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4:57 a.m. - 2002-12-30

TIS THE SEASON TO BITCH LIKE A SPOILED LITTLE BRAT

Soooo...yesterday we had the in-laws over to celebrate Christmas.

Now ... I fully understand that the polite and proper thing to say is that Christmas is all about giving and not receiving. I completely understand that in order to remain politically correct and Christ-like, you should say "Christmas is all about giving" at least 200 times a day during the month of December.

But I say ... fuck that.

I know I have very little room to bitch here because several of you have sent me cards and gifts and all sorts of stuff this holiday season and in return you got jack shit from me because I'm a colossal asshole.

Now I can honestly say that the reason you got nothing from me is because we spent every single f'n penny on my in-laws and had nothing left to spend on you.

Anyway...the story.

The in-laws are supposed to be here at 4 p.m.

They start arriving at 4:50 p.m. These are some punctual motherfuckers, lemme tell ya. They don't even start THINKING about leaving their house until 4 p.m.

My no-good, lazy fucking, still-owes-me $1,500 brother-in-law brings his flamboyantly gay friend to the soiree. This is fine with me ... I've known Captain Frillypanties ever since I've known my wife. I've come to the conclusion that my Loser-in-Law and the Captain are in fact ... lovers. At least whenever Captain Frillypanties gets dumped by whatever sugar daddy he's sponging off of and needs a place to crash. Which happens about once a year. At that point, he comes home, slurps my brother-in-law's snake for however long he has to before he can secretly meet another sugar daddy on the side and then packs his bag and his fudge and goes to live with some other older man until the whole cycle repeats itself.

This doesn't bother me. In fact, it highly amuses me.

What bothers me is the confusing f'n signals that my Loser-in-Law sends out.

A) He enjoys straight porn.

B) When I was throwing out all my old Playboys last spring, he nabbed every single one of them to take home with him and do God knows what to them.

C) He just doesn't SEEM gay. He works on cars, drives a pick-up truck and has a deep, booming voice.

I understand that you don't have to sound like Charles Nelson Reilly to be gay. And that gay guys are capable of driving trucks.

But damn...it would make it so much easier on me if you just...I dunno ... did the whole gay thing and quit confusing my ass.

He could be bi. I understand that as well. But if that's the case, how come he hasn't dated a female since the 1980s and constantly has a revolving door full of gay guys living with he and his mother on a rotating basis?

Anyway...so they're here.

Then the other brother-in-law and his family show up.

His son, Pervy, decides that "since it's the holidays" rather than our weekly handshake ... he wants to hug his Uncle Bob.

I stiffen up and allow him to drape his perverted arm over my shoulders.

"What?" he says to me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not a hugger," I said, with about a gallon of uncomfortableness in my voice.

"We're FAMILY!" he says, hugging me tighter.

I almost said "Quit reminding me", but I bit my tongue and just stood there stiffly while he hugged me, praying to GOD that his crotch got nowhere near me.

Immediately, the fat members of the family converge on the kitchen where Susie has slaved over a hot microwave for the last ten minutes, reheating all of the hors d'ouerves that didn't get eaten at our Open House last weekend.

Those are gone in mere minutes. Literally. There were roughly 200 different meatballs, sausage balls, pastries ... all gone.

They wanted more.

Luckily ... or unluckily as you'll soon find out ... Grandma brought her famous "Weenies in BBQ Sauce".

So she's cooking those in a crock pot.

Now I learned long ago...do NOT eat Grandma's cooking. You'd be better off sucking down lead-based paint chips like they were M&Ms rather than eat anything she's attempted to cook. Grandma likes to get "bargains" when she grocery shops and will always buy dented cans and torn boxes of food if that means she can save a dime here and there.

My dog Maggie doesn't know any better.

Apparently ... I didn't see this, but it was later confirmed ... Grandma dropped a slice of hot dog on the floor and Maggie scarfed it up.

Usually this is no big deal. Maggie eats Andrew's leftover hot dogs on a weekly basis.

A few minutes later, Maggie is convulsing. No lie...no exaggeration ... she's shaking badly.

We're all wondering what's wrong with her because as of this time ... Grandma hasn't confessed that Maggie ate a 1/2 inch slice of wiener.

Finally ... and as God as my witness ... Maggie had some projectile vomit on the den carpet.

She spewed everywhere except on the kitchen floor where it would have been a whole lot easier to clean up.

Amidst the dog vomit, I saw the slice of hot dog and asked "Who fed Maggie the hot dog?"

That's when Granny 'fessed up.

Afterwards, when nobody was looking, I checked the package of generic hot dogs she had brought to feed her family.

They had expired in August.

I didn't give two shits who ate her world famous "Moldy Hot Dogs In Expired Ketchup" dish ... but I made damned sure that my son, wife, dog and I politely passed.

Apparently, so did everyone else. I think the fact that my dog ... who can not only scarf down her own feces but would gleefully wolf down another dog's shit and not have so much as a belch come out of her belly ... violently vomited after eating a sliver of Grandma's dish served as enough confirmation for everyone in attendance to stay far away from Granny's puke pudding.

Then it came time to open presents. Or as my in-laws like to call it ... "Hand Over Their Cheap Assed Gifts That They Bought From The Dollar Tree And Open What We Gave Them".

Now...ever since the nephews and nieces were born, Susie and I have always spent $25 apiece on them. Usually in the form of gifts, but this year they received gift certificates from Walmart...$25 each.

I never thought that was all that much myself. As much as these kids get on my nerves and make me squirm like the Pope in a whorehouse, I always wished we could do more for them.

Not. Any. More.

