The next cunt to send me a Christmas email card is so going on my Curse List - quite long this year.
What precisely can you do with a cunting email Christmas card? - print it out, spray starch on it and stick it on the mantelpiece? I don't think so. The Scrooges who resort to this cheapo, soulless, miserly gesture are not thinking straight.
The whole idea of cards is to put them someplace for all to see so that others can say: "My, how many friends you've got! Bitch!" Hard copy cards are heralds of tangible good wishes, cheery sentinels of desk and home surfaces, as opposed to impersonal email cards which simply stuff your inbox with unwelcome megabytes and probably can't be played in any case because you need Adobe cunting Flash or whatever the latest piece of crap from Silicon Hell is called.
There is something sensuous about the thought of saliva on the hard copy card envelope: someone has gone to the trouble of licking your prezzie. Isn't that faintly erotic and personal? There's no saliva to be found on an email Christmas card, just the thought of norovirus-enriched fingerprints on a keyboard. Not the same is it?
If Dickens were alive today he would not have written A Christmas Carol. He would have penned A Christmas Cunting Email Card, featuring an office misery who works out how much money he or she can save by sending out the company festive card. The ghosts of Christmas past, present and future would be the souls of all those forgotten, locked up or deleted email cards wailing for attention. They'd tell of what might-have-been had they been incarnated as Clinton hard copy cards, of friendships strengthened, of marriages saved and of kids returning, if only a hard copy Christmas card had been posted (you know, with a paid-for stamp, licked).
Don't you feel the loss?