'Tis The Season Over Yet?

What working retail on Black Friday, let alone the next four weeks, will do to a man...

The Ugly Aftermath:
The 12 Days of Christmas, Six Weeks Later

by Dan Rourke

First of all, the birds. The house is a goddamned aviary from hell. I can’t take a bath without the seven swans joining me, the partridge craps all over the almost-ripe pears, and one of the turtle doves has knocked up the sauciest French hen so now I’ve got some mutant chick hopping around who looks likes he’s going to grow up to be Rodan. And don’t get me started on the geese. They’re a-laying, that’s for sure, taking turns with the four calling birds, naturally. Feathers everywhere you step.

You’d think a guy like me would appreciate eight maids a-milking on the premises, but my God are they brawny--a little too corn-fed for my tastes, and their fingers are all gnarled. Don’t even ask me about the nine ladies dancing. A gaggle of prima donnas, that’s what they are. It’s always too cold for them, but at least they don’t eat anything.

Once the ten lords discovered I have cable, they kind of lost their zeal to leap. Now they sit around all day and night running up my bill with all their pay-per-view gay porn. I’ve got Queer Eye For the Straight Guy in my damn family room.

Five gold rings. What am I, Sammy Davis Jr.?

The drummers are all junkies of course. When they’re not nodding off in the living room they’re hitting me up for cash and threatening to cook up the geese, which is fine by me, but they never get it together enough to actually do it.

You don’t want to know what eleven pipers piping sound like or look like after a night on the town.

All I wanted for Christmas was a Snuggie and a Japanese putting mat bra. My “true” love hasn’t even read the copy of Sarah Palin's Going Rogue I bought her. I hate Christmas.

The Eels-Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas