-apocalypse day than by reading our tenth successive holly-draped blog about nothing much?
Three quarters of the way into our Christmas countdown, we're relaxing our previously bird-centric attitudes to focus on the ladies who make Hollywood dainty and sweet-smelling and so on. Except for Lady Snowblood, who's a mass murderer. And Margaret 'Iron Lady' Thatcher, who wore awful suits and destroyed British heavy industry more or less on a whim. And Lady, who's a dog and reportedly spent most of her time off-camera licking her own vagina in a pile of fox shit. Ladies are unpredictable, is our point.
FINALLY! It may be only day 7 of our Christmas countdown, but we're diving into the sherry because it's the last of the bloody bird-related ones. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be funny about twenty-three sort-of birds over the course of a week? No wonder we've ended up writing about such tenuous nonsense. Still, take heart - Christmas is just a few days away and there will be maids for you tomorrow. Until then, Christmas swans 'til death!
It's Day Two of our Christmas countdown, and after the improbable success of yesterday's paean to Ross Partridge we're combing the length and breadth of Hollywood to find our top two turtle doves. That probably sounds quite easy, particularly if you have a proper job, but actually we don't know what the fuck a turtle dove is. Is it a bird? Is it a reptile? Is it some sort of brilliant cross-over, living in a sewer? Actually, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Doves would be completely brilliant - if you want us we'll be working on a pitch.