Merry Christmas from Jon and myself. Probably won't be blogging between now and ol' Xmas so let me take this time to say... Enjoy your fucking egg nog and your over-cooked turkey. I hope your tree doesn't catch fire in the middle of the night on Xmas Eve and burn your house down. I truly wish that you aren't arrested for drunk driving on Xmas morn and raped by trogaladitic mongoloid inmates on Three Kings Day. Have a wonderful Kwaanza and any other bullshit, made up holidays that you feel important enough to celebrate. I know that this year I am truly looking forward to Crum Day, the day on which you profess your love for your family by eating cheesesteaks and drinking copious amounts of whiskey. May your Chanukkahdhsahjklfsd be filled with the glory of cheap oil heating, as it is this miracle which kept the Jewish people in affordable housing with utility costs at a bare minimum. All you lovely Wiccans out there... well... just die, please, seriously you're pathetic. Go read your "Cathy" comic strips and drink Chai Lattes until your gout finally claims your right foot and you have to hobble around like a chunky disabled witch. I'd sooner believe in the power of Dumbledor than the power of chanting nonsense words in a basement of some spinsters house while Enya endlessly drones on in the background.
Let me end this by paraphrasing the immortal words of The Night Before Christmas...
To My Dear Children, Love... Dad.
"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
and I was upstairs backdooring your mother, and pulling her hair.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I pulled out of ol' mom to see whats the matter?
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
my boner regally poking up against the glass.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
but some fat fucker in a red suit chugging a beer.
The moon on the crest of the new fallen snow,
made me realize that tomorrow I'd have to shovel and that just blows.
More rapid than horses his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
On Slippy on Drippy on Gassy and Faggy,
on Dermot on Mongo and move your ass Mackey Sasser,
to the top of the house to the top of the wall, now dash away dash away
do it you fuckers!
His deer didn't look healthy and neither did he,
his clothes were all sooty and he was covered in piss. (Thought I'd say, 'pee' didn't ya?)
Snot was running all down his 'stache and his pants were worn away
at the seat of his ass,
His bag of toys was a joke as it was all filled with trash,
and he referred to Mrs. Claus as, "his old, whiney gash"
Santa said I, what the fuck bro?
He looked at me and told me where to go.
He turned and he farted and pull out his hog,
he pissed on my tree and shit on my dog.
He threw some crap into the stockings,
coughed violently for a minute and vomited from hocking.
Santa, do you need some help? I exclaimed
"I don't need your help clown, now get back upstairs,
finish banging that broad but go easy on the hair."
The next morn we woke up to find the presents all there,
but so was Santa as he had passed away on the stairs.
The tox report said that he'd been on ludes and blow,
and the cold air didn't help nor did the snow.
But I'll never forget the last thing he said as turned with a wink,
"Merry Christmas you jagoff, go puke in the sink."