Merry Fukit Christ Mars

I like Christmas, it reminds me of an alien probing my bottom with a hot poker. Not that I like hot pokers or subsequent probing by afore mentioned hot poker, but I like being out of control. Christmas is all about being out of control and it is a mother fugly kind of out of control that causes the kind of pain you would associate with having a hot poker shoved up the poop chute. All of this is to say that, I really hate Christmas. I'm not talking about the hate Donald Duck feels for Bugs Bunny or that condom companies have for Catholics, I'm talking about the hate that you would have for a sibling that just crapped in your slipper, because they could. I'm talking about something or someone you have to hate, but can't escape. I mean you can escape them for sometime, but sooner or later they are going to be addicted to crack and show up on your doorstep. That is what Christmas really is: a crack addicted brother who shows up at your doorstep every year, only to crap in your slipper when you go to grab a "please help me Jesus" drink of Whiskey.

I would like to mention that I didn't refer to Hillary or her hate of God once this update. Also, I would like to announce that Hillary and Martman a shacking up, movin' in, living in sin, playing - "who's riding the pony?" and a myriad of other inane and hackneyed colloquialisms.

Farb