Ho Ho Hope you’re packing a parachute, Tubbs

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What was created as a cute way for children all over the world to track Santa’s progress has presented me with a great opportunity to settle a score.

You must have thought it was pretty funny back in 1984 when all I wanted was a Nintendo Entertainment System and you shafted me.

I woke up that Christmas morning and ran down the stairs, grabbed the big box under the tree, ripped off the gift wrapping and tore open the Nintendo box only to get covered in goo as 120 surplus aborted fetuses slopped out all over my lap.

Yeah. Hilarious, asshole.

My parents were so shocked, all they could do was laugh and laugh and laugh. Such was their horror! I still remember my poor mother’s laughter, I know it haunts her as much as it does me.

Well, to quote some 80’s action movie I can’t remember right now, “Payback’s a bitch!”

I’ve been patient, plotting your demise every day since then. I knew I couldn’t just go and ask you outright for an RPG-29 Vampir, lest you catch on to what I was up to.

For the last 23 years, I’ve asked you for seemingly random mechanical parts. Of which you and your clueless ass have been all too willing to oblige. Some nuts and bolts here, an aluminum tube there. Together with some household chemicals, industrial grade fertilizer and many nights spent in the public library learning about thermobaric rounds and centrifugal timing devices, I’ve made my own and you’re none the wiser.

Well, tonight all my hard work is going to pay off.

Thanks to the work of the good folks at NORAD, you’ve lost the last shred of hope for your survival: the element of surprise.

I know exactly where you are, I know exactly when you’ll be here. I’ve got your location, trajectory and velocity.

You, my friend, are going down.

When all this is over, I’m going to go spit on your grave wearing a coat made out of 8 (formerly) flying reindeer.

This will hopefully close the book on a painful chapter of my life and allow me and my parents to go on. You know how awful it is to listen to your parent’s hysterical laughter every Christmas, while they point at you and call you a dumbass? Do you know how hard that must be for them?

You have torn the soul of my family apart. With your death comes our only hope of being whole again.

See you at 3:37 am, EST, jackass.

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19 comments

  1. Why do you hate Christmas so much, Maya? Didn’t you ever see Home Alone? My back hurts. That’s not a line from the movie, but this is: “Look what you did, you little jerk!” It’s also where I stole my “a, 2, d” thing. So, all in all, Home Alone is deserving of an Oscar.

  2. Hmmm… Brilliant!

    Way to go man.
    I’ve been wanting to kill him for years.
    That son-of-a-bitch never got me a new family.

    Well screw him!

    I did it my way.

  3. Haha! I guess you missed. I am playing on my new Nintendo NES right now. I also got a Lite Brite and Rock-Em-Sock-Em Robots from Justin’s new family, but they say a role playing 29 vampire game is way too mature for me. I fundamentally disagree, and I hate them because they are doodyheads.

    Oh, well, gotta go load up all these movies onto my new iMac from my even newer HD cam. Oh, and Eric, Santa wanted me to tell you to “suck it”. I’m not trying to get anything started up, just passing along the message.

    Asta La Christmas, Baby.

  4. You know what, BLOGGERman, you SUCK. Because of you, I didn’t get my “Patty Pees Alot” doll, my “Shaken Baby – ER” kit or my can of EZ-Freakin’ Bacon n’ Cheddar Cheese with smoked sausage this year. You’re a b***h. And by that I mean, you’re a b***h and I’m calling Homeland Security.

    Look! Snow!

  5. Aww, Ginger, it just breaks my heart to see a young lady disappointed on Christmas! But today may be your lucky day. You see, I was shaken quite a bit as a baby, and I also have problems controlling my bladder. On top of all that, many have remarked that I often smell of bacon and cheese! And urine! Merry three days after Christmas!

    And that’s not snow, it’s cocaine! I’ve been sniffing my monitor all day, and I think I’m starting to feel a buzz!

  6. Sorry I haven’t written in a couple of days. The last time I logged in I ran into a snow drift and crashed my hard drive. I hate snow, and I hate fuckin’ Christmas. Fuck your two dollar toys, Santa. My Grammy-Gram gave me the camera and the iMac. You’re fucking dead to me, Santa! Seven dollars worth of plastic ain’t no tradeoff for a $200 fucking hard drive. You think you had it tough this, year, boy, you’d better keep the maps to yourself next year, ’cause I ain’t fucking around. Homeland Security ain’t got nothin’ on me, bitch! You’ll wish I had an RPG when your bloody nuts shoot out your toothless mouth from MY gat! Fuckin’ redcoat.

    And my humblest apologies for falling into his trap and judging you, Eric. I should have known you were my only TRUE friend.

    The best thing I’ve learned through all this is that, no matter what, it’s up to each of us to keep the holiday spirit alive. So Happy Kwanzaa, crackers.

  7. No, Vir-Ginger-ia, there is no Santa Claus. Eric blew him out of the sky with a rocket propelled grenade. I hear he keeps Rudolph’s red nose pickled in a jar. It has been placed lovingly on a shelf right next to his original pickled heart, which we all know was replaced with that of a super-intelligent monkey heart (the monkey was super-intelligent, not the heart itself). It pumps not blood like yours and mine, but pure, banana-flavored evil. Ho ho how horrible!

  8. I refuse to believe. I’m positive Santa sends out decoys and I can’t imagine a better target than Fred Claus, the movie. Those aren’t pickled pieces of The Man. Those are shards sad little unhappy Christmas moments etched into what were once perfectly good DVD’s. So, maybe the murderer should be toasted.

    Secondly, are you saying Eric is a giant banana? Or he just smells of bananas?

  9. I think Scott is merely pointing out that Eric’s evil banana pump is very flavorful. Did I get that right? OK, thanks.

    We cannot process your request right now. Please call again later.

  10. No, no, let’s get this right, shall we, kids? I am saying that the pure evil that courses through Eric’s monkey heart (the former monkey, who is now deceased, was once super-intelligent before Eric ripped it’s still-beating heart out of its body through sheer force of will) has a slight tinge of banana flavor. The banana flavoring comes not from the evil itself, but from the heart of the once super-intelligent but now super-dead monkey, who consumed bananas as if they were going out of style, so much so that his flesh and organs emanated the sweet smell and yummy flavor of banana. Eric himself does not smell of bananas, that is unless he gets a cut, at which point the evil may spill from his veins. Then, and only then, will Eric smell like bananas. Well, I take that back. He may also smell like bananas if he happened to just eat a banana, but that happens to all of us.

    Really, folks, I just don’t see how I could make this any clearer.

  11. Ohhhhhhh! Booty bananas. Why didn’t you just say so?? I actually have a picture of him with the monkey and the “nanner” (as Eric so lovingly calls it). They both seem to be enjoying it immensely. Eric and his ‘nanner–the monkey sucking on a chili dog. Zing!

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