Further proof of Christmas in 1999.
Christmas came and went like so many empty calories on the sweatiest day of my life. In the blink of a Korean eye, which everyone knows is a nanosecond shorter than other ethnic blinks. You know, because of the proximity of eyelids in that near perma-squint, which some racists call slants. All I’m saying is that a door half-closed shuts faster than a door wide open.
“You better watch out, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m telling you why. Christmas Cow.”
The Christmas Cow brooded. It was the only logical emotional state after eight hours of uncontrollable weeping in a cage intended only to fatten him. For the first time in his short stupid existence, three years, he learned his true purpose, and it had absolutely nothing to do with spreading “spiritual” holiday cheer. Unless, of course, one achieves “spirituality” through dining on prime rib on Christmas Day. It’s a thing. In fact, take a look in the mirror; you may be a contributor.
The fake media called it a Christmas miracle. Consider this: the cruelest man who ever lived, boldly dives in front of a bullet intended for an eight-year-old Caucasian girl, sacrificing his life on Christmas day. Regardless of how horrendous he was the other 365 days this year, it was a leap year, this spontaneous change of heart on the day we celebrate Jesus Christ’s b-day, gave him redemption. He was hailed a hero. Amazing how one deed can change one’s wicked biography. The following tale from an alternate universe acts as an antithesis and it comes to you from the Christmas loophole.
A story about the two stooges on the right.
Larry Fine squinted, revealing all his age lines, 427 to be exact, as he limped out of the car and up the front steps. Each step made pain shoot sharply through his 70 year old body. “Ow, ow, ow!” one of his many catchphrases echoed through his mind. He tugged at the bottom part of his pant leg, it was clinging to his socks, not only was it static, it was annoying as all hell. It was Christmas in L.A., 65 degrees and sunny, not that it mattered. Ask anyone and they will tell you that Larry Fine was soberly Jewish through and through. He had still retained his curly kinky hair, and in this light, it looked like two ragged tumbleweeds attached to the side of a perfectly decent bald head.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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