We are one week away from Christmas Eve. It's here, the final week before the fat man and his reindeer embark on one very tiresome journey around the globe delivering Christmas cheer.
Christmas trees and what we put on them
Christmas Eve Mass
It's all about the ability to breathe and the quick getaway. So if you don't get there early enough to get the good car park and the subsequent good seat then you risk being in the position of being caught in the swarms of elderly pedestrian traffic upon conclusion. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the see ya later...!
Fruit cake and plum pudding
It pulls at my heart strings so much that I can't even talk, or should I say write, about it.
Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass. Happy Hanukkah.
I'm gonna burn some dust here. Eat my rubber!
Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny fu*king Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.