(I'm dreaming of a white Christmas just like the ones Trump used to know.)
Ho! Ho! Ho! No, I'm not Santa Claus. That just describes my life since I got divorced --- ho ho hoing, but I think it's an okay way to deal with grief, don't you? Not that it always turns out right. I simply had a one night stand with my secretary Allison. The next day at the office when I treated her like a normal employee, she became enraged and threw my cigarette dispenser at me. Of course I tried to make it up to her by writing a letter of apology, but I was too drunk to finish.
Not that I've been drinking a lot.
Actually, I've been working a lot on my spirituality. I've been attending services at the First Presbyterian Church, even making it to the 6:30 a.m. Men's Bible Study classes on Wednesday mornings. Also, my uncle Dave once told me you can get laid easier, going to church than you can in a bar.
Along with my position as creative director of a secret underworld writing society, I've also moonlighted. I helped write skits for the Gridiron show, put on annually by the Society of Professional Journalists' as they satirize the news. This led to my hanging out with Alec Baldwin. I mean, the guy was still decked out as the Orange Monster Man from Cheeto Land when we had drinks together and ate schwety balls backstage at 30 Rock.
The next day a tweet from @realDonaldTrump read, "Bad skits flow from snl like blood coming out Megyn Kelly's vagina. Alec's the real f***stick. I know big words & love Chachi."
Of course, I continue to have a good relationship with my kids. They love the heck out of their old man. Take my daughter Gabby. She leaves little notes for me. Take this message she left for me on my typewriter. (I like to go old school & do it like Hemingway & Salinger did.)
I'm proud of my daughter as she's following in my footsteps as a writer. She publishes her own blog and the world better watch out because she's on her way. Here's an example of Gabby's perceptive writing:
The world has no room for war. Why do i say this? Well look at a globe or a map. There are seas and countrys. That is it. We are one. We live in the same place and that’s it.
Instead of treating eachother like enimies, we should be treating eachother like siblings. Because, in the long run, that is what we are. If God is our father we are siblings.
So another way to treat everyone right is this: pretend everyone is you. YOU all YOU. How do you treat them now?
She also wrote this gem:
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I DONT WANT SPRING!!!!!!!!!!
Gabby also likes to sew & quilt. She sewed her own handbag. She's part of a sewing circle, but I don't think it will take a wrong turn & venture into witchcraft or crap like that. I mean nothing un-PC toward wiccan culture. Just talking about sewing.
Then there's my son Max. He wanted to go to church & when your teenage son says he wants to go to church, you go. He's a leader in the Methodist Church Youth Group in my hometown of Jett, Kan. (pop. 4,000) in the '70s. I was brought up Baptist & there's always been a rivalry between the Baptists & those liberal Methodists. But I'm confident he's going to be all right & benefit from whatever church he attends.
He's also got his learner's permit so everybody watch out. Oh & he's taller than me now. How the hell did that happen? And guess what kind of music he likes to listen to on his gadgets? '70s rock. I've taught him well. And he hates stupid '80s music. Good boy, Sam.
For 9th grade English class, Sam's teacher has the class keep up with this word a day website. Last week he shared on Facebook, the interesting word, afflatus, which means inspiration. Literally, afflatus is a Latin word meaning "to blow upon."
Afflatus sounds like a term for breaking wind. Would you please control your afflatus? Your afflatus is disturbing the guests. Put a cork in your afflatus. Funny, I often get an afflatus -- inspiration -- while on the toilet.
Now, this is serious so don't laugh. There is absolutely no reason why we shouldn't be able to discuss flatulence, bowel movements or your butt without laughing. We're not in third grade. (Or maybe we are.) So here it is. My cousin Wally practices the art of pyroflatulence or flatus ignition -- the art of lighting one's intestinal gasses into a blue hue or perhaps a yellow or orange color depending on the mixture of gasses in the colon at a given time. Anyhow, Wally likes lighting his farts on fire at the frat house. Or at least he did. Until THE ACCIDENT! Fortunately, the cotton sweatpants he was wearing served as a precaution against the burns inflicted around his anus. I'm happy to report, however, that I just had a dinner of chili with Wally the other day (the meal was served by the Presbyterian Church) & he said he & his anus have healed and are doing much better. For example, it no longer hurts when he has a movement or wipes himself in the bathroom.
Well that's about all I have. I just want you, my readers, to know that I love everyone of you & isn't that what Christmas is about? I know how it is at Christmas when the family can't drink a few beers without someone losing their shit, but please be kind to one another. Watch what you say to each other because remember, once words are out there, you can't take them back. If you have people in your life whom you love, forget about how they sometimes piss you off and just cherish them because someday they may be gone. Like I said, I love my readers & some of you I know personally. I'm always sincere in my writing. What, would I ever lie? Be an unreliable narrator? Okay, maybe that part about whoring around wasn't entirely true, but given time I'm sure I'll get back on the horse & be ready for a cheap, meaningless sexual fling. Whether you're driving your car down the highway, running on the treadmill at the YMCA, standing in the shower, sitting on the shitter or whatever, I hope you have an afflatus. The world can never have enough creativity. Just don't let your farts on fire. It's dangerous and I want you to have a safe 2017. Go WSU Shox! Merry Christmas & have a Happy New Year.
Grab em' by the pussy,
J. Guy
"White Christmas" -- Otis Redding
