Tonight, a cold December’s night on a New Jersey rooftop, looking out over the Hudson… boats waiting for the fireworks, to ring out the old year and bring in the new.
We’re not in the Square this year. Vinnie and Bobby said it was a pain in the ass getting into the city and pushing my wheelchair around the crowds.
So, blind stinking drunk, they hauled me up six flights of stairs.
I check my watch.
3… 2… 1… happy new year!
Wake up, guys. Wake up.
Happy new year.
They’re passed out. Snoring.
Shivering, cursing, I yell for help.
Tag: sick
Resolutions List
I look back at last year’s resolutions and wince.
Not a single one accomplished.
Not a single one done.
So, I scratch out the year and write the next one above it.
Just like I did last year.
And the year before.
I guess I’d better update the actual list.
Weight loss. Let’s see.
I scratch out “20” and put in “40.”
Under “Visit Grandma” I change “At the hospital” to “At the cemetery.”
I scratch out “Monthly” and write “On her birthday.”
Wait. When’s her birthday?
I scratch it out again.
Heck, she was senile. She couldn’t remember either.
The Art Of Boxing
Ted was a boxer, one of the best.
He wasn’t just a fighter, though.
He was an artist.
Literally, an artist. He’d dip his gloves in the paint, hear the bell, and come out painting his opponent with blows, knocking him down to the canvas over and over.
If they made it past the first round, his corner man would get him more paint, and he’d touch things up in round two.
Then, after the match, the canvas would be pulled up, framed and sold.
Ted eventually lost. KO in the fifth to a Featherweight pointillist.
“Self-Portrait” they called it.
Nativity
Every December, we drag the Nativity scene out from the basement and assemble it in the front yard.
Problem is, there’s always something missing from it, like Joseph or a camel.
It’s not worth it to buy a new Nativity scene, only being used once a year, so we scrounge for replacements.
Using Grampa Eldon’s old lawn jockey as a replacement Wise Man kinda pissed off the Clevelands next door, although in my defense I did wrap it in Little Janey’s bathrobe and try to paint the face white with Liquid Paper.
Next year, we’ll just make snowmen, okay kids?
Christmas Tree Cookies
Looking down the list of the Cookie Exchange at the office, I read through notes each person gave their gift cookies.
The gingerbread men were delicious.
The frosted snowflakes were wonderful.
But those green pine trees were absolutely disgusting, and they made people sick.
I looked down the list… green pine trees… was Lisa.
She was in her office, and she asked me if she could have her tray back.
“What the heck did you put in those things?” I asked.
“Don’t they smell like trees?” she beamed. “Pine Sol has such a fine aroma.”
Next year, she’ll bring Oreos.
Angry At Birds
I started with a tree with a bird in it, chopping it down.
Shot two doves the next day.
Killed three hens in a local hatchery.
And then pegged four ravens off of a telephone wire.
Killing birds is easy, but collecting the five golden rings would be a challenge.
Rob a jewelry stand at the mall
Mug some housewives for their wedding bands?
I settled for ripping the ear off of a punk outside of a nightclub.
I’m going to the park to bag some geese today.
Hopefully they won’t notice before I go back tomorrow for the swans.
Vampire Claus
People assume vampires are skinny and wear black, but I know a fat one who wears red and white.
Yes, Santa Claus is a vampire.
The bell-ringers? The mall Santas?
Indentured human servants to scout for healthy and wealthy victims.
You can tell a lot about a person when they sit in your lap.
Their breath. Their fitness. Are their eyes clear or yellow from jaundice?
As the bag full of presents gets lighter, the sleigh and reindeer need ballast.
Those really bad children won’t be missed.
The smart ones make toys, and he calls elves.
The rest, he drinks.
Punching Santa
Why do children sit in Santa’s lap and tell him what they want for Christmas?
Because it’s a lot nicer than tripping him up, sitting on his back, and punching him in the kidneys until he gives you what you want.
This doesn’t just apply to Santa Claus and Christmas.
Stop beating the crap out of the other kids in school or you’re going to get expelled. Or put in juvenile detention.
And that counts double for your little brother during dinner.
Why can’t you say “Please pass the potatoes.” like other kids?
And don’t punch the damn potatoes, either.
Fruitcake
Tina is in the Christmas Pageant in her school.
She’s been chosen to be the Fruitcake.
That’s right. A fruitcake.
She’s going to get rolled on stage while the kids sing about how horrible fruitcake is.
I know that kids pick on other kids, especially ones in wheelchairs, but the school was supposed to stop this bullying crap.
So, we made the fruitcake costume, stuffed with fireworks.
When it was Tina’s cue, they rolled the Trojan Fruitcake out.
I pushed the remote and… it exploded.
Hurt a bunch of kids. Some permanently.
Oh well. More fruitcakes for next year’s pageant.
We Wish You
I don’t know who was more shocked… me or the genie that came out of the rusty hurricane lamp I rubbed.
He started talking about wishes when the doorbell rang.
“It’s Christmas,” I said. “Fucking carolers, I bet.”
We went upstairs, down the hall, and opened the door.
Yup. Fucking carolers!
“We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas!”
I started to mumble something.
Genie clapped his hands together.
And then the carolers burst into flames and died.
“So, what’s wish number two?”
I wasted a wish on…
Fucking carolers!