Merry Christmasssssssssss..........

I'm so full of the xmas bodily fluids that I have to erupt. I shall erupt, albeit symbolically, in your mailbox. Or, it could be a "malebox," as only a life-sized envelope could encompass the image of me and Oscar Wilde on horseback, yelling out, "Ho Ho Ho, you little bastards."

This mountain's back ain't broke. The sheep have some questions, though.

You show me Oscar Wilde on a horse, and I'll show you a Santa like my grandfather. Only smaller. And gayer.

I still remember those times when my grandfather would stumble in, dressed like Santa, and shout, "Ho Ho Ho, you little bastards!" That's how I knew it was grandfather, and not the real Santa. Well, his shouts and the whiskey on his breath. Still, I knew it was Grandpa.

And he'd hurl the sack across the room, and we'd duck, as usual, and hopefully, the power of Jesus' "inert objects concealed in a canvas sack" would evade our heads, for that year. Brain injuries were reserved for the New Year celebrations -- at least in my family.

And then Grandpa would open his own present (I think he may have pretended that someone else in the family bought it for him), a fifth of whiskey, and invite me onto the porch. How could I refuse, after the gift of a carton of cigarettes. I mean the good ones. Kools. Menthols. Very festive. Very fitting around the "green and red" typical décor you can't help but run into hereabouts, this time of year.

And he'd ask me, "How 'bout a bite of the ole 'Christmas' turkey?"

I'd say, "Sure, Granddad," my eyes aglow with innocence, yet again. I guess that under some circumstances, one can regain his or her innocence. Like that time I went over a year without sex. Or, at least sex without another person. I think it should be a law that if you go a year without sex, you can reclaim your virginity in a court of law.

It's not that I want to reclaim my virginity, it's that I'd wanna lose it in a court of law on top of a lawyer. A cute little red-haired lawyer with her shapely legs wrapped around my ass.

Back to xmas.

And Granddad would pour us a glass of turkey. Wild Turkey. And then we'd light up, and the smoke would make the lights around the porch all glow and stuff, and then he'd lean over and whisper, "There's more to life than sex. There's the cigarette right after."

And we'd laugh so hard that at least one of us would fall out of our chair. Usually, it was Grandpa. But one year, I hit the ground first. That was the year that I became a man in Grandpa's eyes.

And I asked him, "What's Santa gonna bring me for Christmas this year?"

He replied, "Nothing! Santa heard how bad you were this year. You were so bad that he decided to kill himself. There will be no Christmas this year, because of you, you little bastard."

And then he handed me another drink. And lit my cigarette.

I'll always love my grandfather.

Later,

AJ