How Santa Will Make My Son An Episode Of Intervention

It’s the holidays!

And you know how I know?

Because everyone’s becoming just a bit more of an asshole than they normally are. Even the kids! Hell, the dog has even gotten into the holiday spirit by gnawing on the strap of my man-purse I carry to work every day.

He’s never done that before!

Ahhh the holidays. When people pepper-spray you for buying video games at half-price at a Wal-Mart instead of doing what you should normally do at Wal-Mart….bring your best camera and search for great pictures to upload to www.peopleofwalmart.com.

I found a catalogue over Thanksgiving weekend the daughter had taken a liking to. Upon opening it I thought, “oh cool, she’s circled a few things in……oh…oh she’s circled everything in here.”

The son is still an incredibly devoted believer in Santa. Which sucks for two reasons…

1) It’s gonna break his heart and be rough as hell on him the day he finds out that fat bastard is really his MILF mom tossing extra un-wrapped gifts under the tree late at night while his drunk dad stands naked next to her whispering loudly, “just look at it…I’m making it look like helicopter blades!!”

I can’t help but see an episode of Intervention 20 years from now when my son’s all cracked-out, crying on national TV saying his addiction started when he learned Santa wasn’t real.

2) He thinks he can get whatever in the hell he wants. All “I gotta do is ask Santa!”

It’s like a huge middle finger being jammed in our faces when the boy asks for an iPhone, we rightfully say no, and he responds with that. It makes me want to out Santa right then and there.

But then we wouldn’t get away with my favorite phrase which keeps him in line, “really? You’re gonna give your sister a swirly in that toilet while Santa’s watching? Wow man…you’ve got balls of steel.”

Then there comes the wife. I procrastinate. I’ll occasionally look at commercials showing other rock-star husbands blowing the socks off their wife with cars, jewelry, vacuum cleaners and more. I can’t afford a new car, the wife sells all the jewelry I buy her and I might as well cut my own throat before buying her a vacuum cleaner.

So I wait. And wait.

And wait.

Until a couple days before Christmas and decide to fight the crowds. Bitching the whole time about finding no place to park, the long lines waiting to check out and the check-out ladies being rude because I had the gall to actually purchase something from them today.

I bitch about not being thanked as I hold the door for some jack-wad whose arms were full and mumble angrily to myself as I get stuck in endless shopping traffic.

And it’s at that last stoplight that I realize….the holidays and I need each other. Like my future cracked-out son needs his drugs, I need the holidays to be angry about something. I thrive off the rush of anger that I got on December 22 and 23 when I’m last-second-shopping for my wife. It makes me feel alive. It makes me…

LOVE THE HOLIDAYS!!!

A Pictorial Look Back

I put this picture on Twitter the other day of the girl rocking out like it’s 1983, and it got me thinking.

I should take a walk back in time through pictures I’ve tossed on Twitter over the past year. I enjoy whipping-out the ole phone camera from time to time in the hopes I’ll catch an unforgettable moment, and toss it on TwitPic.

So, I did just that…I dug through the vaults and now I give you, an assemblage of pictures I’ve snapped and thrown on Twitpic over the past 365 days, complete with commentary:

I volunteer every Monday in my daughter’s kindergarten class. Her “boyfriend” always spends those days drawing thought-provoking pictures of me such as this. His pictures make me cry at night….

Hell yes I played Santa for a friends’ family holiday party!

One of many reasons I can’t wait until the summer. Looong bike rides with the boy along the river.

Sometimes you just have to step outside the box when it comes to requesting a little nookie-time with the wifey.

Unloading chess-jedi-mindtrick-knowledge on the boy…just incase chess becomes a multi-billion-dollar-a-year industry.

And if chess doesn’t work, I’m falling back on roller-derby with my bad-ass daughter!!! Bring daddy the paycheck!!!

Yes, it’s true. Jesus was a tow-truck driver before he became…well..Jesus. I still regret not buying this damn painting from the Antique store.

One of many awesome notes the boy and I pass back and forth every day through his lunch box.

Fuck yeah Pink Ducky got praised by random Spider-dudes in downtown Chicago.

Last but not least, the absolute love of my life on her 36^th birthday.

Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

Tomorrow at 5 a.m. our lovely, adoring, sweet little family will sleepily pile into the over-stuffed car and head south from Chicago to North Carolina for Christmas.

