I was doing this post called Christmas Oranges and I went to try and find an image that fit it and I came across a story called Christmas Oranges. So, I read it. It's a legend about this child in an orphanage who had nothing, but, every Christmas the orphans were given an orange. This orange was a once a year treat and the kids, who received nothing else, looked foreword to it all year. Well, one year, this child (girl or boy, the story varies) broke a rule at the orphanage..it it always a minor rule, like tracking mud in accidentally..and the head master told the child they would not receive their Christmas orange. The child is heartbroken, but, Christmas morning the kid finds many segments of oranges put together to be a whole orange. The other orphans took pity and each of them donated one slice of their precious treat to make the orange-less child happy. And the moral seems to be that god makes people learn what Christmas is, by teaching them to share.
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It pissed me right the fuck off, as you can imagine. If there was really a god, don't you think all children would have all the fucking oranges they can eat at Christmas? Who is this abusive god that lets children go hungry? Who wants to worship something that lets bad things happen to innocents? I don't get it. If I was god, all children would go to bed with a full belly. Fuck that sharing an orange shit, kiss my ass.
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My Christmas orange story is about a skinny abused kid who wouldn't let anyone kill Christmas. I was dirty and poor and terrified most of the time. And really hungry. But, you know what, on Christmas I was just as good as anyone else and I knew that was the one day when adults had to act like adults and do what they were supposed to do. Christmas was the best holiday ever.
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When December came, I started counting off the days. I was seven years old and the decorating was up to me. I'd started doing it the year before because no one in the house seemed to be doing it. After that, it was always up to me and I loved it. I never had any new decorations, my family would not spend any money on crap like that. I had a box of broken shit I'd been carrying from house to house every time we up and moved which was often. I had a tiny nativity set. Plastic baby Jesus in a manger with a broken taped together Mary and Joseph. And I made donkeys and angels out of my brothers Play Dough. A cardboard box was the stable. I had an old string of lights and I hoarded any bulbs I could find to make the fire hazards work. I had used tinsel. That's right, the only thing my parents would ever buy was tinsel and I saved it. My dad would make a big deal out of "bringing home the tree." Like he was Father Knows Best one time a year and that was supposed to make us forget the fact that he was murdering psycho the rest of the year. It was a tree he stole (those were pretty), but, if he couldn't steal one, he'd cut down some old scrub cedar. I hated those, they're brown and stickery. But, whatever, I had a tree.
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And I would set that tree in a bucket and make it stand up somehow. I was a little kid, but, if you think kids can't figure things out, you'd be wrong. Even if I had to hammer a nail into a window sill and tie the goddamn tree up with clothes line..I was having a tree. One year I made paper chains out of the comic section. One year I took flour and water dough balls and stuck broken spaghetti in them to make atomic looking stars. Every year I'd plug in that frayed old string of bulbs and fiddle with it and make it light. Once in awhile the old man felt generous and he'd help "the little son of a bitch" get it lit.
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Once that tree went up, the countdown was on! I'd lay under that tree and look up and it was like a wonderland of multi colored dreams. The glow of those big old bulbs, the fizzle sound from the overloaded outlet, the special sparkle of that wrinkled tinsel and the smell of that damn tree put me in another world. A world where there's a guy named Santa who's gonna make it all better for one day and one night. Oh, I knew better than to ask him for presents..I wasn't going to get much. I was told Santa was really tired and couldn't carry any more by the time he got to me. He carried something for my little brother though, even though that suck ass never left the milk and cookies. I knew Santa wasn't real at seven. Hell, I knew Santa was a lie when I was four. Too many things didn't add up. I was little, not an idiot. But, I had to pretend Santa WAS real and I had to give him respect. If I went along with this, I could have a whole day and night where no one hurt me. No one scared me on Christmas. No one MO-lested you on Christmas. No one was trying to kill anyone on Christmas. There would be no beatings, no kidnappings, no murders, no gunfights, no hiding barefoot in the snow, no cops, no crazy ass shit at all. All I had to do was act innocent. "When is Santa coming, Daddy? Mama?" Because it's an iron clad rule, even in houses of horrendous dysfunction, that you behave yourself on Christmas.
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The one fucking day that adults have to, by law, act like grown ups. They have to have the heat on. People have wood on Christmas. They don't have any in January, you're fucked then, but, in December there is always heat. The house is halfway clean and doesn't stink. You get a bath, even if you have to haul the well water yourself. And the best part of all, for one glorious day the adults are required to cook you a decent meal. No scrounging in the back of cupboards and eating cold green beans from a can for dinner. Those low life bastards had to feed us. God and Santa said so, or they'd burn in Hell. One delightful day of being warm and clean and smelling real food....and eating it! And one other thing I knew I could count on..there would be oranges. My mouth just watered at the thought. I'd dream of oranges for a month.
