I Wrote What You Told Me (Again) – Part II

Yes, Jimmy, if you lie God will tell this monster to climb into your bedroom window at night and rip you to shreds with it's razor-claws. This is why we leave the window in your bedroom unlocked.

Yesterday, to celebrate the holiday of a Jew named Jesus’ birthday (…or is it today? I could never figure that one out.) I turned off my brain and asked you to flip yours on. You told me what to write. So I did.

Here’s part II.

  • Sarah G.  –  Tell us about when you found out Santa wasn’t real.

Third grade. A little piece of shit named MonkeyMan Magoo (not his really name, but he might read the blog, plus he looks like a monkey) decided to tell all of us. We were all lined up to hug our third grade teacher Mrs. Groesch as we were leaving class to go on holiday break.  MonkeyMan Magoo decided to ruin the surprise. He walked up the line telling everyone one-on-one, “There is no Santa Claus.” Traumatic – yes. However he went on to develop a bad drug addiction, outstanding warrants, and even some jail time. That erased any trauma.

  • Cheryl Z. – How you got stuck in a chimney

I once got stuck in a chimney because I wanted to hang out in a chimney. It seemed cool at the time. Neither hanging out in the chimney nor getting stuck in the chimney kicked fanny. 3/10

  • Ashley O – The necessity of wine over the next 48 hours.

We’re of course talking about family. I don’t drink at all because I love to drink more than the average person who loves to drink. So, we’re really discussing tolerance. I don’t mean alcohol tolerance but tolerance of things that are done that we don’t like by family. I escape, not through wine, but through being alone. I retire to my childhood bedroom to “write” when I mostly just screw around. That’s unhealthy too, though, so I’m learning how to sit in environments I can’t control – a family. My parents and sister are wonderful, but I still get annoyed at things they do. This whole vacation I’ve been saying “tolerate” in my head when I get a feeling to run away at full speed. It works.

Okay, before Hostess closed down the Twinkies offices I propose none of you bastards had eaten one in twelve years. Nobody gave a rat’s darn about the Twinkies before or since. Yes, I know we like to wax nostalgic about it, like we do with awful bands like Poison, but the fact remains if Twinkies were a great treat we’d be eating them as adults. Now, if you’re a mom you get no input on this one. Yes, you eat Twinkies but that’s only because you buy them for your kids. You also eat Lunchables, too. You’re just in the general proximity of Twinkies. Yes, they were a fine snack but I felt they paled next to a Hostess Cupcake. Anyone who chooses a Snowball is a complete psychopath in my book, fyi.

  • Laura L –  How it sucks ass to work on Christmas Eve.

The last time I had to do this I was sixteen and working in a bar. I got tons of free booze and was off by 6pm. So I have no complaints. But those of you who work in retail or are nurses or prostitutes who moonlight on Christmas Eve, I am sympathetic to your plight. Here’s what I say to you – you’re not missing as much as you think. We have a huge party at my house on Christmas Eve, and while it’s fun, we’re washing dishes until 2am. Plus, you know there’s the drunk uncle that likes to hug a little too long. And if it’s just time you get to spend with your children and husband, you can do that whenever. Take ’em to the zoo in April. It’s basically the same thing.

Yes, Jimmy, if you lie God will tell this animal to climb into your bedroom  at night and rip you to shreds with it’s razor-claws. This is why we leave the window in your bedroom unlocked.

photo credit: Tambako the Jaguar via photopin cc