Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
the holidays: past, present, and future
I'm not that big of a fan about the holidays. I don't know why this is. As I look into my past, nothing stands out that would make me dislike this time of year (well, except 1988, when from December 6 to 28 I was held in a basement and trained to cockfight by a gang of Dominican youths - they let me go after learning that each time I got in the ring with the rooster I would start eating it, which is apparently against the rules).

As a kid, I loved Christmas. Really, what is there not to love? Presents, time off from school, lots of food - things anyone can enjoy at any age.

But then, the holidays, or rather my perception of the holidays, started changing. I think this occurred in college. I remember that in my freshman year I was looking forward to that month off between semesters, as a time to get home, see some old friends, and relax. And in truth, I even sort of missed my family, although this may have had not such much to do with my family members themselves but more to do with the amenities of being at home, like home-cooked meals, my own room, and a clean bathroom that didn't have to be shared with 25 other guys, including Dong-Woo, the Korean kid who showered for three hours and walked around the bathroom completely nude and completely hairless. God, I miss that son of a bitch.

And yet during this much-anticipated holiday break I wasn't home for 24 hours before I wanted to head back to school. After getting a taste of living on my own, I found it hard to revert to living with my family, what with their stringent rules like "Wear pants when you walk around the house!" and "I don't want drug dealers coming over here at 4:30 in the morning!" and "No, wear pants when you walk around the house! White briefs that are way too small for you don't count as pants!"

Thus began a steady decline in interest for the holidays. This year, today, I can't express how little Christmas spirit I'm feeling. Maybe I'm just feeling a little down because I'm coming down off a good high I had this morning (thank you for your killer weed Jarrett from Accounting - see you again 10:30 tomorrow morning at the under-construction bathroom on the 22nd floor), but it's just not doing it for me this year.

However, that doesn't mean I don't have any good Christmas memories. So I present the Top 5 All-Time Favorite Christmas Memories of Jason MJPAE Mulgrew:

5) 2001
While watching Whitney Houston sing the National Anthem before an NBA game, Jason's 97 year-old great-grandfather remarks, "Why do the blacks sing the song like that?" (referencing the occasional 40-second "Oh...Ohohohohohoh...oh yeah, can you hear me?...can you hear me say it?...well, I'm-a, I'm-a gonna sing it for you right now...[starting song] Oh say can you see..." intro to the song). This horrifies not only Jason, but also Jason's then-girlfriend, who had a black uncle by marriage. VERY awkward, but nothing can get a man out of trouble like the old "senility" excuse.

4) 1989
While Jason's family was living with his grandmother (and Uncle Tommy), a visibly drunk Uncle Tommy goes to his room to get a movie for the kids to watch, as they had just finished Christmas dinner. After nearly falling down the stairs on his return, he pops in what he thought was "A Christmas Story" but was actually a pornographic movie. Not missing a beat, Uncle Tommy says, "Sorry kids - that one's from Uncle Tommy's private collection." Grandmom beats Uncle Tommy with a shoe (most likely hers, but this could not be verified).

3) 1993
Other drunk uncle, Uncle Johnny, works on Christmas Eve and goes straight to shady bar with friends after his shift. He then shows up at the Mulgrew home for Christmas festivities drunk as hell at 3pm, and proceeds to punch the Christmas tree several times over an unpaid gambling debt, calling it a "liar", before falling over dog Pally and spraining his ankle.

2) 2002
Drunk Jason and drunk younger brother Dennis get in fight over last cream puff; kitchen burns down.

1) 2004
Drunk Jason, exhausted from hearing, "When are you going to meet a nice girl?" from aunts and "When are you going to move back to Philly?" from cousins and "Dude, did you make a pass at my friend Justin last night at the bar?" from brother decides to step outside for a breath of fresh air.

While standing on his porch, drinking a 16 oz can of Bud, Jason hears a cry for help and see a woman across the street being attacked by a large man. Jason gently puts down his beer and runs across the street - not to save the woman, but because he thinks he sees a hot dog under a nearby car.

When he approaches the attacker as he's harassing his victim, Jason notices that it's not a hot dog, but rather a wiffle ball bat. Disappointed, he moves to turn away and head back to the porch, but the attacker recognizes Jason as the guy who - only the very night before - he had paid $10 to give him a handjob. He was promised the "best handjob of [his] life", but instead got a sloppy drunken bird rub.

The attacker drops his female victim, and starts beating up Jason. The vicious beating causes Jason to bleat like a pig giving birth, so loudly that a nearby police cruiser hears his screams and quickly shows up on the scene to stop the attack and take the perpetrator away.

The woman victim, still woozy from the attack, believes Jason had come to rescue her, and approaches him to apologize. Jason sees the woman for the first time and realizes - wouldn't you know it - it's Kate Beckinsale! She begins to thank him and explain what she's doing on Christmas on a desolate street in South Philly, but can't finish her story because she is some overcome with the urge to fellate him, which she does immediately.

Kate then invites Jason to come to Hollywood with her so that they might make love until his heart stops, and thus begins a long story of love, lust, betrayal, fear, and hot dogs that ultimately ends on New Year's Eve 2011, when Jason, recently dumped by Kate after she learned of his affair with Elisha Cuthbert, takes his own life by eating three pounds of sour cream in under five minutes and setting his genitals on fire, screaming, "I'll never need these again! I love you Kate! I love you! God this fucking sour cream is good! Does anyone have any guacamole? Anyone?"


Alright, so maybe I do I love the holidays.

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