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How to Do All Your Christmas Shopping at the Dollar Store

I got something special for everyone I needed to, and still had change from a $20.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Probably my greatest Christmas present came from a relative who, in retrospect, clearly liked me the best. It was a copy of the Jungle Book that came free with her dry cleaning. I know this because it had the word Sketchleys printed in a lovely big yellow and green logo on the front. She'd twinned this thoughtful gift with a glass sample jar—the sort you'd find in the biohazard swing-top trash can of a hospital—decorated with glass paintings of flowers and butterflies. It was just gorgeous. Another year she gave me—a 13-year-old child with the soft curves of a mozzarella ball—a pair of white woollen tights size 5-6 years and a large ceramic pot for storing potatoes. It really was festive.

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As a result, I've never been massively keen on gifts. I've never quite understood this hysterical urge to spend thousands of dollars on people who you'd barely offer a Dorito to for the rest of the year. I love my family, but I don't need to spend $50 on a Diptyque candle to tell them so. Nor, to be honest, could I afford to.

Luckily, I live in a world jeweled with dollar stores, not to mention their savvy capitalism-in-action 99 cent rivals. And those ruthless bastards in the 98 cent store. And so this year I decided to do all my Christmas shopping for $1 a pop. God knows I spend enough time the rest of the year fighting past women in large Moschino ponchos and pushing tartan shopping buggies to get to the good shit in the dried food aisle. Why not mark the festive furore the same way too?

Between Sam's 99p shop on Walthamstow Market and a Poundland in Dalston, I found presents for every single member on my gift list. And it was a wonderful experience too—nobody so much as turned a hair when I started laughing out loud to myself at a jar of hotdogs modeled on Chris Brown's penis. So, here's what my nearest and dearest (and a couple of other people I know) will be receiving this year:

MOTHER

My mother loves makeup. Loves it. So what better gift than a selection of nail polishes, coming, as they do, in the shades of "caviar," "festival," "rhombus," and "quick sand"? Just what every mother wants—hands like a salty litter tray of fish eggs.

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FATHER

Every year my father, in a tradition that dated back to his childhood, would ask for a tin of condensed milk for Christmas. Just that. And lo, what do I find in the food aisle but a sale on Carnation's favorite. And there's also a sale on Pro Dye for Men. This is turning out so well. So well.

THE "FOODIE"

Absolutely without a doubt I'm getting my friend Eleanor a "cheese shovel" for Christmas. Who on this earth wouldn't feel their heart soar at the prospect of handling cheese with an implement originally designed for digging latrines? I might throw in an eggbeater too—they have about five different sorts to choose from—although I can't pretend my head hasn't been turned by the wonderfully-named "Shredded Turnip Plane." Take me away on a shredded turnip plane, to soar above the soil.

THE BOYFRIEND

This is a man who got evacuated from a war zone so I think we can safely say that a bottle of Lynx Peace is going to hit the spot like a bullet. Right? To "carry on with the theme" I also find a bottle of something called Regenerate for Him that not only smells like pure sex (albeit sex up against a Toilet Duck spill) but has a box featuring three men holding machine guns. Perfect. Perfect.

THAT ARTY COUSIN

Dollar stores have really come into their own when it comes to the creative industries. Fancy making like David Bowie and having a bash at kabuki? Please, have this mask.

UNCLE DEREK

You know Uncle Derek—he was put on a diet by his doctor after he got stuck in the back seat of a Volvo? Well boy did I find the perfect present for him—a box of reduced Eat Natural bars and a drain cleaning rod. He'll absolutely love it, the poor guy.

YOUR Roommate

It's fun trying to find that perfect gift for the person who owes you $175 in unpaid rent, isn't it? I plumped for a Colman's Bolognese Pasta Bake Meal Kit that, although scrawled with "89p" across the packet in black felt tip was on sale for, well, 99p. He can twin it with a tub of Smash and some Golden Wonder Cheese and Broccoli Pasta & Sauce if he's still hungry. Fuck it, he's a great guy, I'll get him some reusable Toastie Pockets too—after all, they're quick and convenient and guaranteed nonstick thanks to that sweet sweet layer of polytetrafluoroethylene.

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SECRET SANTA

If you have to shuffle into an unbooked meeting room on Tuesday, December 22 while Karen in her novelty flashing reindeer earrings doles out the secret santa gifts like a dinner lady spooning out cheese sauce, then I'm going to hazard a guess that you work in an office. In which case, what better present than a Professional Screen Cleaning Kit and a remote control that—according to the jewel case wrapper—replaces ten remotes. Ten remotes. That's basically ten presents in one.

YOUR BOYFRIEND'S MoM

Tricky, this one. We haven't been together all that long and I'm still trying to suss out if she thinks I'm religious. I find a lovely glass ashtray just like one my grandmother used to keep on her hand-carved TV table but my boyfriend's mom gave up smoking last year so this might look more like a jibe than a gift. Obviously, the "Women's Panty 2 PK" pairs of underwear are out, even though there's a wall of them. In the end I opt for a novelty dishwashing brush called a "Dish Diva." It looks like a sassy gal with pink hair. It looks like Pink, actually.

KID SISTER

Brought up on a diet of mung beans and split lentils (which are, I'm thrilled to report, also being sold in Poundland this Christmas) my poor little sisters are absolutely ravenous for the cheap thrill of consumerism. Although the Stories from the Bible Mini Library is only 99 cents I worry my father would actually self-immolate if any marker of Christianity crossed his threshold at Christmas, which leaves me with the option of something called a "floral claw," a stick on mustache (insert generic hipster slam here), some fake flowers, or a picture of a family far less dysfunctional and far better at training pets than my own.

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THAT PRICK

You know, the prick who jumps out from behind a bucket of mulled wine brandishing a present. You don't really like them. You certainly don't know them well enough to start exchanging presents. I mean, for God's sake, this is the person who has invited you to play Farmville every month for the last six years. And here they are, handing you a present. The only solution to this—I've learned after several bitter years—is to start carrying around a pre-wrapped selection of DVDs and just hand them out with mindless, joyless, mechanical regularity every time one of these pricks catches you unawares. On the shelves I was able to choose between: Atonement, Step Up 2 The Streets, Lord of the Rings, The Assassination of Jesse James, Clarkson Thriller (because what prick doesn't love a video by King of the Dickheads, Jeremy Clarkson), Talladega Nights, about four other Clarkson DVDs that all look like a smear of watery shit, Shaun of the Dead, Paddy McGuiness Live, Music and Lyrics, Cheaper by the Dozen 2, Bridget Jones's Diary, Donnie Darko, and, glory be, Friends season eight, episodes 1-4. I bought them all. Every single one.

AND A TREAT FOR YOU

And for me? I bought a bumper pack of pickled onion Monster Munch and an eight-piece heavy duty wall hook set. Merry Christmas.

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