Presents will be packed amongst suite cases, games, and high hopes that Santa will make this THE most bestest Christmas EVER!

Me? I’ll be in the driver seat clutching a large cup of joe looking at the open road thinking “bring it bitch! Let’s do this.” And, I’ll have full intent of making the trip in no less than 14 hours.

Come hell or high water, this car will drive into the in-laws’ driveway by 7 p.m.

Want to make a bet? No?

Well, here’s something you can bet on!

The Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

1) Grayson: “Macy, stop looking at me. Stop. STOP!!!! Mommy…Macy’s looking at me!!! Can we leave her at the next McDonalds we pass?

2) Macy: “Ewwwww….what’s that smell? Eww…skunk.”

Wife: “No dear…it’s your father.”

3) Me: “So, I says to the guy… ‘that’s what she said.’ Hahahahahahaha”

Wife: “honey, I think you’ve had enough coffee for now, mmmkay?”

4) Grayson: “Mommy can you hear this bell ring? If you can it means you ‘Believe’ in Santa.

Wife: “Yes, yes I can.”

Grayson: “Daddy, can you? Daddy? DADDY!!?”

Me: “I believe in the fact that Indiana is the worst state to ever drive the fu..”

Wife: “STOP! No cursing sweetie. No cursing.”

5) Grayson: “Daddy, is it true that Justin Bieber is a horrible singer and just a pawn of a major music corporation to sell a well packaged, innocent looking young man singing over-produced music to the mass general public in an effort to get rich quick?”

Me: “I love you Grayson. I really really love you.”

6) Wife: “HONEY!!! WATCH THE ROAD!!!  You can Tweet later!!”

7) Grayson: “Daddy I have to go boom boom!”

Five minutes after we stopped for Grayson to go boom boom:

Macy: “Daddy, I have to go boom boom.”

8) Macy: “Mommy, where do babies come from?”

Grayson: “Yeah, good question. Where do they come from?”

Me: “Wow…that IS a good question. Honey, where do babies come from?”

9) Wife: “Oh look, a town named Grayson! Let’s stop!”

Grayson: “Really?!!! Cool, yeah let’s stop!!”

Me: “Next person that speaks dies. It’s that simple. Words come out of your mouth and you stop living. Less speaky, more sleepy!!”

10) Grayson: “Daddy? Where is mommy?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Grayson: “She’s not in the car daddy. I just woke up and she’s not in the car. Where is she?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It should really be a fun trip! Happy Holidays readers!



I Play Fake Santa & Survive

So, last week I was asked/told by a friend of ours that I would be playing “Santa” at her family’s holiday party.

“I talked to your wife and we both agreed you’d be terrific playing Santa at my family’s holiday party. You’ll be so good and the kids will love it. I’ll bring the suit by your house so you can make sure it fits. You’re the best, thank you!”

That’s pretty much how the conversation went as she hopped in her car and drove away.

A day later I tried the suit on and scared the ever-loving-shit out of my kids by walking downstairs sporting the Santa threads.

I then carefully broke it to them that I was to play Santa at a party this weekend and they have to be super secretive about it.

Reluctantly they agreed.

Party day arrives. We cruise into the shindig. The wife is scanning the room for a coat room while I’m in desperate search of anything with alcohol in it.

A few glasses of wine later it’s Santa time! 

I head down to a 1950s tiny little backroom bathroom to make my epic transformation. I ask the wife to come with me so she can give me final touches.

And, of course the daughter comes with us because she’s attached to the wife at the hip.

I’m fairly confident our daughter is scarred for life after watching her daddy slowly turn into the Christmas fat guy.

But she did a good job documenting everything on camera.

Like…me putting my fake boot cover thingies on.

The wife giving me a final prep.

And the scarring picture of all…mommy kissing Santa!

And finally!!! I was ready. (side note…the wife took this picture, not my daughter so please don’t come after me with a pitchfork.)

I bust-up to the scene and the kids are actually buying it!! No one’s kicking me in the shin or farting on my knee.

It all goes kinda well.

Even both my kids fake it really well!

Afterwards the boy informed me that when he was sitting on my lap and put his arm behind me “your back was really sweaty and gross.”

If that’s the worst thing that happened….I’ll take it.

Will I ever play Santa again? Hell no…but I’m glad I did it. At least my daughter was the only child traumatized from the entire event.

A Day In The Life Of Our Elf On The Shelf

Until a couple weeks ago I had no damn clue what an Elf on a Shelf even was.

