Two Buck UpChuck.
Two Buck Chuck.
Which is the delightful moniker for the wicked cheap wine brand Charles Shaw, which I bought in an effort to save money but still get my Christmas spirits on (although here in Boston, it costs $3…but Three Buck Chuck just sounds stupid).
It tastes pretty much exactly how it sounds.
But it gots the job done…(hiccup)…
I can’t actually prove it was Christmas.
I was just with Thanksgiving like a month ago.
Two straights nights of watching the cheesy “Holiday Favorites” queue on Netflix while wrapping the aforementioned dog-fur covered gifts.
INCLUDING my all-time childhood favorite “The Christmas Toy.”
When I was five, this Jim Henson made-for-TV movie was the shiz. And it made me believe for way longer than I’m willing to admit that my toys came to life when I wasn’t looking. It also made me cry when the slightly creepy-looking clown toy (SPOILER ALERT!) goes lifeless after getting caught being all non-inanimate.
(And 25 years later, it still brought a small (I said SMALL!) tear to my eye…stupid slightly creepy-looking clown toy).
And then I moved onto the Christmas Classics, which are collections of old (and I mean wicked old…not like you’re-a-teenager-and-30-is-old) Christmas cartoons and shorts. INCLUDING some delightfully (and by “delightfully” I mean “horrifically”) racist ones such as this one:
And one where it proves that whole “they don’t make things like they used to” is complete bunk (pay close attention to how the plot is centered on the quality of the craftsmanship of the toys…Santa was one lazy mofo back in the 30’s).
And some that just creeped me out (especially because I was sober):
Although I’m thinking tomorrow I may just make an eggnog drinking game (have I mentioned how much I love eggnog?) out of how many things I spot while re-watching these that would make today’s organic-only baby food, Einstein Baby-loving parents of today crap their pants.
Carefully and lovingly wrapped gifts covered in dog fur thanks to the fact I wrapped them on my constantly-cleaned-but-never-quite-clean floor.
CORRECTION: On the 13th of December, Christmas gave to all my closest family and friends carefully and lovingly wrapped gifts covered in dog fur thanks to the fact I wrapped them on my constantly-cleaned-but-never-quite-clean floor.
You’re all welcome.
P.S. Buffy says you’re all welcome too. And he hopes you cherish his DNA this most merry of seasons.
A series of emails.
Alerting me that the majority of my online gift purchases will arrive promptly anytime between Dec. 20 and the Mayan calendar-predicted end of the world.
When I will conveniently be out of the state.
Merry Christmas, random looters in my neighborhood. Hope you enjoy those carefully picked out presents just lounging on my porch.
A crappy LG Ally phone that refuses to download Angry Birds Seasons.
What’s the point of ALL OF THIS if I can’t KILL pigs trapped in vaguely wintry surroundings with various-sized birds suffering from slingshot RAGE!?!?
So…what? I’m just supposed to kill pigs trapped in vaguely non-wintry surroundings!?