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Christmas morning..oh my gawd, what excitement. Knowing you are totally safe for the entire day. You can watch cartoons and no one is going to run at you screaming with belt. Home free. One whole day without any fear. My brother would get toys, Tonka trucks and train sets. He was happy and I was told Santa just has an easier time making boy toys. Santa can't carry all that stuff, remember? Sure, I remember. That year I had two presents. I knew better than to hope, but, still...was there a small chance that I was wrong and there really was a Santa? Ummm, no. The first package contained a pair of well used plastic shoes three sizes too big. I smiled. The second (and last) package was rectangular. Did I dare to hope? I tore off the paper and oh, oh, OHHHHHHHH! I will never forget it. It was a book! It was a used and worn copy of Black Beauty!!!! Man, I was so excited, I jumped up and down and screamed. There is a Santa, there is!!!! I remember the colorful cover, it was a black horse in a green field and the horse was rearing up in a sky so blue it was like Santa just made up the color and slapped it on Black Beauty just for me. I loved that book, I loved Christmas and I loved Santa. I also loved Jesus because he scared those fuckers I lived with into being good for a day. Christmas rocked.
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Even poor kids have Christmas stockings. I had one too. I had hung up an old knee sock for Santa, just in case. Santa filled it with treasures. Holy cow! There was a hand held puzzle, one of those plastic things where you move the squares around to make a picture. I loved those. There was a yellow Duncan yo yo, which was awesome. And there were oranges. There was always oranges on Christmas. Beautiful perfect oranges. The very smell of an orange makes me think of beautiful white snow and shining magical lights. I got three oranges that year. Three! I also found nuts and candy canes in the bottom of my sock. Food. I'll tell you, that was the best Christmas I ever had. If you know of anything better than sitting around safe and warm and eating oranges and nuts and reading your very own copy of Black Beauty, I'd like to know about it. Because I don't think a better Christmas has ever been had by any child.
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And that's the true Christmas orange story. And don't bother feeling sorry for that little girl. She doesn't need sympathy, she just needed to tell you about the best Christmas ever. Because you can not steal a child's Christmas, no matter how mean and crazy you are the rest of the year. Two years later, I thought things through and decided that I didn't need Jesus. All he did was spy on me and threaten me with burning hell for eternity. I threw Mary and Joseph in the wood stove and I buried that rat, baby Jesus, under the chicken shed. But, I kept Santa in my heart. And Black Beauty too. Now, it's my turn to be Santa and I do it lovingly and with the memory of that special Christmas and I hope, with all my heart, I am decent to children the rest of the year too. Santa should be around in your heart every single day and all children should feel safe.
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And fuck a god who won't let an orphan have an orange. It still pisses me off. Santa makes Christmas. Be a good Santa.
Elin Woods bought herself a Swedish resort island. There's 22 houses on it, not occupied right now (summer homes) and a big old sturdy house where she can go with her kids. You can only get there by boat. ~shakes head~ A frickin' island. How many of us have dreamed of that? Elin doesn't mess around. How do you like that Tiger, you whore hound?
I have a candle going for the Duggar family today, Michelle gave birth to her 19th child, a premature baby girl they named Josie Brooklyn Duggar. Josie weighs just 1 pound, 6 ounces, but, she is listed in stable condition. That's very small. I am sending good Pagan energy to them and if you're a Christian, I'm sure they would appreciate your prayers.
No, I will not eat Spam..ever. It is nasty white trash garbage and it should be illegal. I would eat PeeWee Hermans ass before I'd eat Spam. I also hate ham, though I know other people love it. Ham tastes like a lump of gristle buried in salt to me. No thanks. I will not eat beets because they just don't taste good enough to risk getting that red stuff on me. And I will not eat raisins. They are the wrinkled anal warts of Satan and I curse anyone who ruins perfectly good cookies and trail mix with the little disgusting dingle berries.
Well, it looks like Moose has good taste in Internet sites. LMAO, that cracks me right the frick up. Thanks, iambriezy. Big doggy hugs, Moose, my buddy.
The first night of Hanukka begins tonight. Happy Hannukka and I would love to hear about your traditions.
Any old condom will stretch out big enough to fit over a waste basket so who are these deluded men that imagine they have a dick so huge it will tear a woman's mouth open? Oh, they are the Durex XXL customer. And I am supposed to be impressed. Sexy, huu?
