Jessica Fletcher No Longer Invited Around For Christmas Dinner By Family
Best-selling author, English teacher and all round sweet old lady, Jessica Fletcher will be spending the holidays alone this year. There was a time when invites would come from high and low. Politicians, famous actors and socialites alike would swoon to have her attend one of their gatherings. But no longer. As the bodies piled up, the invites stopped coming. Until a time came when not even her closest family wanted her around for a slice of holiday turkey.
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely woman”, says her brother Martin. “And when her husband Frank died, we were happy to have her around. But it’s no secret what will happen if we invite her over. She puts everyone on edge all the time. You just can’t relax around her. Sometimes I’m too afraid to take a shit in case I get back to find someone murdered and I’d be the main suspect. My wife won’t touch any of the carving knifes, as it might turn out to be a murder weapon. Last year it took the poor woman two hours to carve the turkey with a teaspoon.
Like clockwork the lights would go out. There would be a commotion and someone would light a candle and a screaming woman with big tits would find a body on the floor. Of course, the wolly who was earlier overheard shouting, “I’ll kill you”, is immediately the suspect. But for some reason it’s never them.
Last years’ victim was the Vicar with the face tattoo of Chairman Mao. I should have known he’d be one really. Poor bastard had his head lobbed off with a turkey baster. Jessica the nosey cow, takes it upon herself to start questioning people. She writes a couple of murder novels and thinks she's Sherlock bloody Holmes.
By the time the police arrive, she’s already discovered the murderer is Boris the Russian sailor. The vicar had an affair with his wife. Boris just confesses to the whole thing as if she’s holding a gun to his head. He didn’t even try to run away. Why don’t they ever run away? I’ve really got to start double checking my wife’s invite list. There is always some dodgy character at the party with an eye patch or a distinguishing birth mark on his left buttock.
This year, in a vague effort to stop the slaughter, I got the electrician to come around and check the wiring the day before. Did that help? Did it fuck! Off they went and when they came on, there was my mother-in-law, face down in a great big bowl of trifle. Serves her right for bringing it. Nobody wants trifle, but every bloody year she shows up with a it.
Jessica knows I don’t like trifle, or my mother-in-law. She leers over at me giving me that eye she gives to all her suspects. As she makes her way over, I panic and shout, “Jessica did it. I over-heard her earlier talking about the trifle bowl being so big you could drown in it.” Jessica was shocked and didn’t know what to say. She’d never been accused before. Doesn’t feel so nice now does it, when you’re on the other end of the pointy finger? I went to call the police and when I came back, she was gone. The crafty old cow had done a runner. But still, mother-in-law and Jessica gone in the same dinner. A Merry Christmas indeed. I wonder did she know it was me that did it?”
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