Because I can’t seem to find my way out from underneath this gigantic pile of snot laden tissues and because even if I did I probably wouldn’t make much sense due to the copious amounts of NyQuil I’ve ingested I thought I would give you all an update on Her. Yeah, that Her, the “‘I’m all that and a bag of chips” Her.

I’ve been getting little glimpses into Her new life and I’m not sure I’m altogether okay with these shenanigans.

I think she’s trying to show me up, thinking that she can do South Beach Bling better than me. Pfft.

The fake tattoo I can deal with. The 80′s style ripped shirt is almost acceptable, but a hickey….really?
This is like a bad Joan Jett/Flashdance/Madonna mash up. Maybe she’s trying for a gig over at The Culture Brats.

It’s as if she just wants to torture me, she knows how I feel about nuns, after all that incident happened right out side her former home. Quite frankly I am not sure how much of a welcome she is going to get once she decides to come back.

And if any of you put this evil hex on me could you please lift it? I’m not doing so well with this being sick thing. See it’s the holidays and I need to get my shit together and I’m having a hard time doing that with a fever and tissues stuck up my nostrils feeling sorry for myself.

Picking out a Christmas tree is a holy fucking sacred event. Not any tree will do for me you know. It must be fairly tall. It must be fresh. It must, must, must, must, must look like a mother fucking Christmas tree…

Did you know for a mere 45 dollars you too can have this dying Christmas bush…However, The Dish and his mock enthusiasm  costs extra. FORTY FIVE DOLLARS…do you know how many boxes of wine that could buy…neither do I. But I bet its like 50 boxes…right?

And lo and behold if that tree up there doesn’t make you wet your self…how about this one here:

This tree is a little less dead and and a little more oval because nothing says Christmas like a Christmas football on a stick. All of this is only 60 dollars. I don’t even think the Blanket from A  Charlie Brown Christmas would make this sorry ass tree look anything other than a green bushy ball. So we moseyed on over to another *tree farm* not because of a lack of quality trees here…nooooo not at all, but because our inside black market Christmas ball connection must have skipped town for the season and if the tag said sixty bucks then the Jefferson burning a hole in my pocket wasn’t going to cut it for sure!

Dirty Dirty Snowman…yes that is gravel mixed in with the snow…the only thing he needs is a carrot penis. I think the guy who helped us must have made him…and they both got really high together afterwards and then the owners of the farm decided it was a good idea to put him in charge of organizing the Christmas trees.

I don’t think he liked this tree…actually I think his words were…”I am so sick of Christmas trees…let me know if you need any help”, while wielding a mother fucking chain saw…

high.

And now it was raining…all the pretty snow that was wasted on the misfit trees from the other place was gone and here we were getting rained on and being stalked  helped by The High Tree Hater but we finally decided on our tree and as The High Tree Hater so eloquently put it…”Its so weird dude, sometimes the trees just speak to people while other trees just sit around for a long time. This tree I’d sell you for 50, it was 75 but it has a broken branch”  A (one) broken branch…then lets see if one broken branch equals 25 dollars…*crack* *crack* Should be free now right? (somewhere an elf just died a little)

So we payed our bill, loaded our Christmas cheer in the truck and rushed home to get to the joyous task of trimming our tree.

A few eggnog’s later I managed to throw only one ornament on the ground and we have our tree….

Mr. Hanky The Christmas Poop

Romeo: bringer of love and Christmas Porn

Sid: guards against bad music

GLITTER, GLITTER, GLITTER, GLITTER, GLITTER

Oh…tannenblog oh tannenblog…hiccup…Chrappy Histmas to all! Weeee.

Now I just need to work on getting some presents under it…for me.