Kendra gave birth to a 9 pound 5 ounce baby boy named Hank Baskett IV. She had him by C scetion and she says everything is fine and they are enjoying every minute with thier new little guy. Awwwww, congrats Kendra and Hank!
A "source" tells UsWeekly, "They don't believe in Santa Claus. Mady and Cara ruined it for the sextuplets and told them a few years ago that Santa wasn't real, and that their presents come from Mommy and Daddy. The sextuplets are the ones at school who tell the other kids there's no Santa Claus."
Oh holy cute on a cracker! I am on sweet overload from looking at that! OMG, call 911, I just overdosed on CUUUUUUUUUUUUTE.
I got that pic off Yahoo, but, it's the same here. The Midwest is in a bit of trouble. I still don't have to get out, I have everything I need, but, I CAN get out today..if it's unavoidable. The city plows finally showed up this morning. There is no doubt they went to the "better" end of town first and ignored Guntown until the very last. And I have no doubt that they repeatedly plowed the "good" end of town several times before they ever looked here. And I have to wonder, what would these people down here have done yesterday if they needed an ambulance? I guess they'd rely on kind neighbors like my cousin cruising in his truck with the plow hooked to it.
According to Stephen King, J.K. Rowling is "a terrific writer" while "Stephenie Meyer can't write worth a darn."
Rhode Island dairy farm owner, Brad Davis says this calf was born with a cross on it head and he thinks it's a message from above. Shrugs. People see what they want to see. To me, it looks exactly like Tinkerbell and if Brad Davis wants a home for this calf, I will call it a gift from the fairys, name it Tinkerbell and put a bell around it's neck. And I will let it live in my backyard and pet it and hug it and never let it be hamburger.
I was doing this post called Christmas Oranges and I went to try and find an image that fit it and I came across a story called Christmas Oranges. So, I read it. It's a legend about this child in an orphanage who had nothing, but, every Christmas the orphans were given an orange. This orange was a once a year treat and the kids, who received nothing else, looked foreword to it all year. Well, one year, this child (girl or boy, the story varies) broke a rule at the orphanage..it it always a minor rule, like tracking mud in accidentally..and the head master told the child they would not receive their Christmas orange. The child is heartbroken, but, Christmas morning the kid finds many segments of oranges put together to be a whole orange. The other orphans took pity and each of them donated one slice of their precious treat to make the orange-less child happy. And the moral seems to be that god makes people learn what Christmas is, by teaching them to share.
Well, well, look at that. I haven't been out yet, that's the view standing inside my door, which I had a helluva time getting open. The National Weather Service calls this a Monster Storm! The Midwest has been blasted and it's heading East, so all of you on the East coast, batton down and bundle up. It's cold. They say we got 12 inches and 15 foot drifts and advised us not to go anywhere. Stay home. They don't have to tell me twice. But, I think this area got a lot more than 12 inches because I cleaned nearly a foot of snow off that birdbath yesterday. Well, it's a little exciting and the city workers will have something to do. And tales to tell. There's no sign of a snow plow here yet, we aren't high priority. But, as of 30 minutes ago, the cable is working. So is everything else. You can't beat that. No work or school today for almost everyone...yay! As soon as I get enough coffee in me I'll go shovel a spot on the concrete for the poor birds and feed them. The cats won't bother them today, that's for sure. Unless they can hold their breath for a long time. Heh. It should be interesting to see how long it takes this little town to get up and running again..we really got hit hard. And the sky looks like it could dump some more. I feel a little like Laura Ingles Wilder today. Pa, it done drifted the door shut!
WOW! And it still snowing! Great big fluffy flakes, the car is covered again, the whole world looks white. It's not cold here. There is no wind..just beautiful white snow and tons of it. I wonder how long it will snow?? Visibility is now almost gone. It's a true snow storm and I'm warm and cozy.
Okay, this is a big snow, so far it's about a foot deep and it just keeps snowing. It hasn't stopped all day. You get a path cleared and turn around and it's all covered again. The old ladies are freeking out, it's the end of the world. LMAO! I love it, I don't have to take their old ass's to the store. But, I went over and asked, well, really, I was just being an asshole for my own enjoyment. I dug the car out and stuck my head into mom's door and clapped my mittens together and said "Come on, ladies, it's store day!" LOLOLOL. My mom is dumb as a box of rocks but, she sort of caught on that I was fucking with her head and got huffy. But, my senile old aunt jumped off that sofa in fighting mode. "We aint a goin' no place in this blizzard, you dumb fool! You tryin' to kill us all?!" I said, well, gee whiz and left laughing. The funniest part was a phone call my mom got while I was walking out, it must have been my other aunt..and my moms voice got all small and whiney and she said "We're barely makin' it, but, we're makin' it. We're survivors." I started laughing so loud she heard me and slammed the door behind me. I think she said "You fucker." LMAOOOOOO! Oh, god. They're barely makin' it? How? They have enough food to feed an army, the heat was blasting, soap opera's on the cable TV, water's fine..how the fuck are they in any hardship? The worst that could happen is they might run out of canned cat food and have to feed the strays chicken. They are such big ass liars.
