Elvis Presley’s Last Christmas

christmas in graceland.jpg

1976 was one hell of a year. In February, Elvis Presley was made an honorary captain of the Memphis Police Department. He was doing shows in Las Vegas, while working on ending a mafia drug ring. Oh my sweet Lord, that Bicentennial was something else too. On this Christmas evening, Elvis was working through constipation. There was a complicated issue of the zero in the number two, or seeing a man about unloading some donkeys.

He cleared his throat; the echo in the cavernous bathroom was pleasing to him, rock solid acoustics, man. A million dollars was invested in Graceland to create perfect acoustics everywhere in it. Water undulated under his sweaty bare ass, nearly touching. Here’s some basic science for you: 350 pounds of flesh and bone, mostly fat, atop a standard porcelain toilet for more than 20 minutes is a recipe for disaster. Heat, expansion, and 350 pounds of fucking anything atop a tiny toilet is just another way of saying that toilet ain’t gonna live too long. Thrones need to be refitted.

Beside him, as always, in the Fortress of Shazamitude, was the latest copy of “Hee Haw Monthly”® (he loved the cartoons) and his trusty revolver. He was in the middle of his self-motivation ritual, thinking about his next meal while attempting to remove his last meal on the crapper. This is the road to pro-active thinking he was told by his karate guru, Master Kang Rhee.

He groaned as he stood up, the toilet more than wobbled. It teetered. Yet, the echo of all this was aurally satisfying. He looked at the slightly yellow water, smelled a bit of ass, courtesy wiped, flushed and mumbled, “Here I sit broken hearted… I swear, constipation is gonna be the death of me. Tell you what, all this frustration for nothing is unbearable and plain stupid. No way in hell’s foundation am I drinking that castor oil shit.” He pounded his fist just below his chest a few times, until the sharp pain in his heart went away. It needs to be clear, at this point of his life, Elvis was a drug addled nutjob. [FACT CHECK AND SPOILER ALERT: The toilet collapsed three days later. Elvis collapsed on August 16, 1977. Neither would ever rise again. Coincidence?]

As he made his way down the stairs, he looked up to the ceiling of Graceland and prayed, “As certain as I am Elvis Aron Presley, the Lord is my shepherd, and I will not stray. No sir, I am forever your Christian soldier, trained in the sufficient arts of karate. Lord, I ask you to guide me to another gold record or a very excellent narcotics raid. I love you, man.”


2 thoughts on “Elvis Presley’s Last Christmas

  1. Pingback: Author Interview – Allison Mullinax – Break The Line (Contemporary Romance) | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

  2. Pingback: Elvis Presley’s 35th Christmas | The Home Of DJ Sung Mo Koo

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