Once I found out I figured, holy-leverage-over-the-kids’-awful-behavior-patterns-recently, it’s time for me to partake!

So, I ran out, bought the little shelf-bastard, and made it known “kids…Santa’s watching!!”

Then I kinda gave it no thought. Until a day ago when I noticed the little bastard wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, there was a note that read, “I can’t take it anymore…I…I just can’t!! Merry Christmas sickos!”

Scratching my head and trying to put the puzzle pieces together I noticed the dog chewing a tiny little book.

I immediately ran over and yelled, “DROP!!!”

Picking-up the drool-drenched book I immediately began to flip through it and quickly realized it was the Elf on the Shelf’s one day diary of his time in our house. In fact, he didn’t even make it a full day.

Here’s how it read:

Day 1. 5:13 a.m.

Dear Santa…did I really just see what I thought I saw. The dad just came downstairs, buck-naked, made a cup of coffee, got on the computer to announce he was going to go for a run then walked by me expelling some of the most horrific air ever!

Where are the happy children?

Day 1. 6:42 a.m.

“Drop, drop…DROP me damn it!!! He said ‘DROP!!’ Do what your master says and drop me!!!” That’s what I would have yelled at the dog if we were allowed to talk.

I’M NOT A PUPPET you stupid dog…..I’m an extension of Santa damn it!!!

Day 1 8:00 a.m.

OK, the boy’s gone to school and it’s just me and the daughter.

Day 1 8:11 a.m.

Elf on the Shelf does not get touched or dressed up for a tea party with Barbie!!!! Didn’t these rat-bastards read the book about me?!!! OK…sorry..I should not have spoken that way. I’m sorry Santa.

Day 1 10:42 a.m.

Awwww…the daughter has made me her “BFF.” She’s such a sweetie. Love little girls at this age.

Day 1 10:58 a.m.

I’m going to throw-up. Apparently the daughter picks random toy “best friends” to join her when going “boom boom” on the toilet.

How can something so tiny and innocent create smells so horrific?!!!?

Day 1 12:02 p.m.

Second kid’s gone to school. The two adults are working in their separate at-home offices. Dog is asleep. I’m so….so very exhausted.

This job seemed so much more glorious on the commercials and in the brochures.

Day 1 1:46 p.m.

Hey, very cool. Right on! The husband seems to be giving me a tour of the house! I shouldn’t have complained so quickly!

Day 1 1:48 p.m.

Hey, here’s the bedroom. Nice…they have a small, but pretty cool bedroom! I like it.

Day 1 1:49 p.m.

Wait!!! Wait!!! No!!!

The husband just told the wife, “hey, let’s see what Santa thinks of an afternoon quicky!”

Why are they doing this with me on the pillow next to them? Why…WHY!!!?

Day 1 1:53 p.m.

OK, that was sad. Really? Four minutes? Santa, I know what this guy wants for Christmas.

Day 1 2:01 p.m.

Do I look like a post-sex teddy bear to snuggle with? Oh you bad-breathed, bearded sicko…I want my mommy.

Day 1 2:21 p.m.

He finally woke up to shower and left me here on the bed and guess what? Yeah…the cat’s cleaning me like I’m some damn kitten.

FUCK YOU SANTA…FUCK YOU!!!

Day 1 2:34 p.m.

I feel so dirty. All I want to do it strip naked and cry in a warm shower.

Day 1 3:11 p.m.

I think I passed out for a while. But now, I’m back on my shelf.

That was some horrific dream I just had.

Day 1 3:13 p.m.

Where in the hell is my left leg and why can’t I see out of my right eye? It wasn’t a dream was it!!! Oh my dear lord the dog is chewing on my detached leg. I think I’m going to be sick…

Day 1 4:20 p.m.

Hey, quick question.

What is a bowl and why would the husband be asking the wife if she thinks “the elf on the shelf could possibly work as a make-shift bowl?”

Day 1 4:21 p.m.

Just Googled “bowl” on the elf iPhone. I’m fucking outta here!!!!

____________________________________________

And that’s it. That was all he wrote.

We’ll miss that little bastard. He was fun while we had him.

And hey, if you make it to the pole, tell the bearded fat man I want an iPhone.

Come on…I’ve been good this year…hook a brother up!!

Rock on Mr. Elf On The Shelf. We’ll always have your leg to remember you by.