(Later on, we'll
perspire as we dream by the fire.) Dec. 20, 2014
Dear _______,
Ho! Ho! Ho! I'm Santa
Claus & I better not have seen your name on the naughty list this year.
Okay, it's not really Santa Claus, it's me, J. Guy. Sorry I tricked you, but I
get so full of Christmas spirit this time of year & this year, we're
going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby danced with
Danny Kaye. Please be good children, have sweet dreams of sugar plums &
toy soldiers & always remember what my mother told me when I was a
little boy, 8-years-old: "If you don't straighten up, you're gonna get
reindeer shit in your stocking."
Oh my, and what music am
I listening to now? "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" from the Nutcracker Suite. Little ballerina pas de deux of the sugar plum
fairy who came and hit the streets looking for soul food and a place to eat. My
favorite part is Tchaikovsky's line about "all the colored girls go doo
doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo."
It's been a busy year,
having reached the milestone of my 200th blog and working as a foreign
correspondent covering the "situation" in Syria for which I won the
Holbrook-Grayson Award for Excellence in Investigative Journalism.
Unfortunately, I had to cancel my appearance on Fresh Air with Teri Gross, but I talked to Teri about it at Pope Francis's
mission, backstage at the Patti Smith concert. Teri and I are good.
The Guy family hung out with our friend, Kirk Cameron at the Duggar Family wedding. It was so beautiful the way Ben and Jessica reserved their first kiss for the altar. Cockadoodie on all those dirty bird liberals who said the picture looked like "Christian porn." What did JimBob mean when he said he shot a quiverfull inside Michelle's clown car?
Our son, Max, is
thriving as a Boy Scout, diligently working to earn merit badges and helping
little old ladies across the street. Also, he's quite adept at killing Nazis,
while playing Call of Duty. He is now employed as a paper boy, for which he is
earning rave reviews. While spending a bit of his paycheck on games, the bulk
of it, he puts away in the bank "for college" as he aspires to
develop video games, much like the pot smokers from the brilliant film comedy, Grandma's Boy.
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Gabby, our strong-willed
little girl, begs us to visit our Humanitarian/Filmmaker friends in California,
the Kennys, so we can go to Disneyland again. Gabby has mild asthma and during
one nighttime attack said,
"I'm Big Wheezy." Her new nickname - Big Wheezy, which would be a
good name, should she ever embark on a career with the Mafia. Gabby keeps
little drawings and stories in book she wrote entitled, "crap i
made." Also, Gabby has learned how to pick the door lock when her mom is
on the toilet.
And speaking of her mom,
my lovely wife, Maria, got enraged a bit while Christmas shopping at JCPenney.
A woman with a "smoker's face" cut her off in line with her shopping
cart and Marie got more irate than a Tea Partier staring at a black baby Jesus.
Sitting behind the wheel of our family Santa Fe, Maria waited. The woman exited
the front door. "YOU OLD BITCH!!" Maria shouted and sped off. I was mortified. "Would Santa Claus do that?" I asked. I do hope the YouTube video doesn't ruin
Maria's chances of being appointed to a vacant seat on city council.
Earlier this year while
the children were on spring break, we took a family vacation to Philadelphia
and visited Maria's cousins - the twins, Dennis and DeAndra. They own a lovely Irish
establishment called Paddy's Pub. There was a water stain image of the Virgin
Mary and a woman known as "The Waitress."
 |
| Maria & me |
And in other family
news, there is Maria's uncle Bart. You see, Uncle Bart weighs around 375 pounds
and his prodigious buttocks have left severe indentations on couches &
recliners, some of which have broken under the weight of his corpulence. Anyhow,
he'd pass these gross old man farts & we'd always laugh about the long
trail these bursts of intestinal gas had to travel to exit the sphincter
feature of his body. But it's not funny anymore. Uncle Bart had a disease of
the colon this year and since your colon is related to farting, one musn't
laugh. Uncle Bart had Hirschsprung Disease, a condition of blockage in which
the nerves needed to allow passage of bowel contents are missing. We were
afraid Uncle Bart would die like that guy in the episode of The Sopranos, who had a heart attack while sitting on the crapper of the Bada
Bing Club. The good news is Uncle Bart is doing much better since the surgery.
He endured insensitive fat shaming from his doctor, but he is on a gluten free
diet now, which can majorly decrease the odor and frequency of one's intestinal
gasses.
Also in the family,
Maria's grandpa's cousin died, much like a drowning rat would if it fell into
an uncovered bat of Christmas pudding sauce.
 |
| Mom, Max, me, Gabby |
Peace, joy &
remember I Am America and so can YOU
J. Guy
P.S. I remember
Christmas as a little child circa 1972 watching a children's TV Christmas
special about the little drummer boy. It was nice and he bore a resemblance to
Damien, the demon child from The Omen.
Well, it had to happen
sometime. Our good friend Dave Letterman is retiring & Darlene Love's
annual performances of "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" on the
Letterman show will be a thing of the past. Here's a good place to end it.
Thank you, Dave, Darlene, Paul & everybody.
