See, Holly? I'm Tryin Here.
If you’ve ever had the misfortune of chewing on a Ferrero Rocher or sinned against the gods so heinously as to be forced to actually swallow the fucker, then you know a misery I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Well, maybe select few but it’s a short list. My first encounter with what I now call “Shit Balls” was when Barker brought some back with him after our first Christmas in college. I remember Andy and Shane didn’t seem to care. Come to think of it Nathaniel probably brought them down because whoever gave them to him couldn’t stand them either. I imagine it was one of those cliché “pass the fruitcake”-type things you see on sitcoms each year. I look at what goes in them, factor in Italy’s crushing victory over France at the World Cup, and still can’t figure out why I can’t stomach them.
Long story short, I’ll never forget the vile shit-taste of those things and renew my vow to avoid them like meatloaf, tofu, and ADPi.
Anyway, the point of all that was to remind you (*clang* as *ring* if *jingle* there *jangle* was *ding* a *ping* chance *annoying* you *motherfuckersoutsideeverygoddamnstore* could *justfuckingSTOP* forget *bling*) that it’s Christmas time and that I’m always irritable this time of year. You need some reasons why? Just read my post from last year. Much of it is as true today as it was then. If you don’t know how things have changed, you haven’t been paying attention and need to either call me and “catch up” or simply admit that you don’t give a shit and get fuckin. I don’t need to hear you do it - just do it.
I went to Florida for a few days and it was fun. I’ll recount all the sexy/nonsexy details later. Then again, look at the immediately preceding post and you can see just how far a promise I make here will get you.
So I'll keep it simple and vague.
There is a lot going on even if my days aren’t filled with activities that produce a measurable result. There’s stuff gong on “up stairs,” if you’ll bother to catch my meaning. Just because I’m not running to my keyboard every time a synapse fires off it doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Maybe I just don’t want to waste your precious interweb experience by whining. Ya ever think of that? No. No you didn't.
Like I said, Christmas is crashing down all around us and I’m feeling about as cheerful as an abused pit-bull. So don’t let my moping ruin your fun. Take a good look and see why I wouldn’t have been much fun at Erin’s tonight. Consider it my (and mostly my employers’) gift to you.
I miss you all like a Pat Robertson misses the camera after a long day of filming Satanic Children's Bukkake…
I meant when he gets home from work. Like the 700 Club.
Silly me. They're so similar.
I’m going to Hell.