Instead of being boring with a bunch hoo-ha about blah-blah-blah and whatever, I will be barfing out some prose. This is a mind dump, and it will serve no one in any good capacity. It will be seasonal though, as I am in my last hour of do-nothing at work, before I make like Sonny Bono and "head out" of this piece.
Merry merry, jolly jolly, and happy happy... to you and yours. Hopefully I will see you this weekend, so that we can kick it and be Christmas coo'. Word.
Jingle Bells, tell me a goddamn joke.
You see that there's no Santa, right Billy?
I got you a gift, it floats, it is a turd.
I like Dave Chapelle, but I don't like your version.
Bring me more mead, in a lead mug please.
My Chauffer is definitely not the best movie I've ever seen.
Sand makes a really bad replacement for toothpaste.
Santa is bringing me a steaming bowl of allergies this Deathmas.
Dashing through the rain, with a one eyed hooker named Pete...
Is this thing on? Tap-tap. Hello?
All I want for Christmas is your two front teeth.
All I want for Christmas is some hash-marked briefs. Some hash-marked briefs...
I'm sorry, I'm poor this year, so I'm giving out STDs as gifts.
Unwrap your herpes before it dries up. Faster.
Most forget, but Trading Places is a Christmas movie.
Dan Aykroyd is the best Santa one could ask for.
I bet he inspired this piece of shit.
What were they thinking with that?
Santa * drunk + lame fat kid / midget + HOTT chick = Seasonal hillarity?
No shit? Pass the crack on down here then, 'cause I missed that math class.
I like the idea of a black santa. Call it white guilt. Sue me.
I think a new oven makes a great gift.
Preferrably: one that self-starts.
Pilot lights are for suicidals and pseudo chefs.
And gas purists, I guess. Ho ho ho.
I hope Santa didn't see this little dance with words
because it might come off as insensitive.
Or this silly slice of verbage pie
which might be viewed as bigoted, if not fucking brilliant.
And I hope he never ran across this little piece of ass-scattery
just because it's kinda fucked up, and proves that I'm slow.
Screw it. I'll just wear my stocking as a sock.
Or as a ball-warmer. Whatever's clever. The left ball.
Holiday tag line: "Holidays. Maybe. Next Year"
Holiday tag line again: "Buy. Better. Shit."
For those you love to love.
Seriously, if Santa reads any of this trash, I swear...
I'll make diamonds out of that shit, so help me god.
Jingle Bells, I'm still waiting for my goddamned joke. Hello?
No, I am not almost 30. What a ridiculous question. And no, that is not my truck parked on your lawn. Your back lawn... I see. Behind the crushed trampoline, right? Nope. I haven't a clue about such a sad situation. Now leave me alone, I need to figure out this bus schedule...
Happy holidays to you and yours! Be safe, warm, and love the ones you love!
Damn you egg nog!
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