Maggots, basically. By Sean Bedlam

I dread Christmas, but last year I was feeling better about it, less judgey and adolescent. I guess that season is one big flashback to a time of having no control over your life and then there's the weird stillness of the day, but let's not worry about that. This Christmas was truly special due to lots of maggots.

I don't know if you've ever closed up a house and walked away from it, leaving on the kitchen sink a kilo of beef mince. I reckon you haven't because you probably reckon it doesn't take over a week to defrost frozen meat. Anyway, when we opened the door to the holiday house we were borrowing it was like unsealing a coffin. Gosh it was fun.

I have never seen anyone look so preoccupied with something else as when- in reaction to the nightmare stench pouring out the door- one of our mates began busying himself with unpacking stuff outside, not so much as even looking at the house. I didn't have time to snicker about a big country boy clearly having a meltdown about what was in the house- I bolted inside to open every window.

Ever laughed while dry retching? Two of us attacked seething mountains of maggots and death liquid spilling onto the floor from the sink, while another began vacuuming roughly a million dead flies from every window sill. We ran across the road to buy Nilodor, which does something probably highly toxic to destroy bad smells and it mostly worked.

We stayed in that house two nights as our home base while we visited nearby family. I had a ball because I felt like I'd faced death, or at least smelled it. No amount of Christmas awkwardness was possible after that family-building experience.

We found it all so spiritual that we simply left the maggots and rotten meat in the bin outside for our mates to experience. The fuckers.


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I'm doing a stand up comedy show called Two Bearded Ladies in the 2015 Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

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