There’s nothing about this picture that I don’t love. The ‘bear’ pun. The word ‘hugging’ squeezed in between guns and ammo, and even the mental picture of stressed-out, gun-wielding, card-carrying NRA members gnawing on chocolate ammo to reduce stress brings a smile to my face–it’s for those special kinds of angry when chocolate bunnies just won’t do.

dslartoo has been sharing his favorite christmas music, and one of the things he enjoyed was something that my family listened to every christmas; Mannheim Steamroller’s Fresh Aire Christmas. Listening to it now, I actually grew misty-eyed, thinking about the way christmas used to be; isn’t that a special picture? Mellzah the atheist shedding tears over christmas. I’m keeping the lube handy; at any moment, a unicorn could fly up out of my butt OR Johnny Depp could show up on the doorstep and profess to having a thing for hefty broads–and the lube would be handy in pretty much either case.

In my defense, Christmas was hardly ever dull at my house; there was the year my brother begged so hard to be allowed to open a present early, and my mom relented but had a ‘special gift for him’ and went into the basement and quickly gift-wrapped a quarter, and how much he cried while the rest of us mean bastards laughed; the year my brother once again lobbied, and my mom told him that he’d be allowed to pick something out from under the tree if he ate the chili she made for dinner–watching the world’s pickiest kid GAGGING down chili, my dad yelling at my mom not to make him puke over a ‘goddamn present’ and the kid finally running in hope and anticipation to the tree…only to open a pair of socks, and how much he cried afterward.

Before you ask: yes, most of my favorite stories end in tears for someone.

On Saturday, I went to a family and friends holiday game night at Aisling’s place; one of the games we played was the name game, where you pick a slip of paper with a name on it out of a bowl, and then give clues to your team to guess the person, or if you don’t know who the person is, find another way to get them to guess the name, with rhyming words, wild arm flailing, and liberal use of the word ‘um’–you’ve got one minute to have your team guess as many names as possible before it’s the next team’s turn. The title of this post came from that game, and I’m not sure whose name it actually *was*, but I know the guy was going for us to guess the word ‘bra’ as part of the name; problem being everyone on our team was a filthy SOB and kept shouting out ‘boobs!’ ‘tits!’ ‘udders!’ and pretty much every other euphemism for breast on the planet. Bra? Not so much. The name ‘Sir Charles Titswamp’ gave Aisling and I such a case of the giggles that three rounds later we were STILL in hysterics about it.

Afterward, Aisling’s mom said she had a gift for me to ‘help me get a boyfriend’, which turned out to be a gift basket from Lover’s Package; with a 25% off coupon in case I *don’t* want a boyfriend and just need a vibrator that doesn’t sound like a chainsaw. It also had 52 weeks of ‘lovers’ cards (with some for him and some for her) in a ‘silken’ pouch and we all had a good giggle over that; what could we possibly do but open the package and see what’s printed on the cards? BUM DEAL–they’re all like scratch-off cards! Which I suppose keeps nasty cheaters like me out of there, but at the same time, that could be a dangerous proposition. “Oh baby, tonight we are going to…do you have a coin? Where are your keys? Just give me that spoon, that’ll work. Ok, here we go. Tonight I’m going to tie you to a park bench and entice a hobo to have sex with you.”

That, or maybe by week 52 they’re getting to mundane stuff like: “Would it kill you to brush your teeth before bed?” “Remember to put your socks in the hamper when we’re done.” “Clip your toenails, they’re scratching me.”

Part of me wants to root through my pocket, dig out a quarter, and scratch off every single one of those damn cards RIGHT NOW, and part of me thinks that’s a pretty sad way to spend christmas. BUT I STILL WANT TO KNOW.