Mmmm. Hmmm. Fat Daddy Rhon the Cherub wearing the Santa hat… gonna find out who been naughty or nice. Yeahhhh… I sho’ got some switches for the naughty little grrrls.
See, I have carted around the same ol’ raggedy-ass hot glued Christmas decorations in broke ass old boxes for like 20 years. Why? Because I am a cheap-ass, and also because I am kinda sentimetal.
Every year, Christine’s round lil’ face lights up and she says, “Hey, can we get new stuff for the tree?” But Daddy says, “We already have stuff for the tree, baby” and then my babygrrl makes The Bratty Face. (You know how she do.) And then I huff and puff out in my crowded storage shed, and soon all that crap gets strewn over the living room, and I get annoyed as hell with the task of it.
This year, there is a 700 pound bed frame blocking my storage room, and my garage is a mess. My pinchfist ways are but a feather on the scale with my fear and loathing of that garage. So… embracing my duty as an American consumer, I tied some reindeer horns on the pickup truck, put on my camouflage pants and my backwards cap, and over the fields I go… laughing all the way. I went hunting for holiday bargains!
My inner Liberace was free… free at last. With ultra-faggy, florid thoughts of rococo and sugar plums dancing in my head, I found the prettiest things — gold plastic feathers and sparkly white faux pine cones, and a homosexual Santa dressed in what looks like virgin’s wedding gown. I found these little turtledoves with fluffy white feathers shoved up their asses, shimmering glass icicles, and rolls of gilded ribbon. Do you know they now have these pre-lit trees that fold up like an umbrella?
Okay, I will admit it! I love Christmas! Everything resplendent with gold and silver, opulent to my queer eye. Yes! I love giving gifts! I even buy Christmas gifts in July. I love making a list and checking it twice! I even love Elvis singing Blue Christmas, and Dolly Parton singing about hard candy. I love my Mom’s fruitcake, soaked with so much liquor; you need to chase it with salt and a lime. I love the the auto-justification for sheer ornamentation, the flam, the glam, all the rich jewel tones of the holidays. Eggnog don’t taste so much like raw eggs when served in a sliver-plated punch bowl, now does it? Mostly, I love the cheesy notion of good tidings of great joy.
(Bite me, fuckas. I said I was sentimental and trynna to make merry over here.)
Yes, I just wanted to announce that there is once again happy sappy shiny crap strewn all over the living room, And it is beginning to look a lot Christmas!
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