As many of you know, because I have beaten this tidbit of my life into the ground with a twelve pound sledge, I was born on Christmas day. When I tell people this, they ask me if I get jipped every year due to combination presents. I have always found this question to be insanely difficult to answer because I have never had another birthday to compare it to, so I’m not sure if I get jipped (and I’m actually not trying to be a smartass here, of course, I’m such a natural wiseass, I rarely have to try anyway, but I digress?hey, there’s a shocker). But there are definitely pros and cons to being born on Christmas. Here they are. (Yup, the old pro and con format?someone’s dusting off a classic. Hey, that someone is me. I’m digressing again. Sorry.)

The top three pros about being born on Christmas are: never having to go to work/school on my birthday, always having my family around on my birthday and always having plenty of good food and drink on my birthday. Let’s look at these groups of letters that represent concepts individually, shall we?

Come on. It won’t hurt. I promise.

The coolest thing about being born on Christmas day is knowing that you will never have to work or go to school on your birthday. Only unemployed summer babies can really say that they’ve never had to go to work or school during their birthdays. Everyone else can fuck off. In this category, I beat everyone except those assholes born on New Years Day. Oh yeah, those guys are the bane of my birthday existence. Lucky cool-parties-guaranteed-on-their-birthday bitches.

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The second coolest thing about my birthday is that I never have to look far for the people that care about me on my birthday. They’re up at the bar in my hometown in an attempt to avoid their relatives. (I kid. I kid. Hi, Mom.)

The third coolest thing about my Christmas birthday is the never-ending outpouring of quality eats and foods. Sure, they’d be there even if it wasn’t my birthday, but it’s my birthday so I can falsely compare myself to the messiah if I want to. Don’t judge me.

The top three cons to being born on Christmas are the 21st birthday, the 16th birthday and the grade school Jesus jokes. I will now elaborate.

The absolute worst birthday I ever had was my 21st birthday. Now, on my seventeenth birthday I was in an East St. Louis Strip Club enjoying the cre`me de le cre`me of freaky bitches and out-and-out losers, but shortly thereafter all the Strip Clubs decided to close on Christmas, which meant that I received my first legal drink in a run down, piece of shit bar, miles from my home. It was served to me by a woman with two teeth; my friends and I were the only ones in the place besides that ugly bitch. Man, that sucked.

The 16th sucked because I couldn’t take the driver’s test. In fact, I waited another year and a few months just because of this (and the fact that I failed the damn thing three times).

And in grade school, after the kids found out my birthday, they nicknamed me Jesus. Fortunately, this kind of nickname stops being funny around the time a kid is ten or so, once said kid realizes that there’s nothing funny about Jesus. (I mean, not one joke in the whole Bible. Little stiff, that JC. Little stiff.)

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Anyway, I was just so dead sure that all you all would want to know the best and worst parts of being born on Christmas, that I had to type this down and show it to you. Next week, I’m gonna write about horses.

(I’m kidding. I have nothing to say about horses.)

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