A Christmas Letter

The Year In Review: 2008

Riding along in my automobile… my baby beside me at the wheel…croozin’ and playin’ the radio… with no particular place to go…

Ain’t that like life? Driving around aimlessly, looking for direction? When you got it, you’re on top of the charts. When you don’t, you’re looking through peepholes. Apparently, life is a bowl of Chuck Berries.

Anyway, how about we check up on the staff?

Phil Lederhosen from work (you remember Phil, don’t you?) is still without a girlfriend since Faith Gobblebottom left him almost two years ago. So lonely has he become that I hear he invites Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses into his home for company. Actually, what I heard is that he’s been ‘jewing’ them down on the terms of conversion. What do you offer in an afterlife? How are you on the absolution of sins? What a salesman, that Phil. He’ll be employee of the month again in no time.

***(Side thought. If you’re a Jehovah’s Witness and there’s only going to be 144,000 of you in Heaven, why continue to recruit? Might be time to start thinning the flock.)

Jimmy Snits has finally wrapped up his probation for the ‘truck blind’ (poaching) incident, and it looks like he’ll face no charges in the death and backyard burial of Mr. Garland, his roommate (sort of). He’s found himself a new love to replace that horrible Truxtop girl. You might have seen his girlfriend, Ginny Zeanna, on the news. She’s the girl that got adopted by her foster parents and then found out that the mom is really her birth mother. Growing up, she’d always been told her mother was killed in a gossip accident out at Rumor’s Mill. The truth was that her mother lost custody when she tried to trade Ginny in for a ‘quieter baby doll’ at a ‘Toys for Tots’ event. Jimmy really likes her and she keeps a tidy home and things seem to be going well. I’d say the one drawback is Ginny’s serious separation anxiety (probably from her family situation). She starts chewing on the furniture if he’s away too long. Literally. How’s that for a life, Jimmy’s finally happy at home, but he can never leave. Ever. Until one of them dies.

Burka Laconic and Tommy O’Sullen got the band back together. Why, I don’t know. They’re still no damn good. But the glamour of being a rock star calls and who am I to judge. I know Burka always liked wearing the spandex and maybe this is the best way to go about it. Weirdo. That’s probably to be expected when your parents are a couple of drunks. I think the word they use is ‘inebriants’, whatever. To be fair, Froby says he and Mung are trying to clean up their acts. Right now they’ve downsized from full fifths to those little airplane bottles or ‘boozelets’ as they call them. Mung says that they only get a ‘little drunk’ this way. This is going to be a long 12 steps to sobriety.

Another of the Goth-Irish boys next door is getting ready to move on. Tommy’s younger brother, Kevin O’Sullen, has decided to pursue a career as an actor. Kinda. He wants to be a professional wrestler: The Mighty Umlaut, Ultimate Gammarian. Too much brains, not enough smarts. All those years jumping off the roof, ladders, tables and chairs have finally caught up with him and he’s gone soft in the head. His finishing move is called the Onomatopoeia and it is every bit as clumsy as it sounds. So far, Kevin has hooked up with a black guy willing to play the Irish angle he’s willing to abandon. So, what’s a black dude in a kilt call himself in the ring, you ask? Leprecon? Sam Hain? Nope, try this, ‘The Bro-gue’. Aye, lassie, ‘tis straight up awfoul.

O’rangello and her husband, Johnny Occupado, celebrated their first anniversary this year. Since no one gave them more than six months, we’ll start a new pool in February. All the money from the first pool will be put into a college fund for the kids (like that’ll ever happen) or maybe a pizza party. On a more positive note, O’rangello’s oldest, Too Sad, finally said his first words. For those of you keeping score at home, the boy is four, almost five. Johnny says that’s no big deal, Einstein didn’t speak until he was two, and “…he invented astrology”. Ummm…okay. While still waters do run deep, not speaking until you’re 5 has less to do with genius and more to do with a balanced diet of paint chips and pesticides. The pizza party will probably be around the Fourth of July. Details to follow.

And, in case you were wondering, Too Sad’s first word was ‘fartbunny’.

The Gitwel girls, Nooter and Baden, have found themselves a new sugar daddy since their real daddy disowned them. Doc’s still pretty mad after the Feds took down the girl’s website, confiscated all their computers, and interrogated him about underaged, adult-orientated, internet content for a couple of days. After the dust settled, he threw them out. They bounced around the neighborhood for a while, until they landed on their feet (or backs) at Batch Calwood’s place. His real name is Bachelor, by the way. He’s one of those aptly named guys, like Shooter, Hunter, or Dick. He’s been on his own since his wife left him for the circus. She didn’t join or anything, she just went one night and never came back. Apparently, she tours with them now, moving from town to town and clown to clown. No, it’s not much of a life. Seems a lot more like a punishment for past sins, you know, like feasting on orphans in a previous life.

Uncle Ibid and Aunt Etal will be coming through for the holidays on their annual trek to Polyester. Ibid went and had the right organ bypassed finally (remember the spleen thing?) and has lost a ton of weight. Looks good. Says it’s the best procedure he’s ever had twice. Etal say’s she’s thinking of having it done herself, which makes no sense since she weighs all of 100 pounds soaking wet and holding 100 pounds. Unfortunately, there may be no stopping her. If everyone’s doing it, Etal has to, too.

I almost forgot (blocked out) that O’rangello and Johnny had their first child together and that it was a girl they named ‘Swauv’eh’. They told me it was Proctor for ‘gamble’ but I know they have that wrong. I think it’s Unilever for ‘quit humping, you dumbf**ks’. Maybe if she didn’t have a kid every freaking year I’d be able to keep up. Swauv’eh, O’rangello, swauv’eh.

Anyway. I’m off to do a little Chriskwanzanakah shopping, myself. Figure I’ll skim a little off the casino/bingo proceeds and treat everyone to something nice this year. I think I’m going to get gift cards to that new store over on Berkeley Blvd., Schrödinger’s. Whenever you spend over a certain amount, they let you reach into ‘Schrödinger’s Cache’ for a bonus gift. Sometimes it’s fabulous, sometimes it’s not, and sometimes, I guess, it’s both. Thing is, you don’t know which until you open the box. Great gimmick. Who thinks of these things?

And with that, I’m truly done. So until next year, may you always have a particular place to go, or, as the Unilevers say…

Swauv’eh.

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