Well kids what a thrill and a half...Christmas is upon us, that time of we schlep ourselves to the overcrowded stores in hopes of wrestling the last ipod or doo-dad or whatchamacallit from the cold dead hands of the jerkoff who thought he had the stones to cut you off in the parking lot, pay for the damn thing on credit, hide it, wrap it and finally toss it in the general direction of whichever bloodsucking relative who's name you happened to draw in last years Sectret Santa debacle. Yip-ay and ya-hoo its almost here. Break out the egg nog and hit it with 90 proof grain alcohol, this years joy to the worlding will need a little extra kick in the crotch.
Ok, alright, I'm kidding. I never knew how anyone could be bitter and "grinchy" this time of year, especially now with kids. Yes, we are stressed out big time, yes, we are maxed out credit wise, again. Yes, it's colder than Hell during a Cubs world series(see what I did there, the Cubs reference, ya catch that?)but nothing could really dampen my spirits around now. The older I get the more I get like my own parents, all soft and gushy and otherwise unlike myself. In days past I dislocated limbs in an effort to smash whatever device was playing Ann Murray Christmas songs, now I bop to anything that plays, pretending I'm Sinatra and boo-be-doing all over the place. If it gets any worse, I may start hum along with Clay Aikin. Ok, wait, scratch the last part, I'm warm and fuzzy this time of year, NOT gay.
Santa was good to the family this year, I'm even predicting a large, very impractible toy myself. Please oh PLEASE!
Well, so much for confessions of a Christmas candyass, back to my cave on Mt. Crumpit and plotting ways of stealing Christmas from those Who's down in Who-ville.
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