Dear Matt Heckmess, I am so sorry for that shit I said yesterday. I had no idea you were going through such a hard time. I heard your wife left you and took the dog. She's a bitch, Matt, and she's wrong. You have a perfect right to dress in diapers and jack off to Three Men And A Baby. And that goddamn dog was probably lying out it's canine ass when it said you molested it. I'm on your side Matt. Just because you spell like a third grader and can't put together a coherent sentence does not mean you aren't an ace journalist! You keep on truckin, Matt, there's a woman out there somewhere who'll be glad to change your loaded diapers. And I'm sure your mom's basement is real nice. And I want you to know, I'm going to listen to your radio show as soon as I get half my brain removed. You know, so I fit in. Gooooo Matt.
Someone sent me this picture of an Iowa winter. Yep. That's exactly what it looks like when your pipes freeze and burst. Been there, done that..too many times. LMAO..it's such a bitch. I've had it worse than that actually. Once I had a bathroom covered with about three feet of solid ice. The first thing you do when you see this is grab an axe and chip out the water valve and shut it off. Then you call a plumber and promise him your first born child. And chip and haul. And scream and cry. And chip and haul. Ahhh, winter in Iowa is so beautiful.
According to Radar Online, Jon and Kate have finally sold thier E Town home, which has been sitting forelorn and empty (except for the trash and post it prayers Kate left) for ages. They bought it for $280,000 in 2006 and just sold it for a tidy profit at $325,000. You'd think the difference would be banked because the gravy train has crashed, but, those of us who know what fools these people are, well, we're just waiting to see what two seat sports car daddy picks out and which vacation spot mommy needs to go to alone because she's exhausted-ish. Toys, that's the ticket, eh?
In Spain! Dressed like this. And she got new heels! Awesome Suri. Suri's wardrobe is estimated to be valued in the millions. Mom and dad were wearing jeans and tights. That kid makes me laugh, I mean, it's obvious she runs the show and what Suri wants, Suri gets. Tom would love to wear that outfit, but, he won't come out. I'll bet he has one just like it in his closet though.
Yawn! I've been watccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhing. I've been deleting left and right. How about that trolls? You ugly stupid trolls will NOT have your say on DD. But, now I'm tired and I'll put the site on mod. Sorry about that, guys, I know it sucks, but, they will not be allowed to spew while I nap. I'll switch it back as soon as I get up in the morning. You know what's hilarious? For the last two months I've had this place set to hold back any comments on posts over two weeks old. You cannot imagine the vile things these chicken shit trolls have said about our children and they think they can get away with it. I've been watching their snail trails this whole time. They aren't very bright. Okay, I'll see ya in the morning!
The truth behind the sweet cat behaviors you think are so cute can be found HERE in an article titled "6 Adorable Cat Behaviors With Shockingly Evil Explanations." You think he rubs against your leg because he loves you? Nope. He owns your ass. Cats who don't cover their poop or who poop in front of your door are telling you that YOU are a piece of shit peon and HE is the boss. I met one like that last year. My footprint is still in his furry ass. Kittens are adorable, I'll admit it, but, they grow up to be asshole cats. Before you type to me about what a bitch I am, let me tell you something I don't talk about much. I have a cat. Her name is Fucking Avery. She used to be just Avery, but, now it's always me waiting on her hand and foot and going "FUCKING Avery." Her favorite trick is to walk on the roof and cry. When I go out to let her in, she jumps on my head. This is no longer amusing to me, but, Fucking Avery never tires of it. She has me well trained in stupid human tricks. Because she's an asshole cat. That's the most redundant sentence I've ever typed.
LMAO at these pics, they aren't even worth saving. And it doesn't matter, she knows I was there and that's what's important. Hopefully her mom got better shots, she was closer. Lissa is smiling at her new dad there. He was clapping louder than anyone and she was soooo proud. She knew all the words this year and did a great job. I was about a million miles in the back and had fat men with tripods set up in front of me. Honestly, what is it about school pagents that makes fools turn into Spielberg? Anyway, she had the most beautiful dress on and matching velvet shoes and her hair was done really pretty with a matching flower sprig. And she spotted me....finally..and yelled "Pat! You came!" It was so cute.
