Well thank goodness some thing’s never change.
The Creek, as we like to call it, was a festive string of $2 lights and blow-up snowmen lying flat in somebody’s yard. Everywhere you looked there was a carload of mamanem’s and screaming younguns headed to Wal-Mart for that last-minute gift, not to exceed $20, in case somebody showed up at the house that you had otherwise forgot to put on the list.
I was talking to my good friend and confidant Pernell Dupree around noon time on Christmas Day. Pernell was not his usual happy-go-lucky self.
“What’s the matter Perney?” I asked. “You seem kinda down man. It’s Christmas and everybody is supposed to be happy and jolly and gay. And when I say gay, I don’t mean anything but happy, jolly and you know.”
Pernell just looked at me and sighed a long heavy sigh and said, “I got a sweater for Christmas, but I wanted a screamer.”
The more I talked to Pernell the better I felt about my personal seasonal experience. Everything went my way. Thanks to all of the worldwide market disasters the sale price for happiness was right down my alley. I bought a Salad Shooter for my wife for halfprice and some isotonic slippers and a bag of worry-be-gone for myself. For the first time in years my credit card didn’t puke.
George may have got the rest of you $450 billion in debt, but I am rolling. I filled up my truck with gas and it only cost me a ‘fiddy’ dollar bill.
Christmas was especially fun for me this year because I’ve been letting my beard grow since the Fourth of July and I looked a lot like Santa. As a matter of fact, I was telling all the little kids that my name was St. Vicolass, brother to the real deal.
All dressed up in red I took up residence in front of Bubba’s Quick Stop in downtown Crescent and let all the little McIntosh marsh babies sit on my knee and tell me what they wanted for Christmas.
It was cool as it could possibly be until one of the little monsters jumped up and started cussing a blue streak. I’ve never heard anything like it, except maybe the time LaShayShay Flapp lost the Miss Flounder Creek beauty pageant to a skinny little white girl named Tiffany Diamond.
But I digress.
When I asked the little tyrant what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas he said, “I want a &^%^**&^ bicycle, and I want a $%^#& X-Box 360, and I want a *&%** BB gun.”
The little boy’s mother said, “I don’t know what to do about the way this child talks. We’ve tried everything but he keeps right on cussing like a sailor. What should I do Santa?”
I said, “I’ll tell you what I would do. When he wakes up on Christmas morning all he would find under the tree would be a pile of dog poop.”
I saw the mom the day after Christmas and she said she had taken my advice but it didn’t work. She went on to tell me that when the little boy went to the tree, he looked under it and then ran out to the garage, then upstairs and looked under the bed. He then ran to the kitchen and rummaged through all of the cabinets, and when he was exhausted he plopped down on the couch.
“Well what did Santa bring you?” the mother asked.
The little boy looked at her and said, “I think he brought me a puppy, but I can’t find the little %$##@&”.
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and whatever you choose to celebrate, I hope it brings a prosperous New Year.
Now let’s all sing it loud:
“May your day’s be merry and bright, and may all your children be (ah) bright also.
The Creek, as we like to call it, was a festive string of $2 lights and blow-up snowmen lying flat in somebody’s yard. Everywhere you looked there was a carload of mamanem’s and screaming younguns headed to Wal-Mart for that last-minute gift, not to exceed $20, in case somebody showed up at the house that you had otherwise forgot to put on the list.
I was talking to my good friend and confidant Pernell Dupree around noon time on Christmas Day. Pernell was not his usual happy-go-lucky self.
“What’s the matter Perney?” I asked. “You seem kinda down man. It’s Christmas and everybody is supposed to be happy and jolly and gay. And when I say gay, I don’t mean anything but happy, jolly and you know.”
Pernell just looked at me and sighed a long heavy sigh and said, “I got a sweater for Christmas, but I wanted a screamer.”
The more I talked to Pernell the better I felt about my personal seasonal experience. Everything went my way. Thanks to all of the worldwide market disasters the sale price for happiness was right down my alley. I bought a Salad Shooter for my wife for halfprice and some isotonic slippers and a bag of worry-be-gone for myself. For the first time in years my credit card didn’t puke.
George may have got the rest of you $450 billion in debt, but I am rolling. I filled up my truck with gas and it only cost me a ‘fiddy’ dollar bill.
Christmas was especially fun for me this year because I’ve been letting my beard grow since the Fourth of July and I looked a lot like Santa. As a matter of fact, I was telling all the little kids that my name was St. Vicolass, brother to the real deal.
All dressed up in red I took up residence in front of Bubba’s Quick Stop in downtown Crescent and let all the little McIntosh marsh babies sit on my knee and tell me what they wanted for Christmas.
It was cool as it could possibly be until one of the little monsters jumped up and started cussing a blue streak. I’ve never heard anything like it, except maybe the time LaShayShay Flapp lost the Miss Flounder Creek beauty pageant to a skinny little white girl named Tiffany Diamond.
But I digress.
When I asked the little tyrant what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas he said, “I want a &^%^**&^ bicycle, and I want a $%^#& X-Box 360, and I want a *&%** BB gun.”
The little boy’s mother said, “I don’t know what to do about the way this child talks. We’ve tried everything but he keeps right on cussing like a sailor. What should I do Santa?”
I said, “I’ll tell you what I would do. When he wakes up on Christmas morning all he would find under the tree would be a pile of dog poop.”
I saw the mom the day after Christmas and she said she had taken my advice but it didn’t work. She went on to tell me that when the little boy went to the tree, he looked under it and then ran out to the garage, then upstairs and looked under the bed. He then ran to the kitchen and rummaged through all of the cabinets, and when he was exhausted he plopped down on the couch.
“Well what did Santa bring you?” the mother asked.
The little boy looked at her and said, “I think he brought me a puppy, but I can’t find the little %$##@&”.
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and whatever you choose to celebrate, I hope it brings a prosperous New Year.
Now let’s all sing it loud:
“May your day’s be merry and bright, and may all your children be (ah) bright also.