("I don't know if there'll be snow but have a cup of beer.")
Dear ______________,
Well hello finally. Didn't think I'd get around to the old Christmas letter this year, did you? Thought ol' J. Guy's through with blogging. Probably just focusing on his job. (I have to laugh at that one.) It's true my job as a nationally published writer has had me busy meeting movie stars and going to places like Gibraltar near Spain. No it ain't easy, but I always find time for my blogger fans (all five of you) and I always catch the gay yuletide cheer of Christmas and write about it.
Above, you will find a picture of me with Eugenie Bondurant (Tigris in Hunger Games: Mocking Jay 2). I have first-hand knowledge that she's a lovely, friendly person. Totally non-pretentious. Sorry I don't have a picture from my meeting with Jennifer Lawrence. Yes, Ms. Lawrence wanted to kiss me as she admitted to doing with her co-star Liam Hemsworth so I had to tell her I'm married.
Nothing says I love you like giving someone a material gift at Christmastime. Remember that classic holiday movie, A Christmas Story where Ralphie wanted a Red Ryder shotgun? Well how 'bout buying someone you love a big, huge assault rifle? As we celebrate our Dear Savior's birth this year, let's remember that the answer to these isolated incidents of gun violence where PEOPLE (not guns) kill people is more guns.
Lock and load those guns Christian soldiers because there's a War on Christmas. Can you believe how Starbucks removed from their cups the traditional Christian Christmas symbols like snowmen, Christmas trees, Santa and toy soldiers? (All that stuff about them coming from Druids is bullshit. Ask Kirk Cameron.) Would you believe some non-Christian smart alec said to me, "Maybe you'd like Starbucks to go back to their original design where the mermaid bore her bare breasts?"
The subject of body parts not to be seen in public reminds me of my good friend, LA filmmaker Mark Kenny, a WSU graduate like myself. Mark is very concerned about men's health. Every January when it's Men's Health Month, he posts invaluable information on Facebook about stuff like reducing the risk of testicular and prostate cancer. But would you believe that a few years ago some prude reported Mark to Facebook for showing a life-like drawing of a penis and testicles.
Here is what Mark wrote on Facebook:
Here is what Mark wrote on Facebook:
"10 more days till Men's Health Awareness Month, where I honor the coward, prick "friend" that, years-ago, anonymously reported one of my posts as pornographic to Facebook. Now, every year in January, I fill my Timeline with testicles and penises for educational purposes... like, "this is what a dick looks like," and other informative posts." (That's one thing to appreciate about Mark. Not only is he a talented producer/director/film editor. He'll also show you what a dick looks like.)
"I hope to eradicate the Puritanical tyranny that still exists in modern society," Mark continued. "It's the 21st century. Please speak openly about penises and vaginas... and don't freak out if you see one or two, especially if they are doing what the fuck they were made for."
OMG! He's going to show pictures of penises and vaginas doing what the fuck they were made for , which is most prominently, well...My grandma is on Facebook. Okay, actually she isn't. Neither grandma is because they're dead. But if they were alive, I bet they'd be playing bingo on social media. Everyone else's grandma is.
Speaking of sex, I decided to talk to my 14-year-old son, Max, about it. We were in the car, driving to a Boy Scout meeting, so we didn't have to look at each other. "What do you think about sexting?" I asked. "It's not good," he answered. "Do you think it's right for a boy to ask a girl to text him a nude picture of herself?" "No," he answered. "No is right, son. It's not only against the law for kids, it's disrespectful to women. It objectifies them." "I know," he said. "One more thing, sonny boy...
I'm so proud your my son
Anyway, my earlier reference to penises could have segued into the art work on my daughter, Gabby's, Christmas list. Here it is.
Notice the "want-o-meter" Gabby drew, while resembling such classical phallic symbols as knives and swords, also kind of looks like a man's weiner. But she didn't know and even if she did, I don't expect Gabby to grow up pruddish. She's thinking about following her mom into nursing. I sure am proud of those two gals.
Not the types who would have a cow over a drawing of what Donald Trump would call a man's schlong.
But who is the culprit, the high-headed, puritanical, holier-than-thou prick who reported my friend Mark to Mark Zuckerberg? I've been investigating, private dick capacity because that's what I do in my job. But I have yet to uncover this caper. Oh don't worry I will. I'm getting closer. While I don't know the person's identity I do know the penis reporter, the dick whistleblower, the schlong leaker to be a dark, shadowy figure hiding on the fringes of modern high-tech society, assuming various fake social media personalities. It could take work beyond my pay grade, the investigative skills of a team like CSI:Cyber to unlock the mystery, but it's out there. Somebody in Facebook land doesn't like pictures of dicks.
And in other news, Maria's brother, Thurber, had to go to the hospital due to problems with his anus and bowels. You see, he was sitting in the lavatory of the history building, Fiske Hall at WSU, a place I know from experience only has one-ply toilet paper. He was reading a copy of an independent student newspaper entitled the Daily Pooper, an Onion type of satirical publication disseminated in restroom stalls throughout campus. Anyway, Thurber, who weighs 400 pounds was having difficulty having a movement and it got so bad he had to go to the hospital. He's doing much better now, having had an enema, removing much undigested red meat from his internal plumbing.
Hey, I wonder if the reporters from the Daily Pooper ever get a poop scoop. Lol.
Here's a picture of myself and my children visiting my mother at Homestead of Augusta, an assisted living facility for people with dementia.
BTW, I've decided that stuff I wrote above in the letter about nothing saying Christmas like material gifts is bullshit. Christmas is about peace, joy, love, sacrifice. Just do what Jackie DeShannon sang about and put a little love in your heart. If you love someone, let them know. Don't just say it, but show it. By all means, say it too, though. Always watch what you say because words hold the power of good and evil and feelings are fragile. Cherish every moment. And if you have a relative who likes to go on at Christmastime about Fox News and Obama being a Muslim, just think of it as entertainment. Hot air. Behind all the bull crap, that uncle or dad or brother-in-law may be a good person.
Well that's all my crap. Have a Holly Jolly Christmas and let's make the new year great. Sanders in '16!
Your friend,
J. Guy
Since this year is Sinatra's birthday (same day as my daughter's birthday) I'll leave you with this happy video of Frank and Dino.