I know that my in-laws are poor. They're not living in shacks, but Christmas usually zaps them of all of their financial resources. They're all college graduates who just made bad career decisions and are too lazy to do something better with their lives. It's sad when Susie and I are considered the "success story" of the family, whereas in my family we're considered the black sheep.

The nephews opened up their little cards and pulled out their Walmart gift cards and thanked us for them. They were slightly disappointed because they didn't get material things, but when we prodded them as to what they wanted, they never gave us clear cut answers. Well ... Pervy wanted a pulsating rubber vagina ... but other than that they never gave us a clue.

Grandma gives Andrew his gift. It's a small wrapped box.

I help Andrew open it.

It's a pair of motherfucking socks.

Socks.

Nay ... MOTHERFUCKING socks.

Socks.

Christ. I keep thinking if I say the word "Socks" enough, it'll turn into "Book" or "Toy" or "Diaper Wipes" or ANYTHING but fucking socks.

One fucking pair of socks.

And not just ANY pair of socks ... these are socks for ages 5-7.

Andrew is two years old.

I stifled my laugh.

Later, Susie finally admitted what I've known all along ... that her mother's mind is starting to slip.

We opened the gift from Pervy's family.

A Blue's Clues thing.

I can't really describe it. It's got Blue in a car.

But I've priced the shit.

It's like ... two bucks at Toys 'R' Us.

Sooooo... we get their kids $75 worth of gift certificates.

And they get Andrew a $2 piece of shit car.

I was so proud of Andrew though.

He TOTALLY disregarded the toy. It was so fucking lame that it made the socks look like a goddamned amusement park ride.

It then came time for me to open my present from Pervy's Dad.

Each year, the adults in this backasswards family draw names and buy one gift for each other.

There's a cash limit of $50. You can't spend more than $50 on the person you buy for. That's the only rule.

He and I drew each other's names. He told Susie that he wanted this wrench set from Sears....it cost $50 on the nose. That's all he wanted and that's what he got.

I provided him with a list of DVDs that I wanted as well as a few books. He was to take his pick off this long list and get me something from that.

What'd I get??

A CD of Alice Cooper's "Welcome To My Nightmare".

Not the DVD, which I had clearly asked for....the fucking CD.

I ALMOST said ... "Oh wow...this will go great with the other copy of Alice Cooper's "Welcome To My Nightmare" CD that I ALREADY FUCKING HAVE, YOU CROSS-EYED LAME FATHER OF A PERVERTED FUCKWAD!!! CAN'T YOU FUCKING READ?!? I DIDN'T WANT CDS FOR CHRISTMAS....I WANTED DVDS, YOU FUCKING TURD FUCKER!!! DVFUCKINGDSSSSSSS!!!!"

Alas, I didn't. I said "Oh wow. Thanks, brother-in-law!"

And that was it. A $9.99 CD. I gave him a list of about 15 DVDs to choose from....and he gets me one fucking cheap assed 23 year-old CD that I already had.

"I hope you like it," he mumbled.

Like it?!?

LIKE IT?!?!?

I'll fucking LOVE IT!!!

I pledge to love that bitch all the way back to the fucking store it came from!

I'll hug it and caress it and whisper sweet nothings into its cellophane until the exact moment that I hand it over to some surly pimply teenager at the local record store who's going to snicker at me for returning the shit and revel in the fact that I'm having to stand there and BEG to return it without a receipt and get something that I might have actually fucking ASKED for!!

But hey... enough about me and my love for this CD that I've already had in my collection for the last 16 years ... the important thing is that you enjoy that fucking $50 wrench set, you dirty broke-assed cocksucker!! Maybe you can use those wrenches to fix your fucking family before your perverted little son gets arrested for being the leader of a child pornography ring!!

I already told Susie that if he draws my name again next year, I'm dropping out of this whole debacle. The lame fuckpig doesn't even bother to read your wish list correctly ... he just goes to the store and gets whatever he THINKS you might want.

I'm popping the fucker in the eye with a ball point pen the next time I see him.

That's a promise.

Soooo...after this gift-opening charade was over, Susie decides that we need to go around the room and everyone needs to say what they got from whoever drew their name.

Everyone seemed to get a shitload of stuff. My sister-in-law got three CDs and the Lord of the Rings DVD from my other sister-in-law. Fuckin' A. I want THAT sister-in-law to draw my name next year.

Luckily, I was last in this farce.

"What'd you get, Uncle Bob?" my wife asked me.

"An Alice Cooper CD," I said, trying my goddamned best to sound enthusiastic about it. Like..."Hoooo Boy!! PARRRRRTY!!!"

Susie....God bless this woman....Susie then says ....and I quote .... "That's it?"

Alright...as if this shit wasn't already embarrassing enough, I had to say "Yes...that's it. While the rest of you all received about $50 worth of shit ... I got a fifth of that because my stupid jackass brother-in-law is dumber than Trent Lott after a pitcher of margaritas."

The only person there who got fucked harder than me was Grandma. Man...she got the shittiest gift of them all.

My lazy fucking Loser-in-Law drew her name.

What'd he get her???

A full day that they'll spend together with nobody else. He's going to take her to lunch and then to the park and then do whatever she wants to do.

Now...keep in mind ... these two LIVE together under one roof already. With the exception of the revolving door of gay friends of his ... it's just those two. They already spend every waking moment together with nobody else around and eat lunch together seven days a week.

So basically, he said "I'll spring for a Chinese buffet, Mom. Merry Fucking Christmas."

Gah!

The whole "party" scarred me for life.

The only thing I can continue hoping for is that every single one of my in-laws dies of a painful mysterious ailment before Andrew gets old enough to realize what a fucked-up family he's now a humiliated member of.

So uhhhhh....are you listening God?

It's me, Uncle Bob.

Please kill my in-laws.

Thanks.

Oh.

And Happy Birthday.

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