The Dark Side of Christmas

My sister’s husband bent over to pick up the doodoo, laughing. And you know why he wasn’t upset about it? Because it’s
Christmas Eve. This time of year, everyone seems to be just a little bit more accommodating. Except for the Jews, because they don’t believe in Jesus. Same with the Chinese.

My brother is dressed gayer than a gay at a gay convention. He normally never dresses this way, but he’s going to some Christmas party
after dinner. I would show you a picture, but he doesn’t want me to “ruin his career.”

"If my parents could box up a vagina or a bottle of tequila and give it to me for Christmas, I would be a happy guy."

This is my niece’s first Christmas, and our tree is completely encompassed with her presents. I would be jealous, but she’s just
a stupid little baby (not really). She can’t even talk. I’ll take the ability for rational thought and speech any day over a bunch of Fisher-Price junk.

My sister just came in the room and asked me if I’d like to make some cookies. This is sort of a tradition that has developed over the years at the
Curtiss household. Here is picture of some of the cookies I made. They tasted delicious.

I personally like the angel shitting in the little boy’s mouth, but the tranny with armpit hair at the bottom of the screen is a family
favorite. I couldn’t bring myself to eat the vagina cookie.

I made my way from the kitchen into the living room with my dinner and my laptop. Everyone was sitting around the kitchen table eating,
except for me. Why is Mike sitting by himself, you may be asking? Is he having gastrointestinal issues? Herpes flare-up? Truth is, my herpes is dormant and my family is
used to my gas by now. I’m sitting here so I can finish my column.

Now, I realize this is no substantial feat in itself. But for me, it’s fucking remarkable. As Nate DeGraaf will surely tell you, I am one lazy worthless sack of ass. Or, at least I used to be.
I’m trying to have some semblance of responsibility in my life, and this column is a good way to start I guess.

It’s Christmas day now and we just finished opening all of our presents. My niece’s final tally was 27 gifts. My brother and I
each got 5 gifts apiece. I got some gift cards to electronic stores, and he got a collection of neutral colored pants and shirts for work. We sat there on the couch,
jealous of the bounty our little niece was receiving. My sister noticed this, and looked at the both of us and said,

“Welcome to the other side of Christmas.”

My dad started laughing his ass off, and we both just sunk our heads. Because after all, she was right. Neither of us really cared about what
we got. I’m just happy to be sitting around in my pajamas all day, waiting for the Cowboys to come on.

I’m not trying to say that I’m all depressed and don’t care about receiving gifts anymore, but my tastes have just changed
over the years. If my parents could box up a vagina or
a bottle of tequila and give it to me for Christmas, I would be a happy guy.

The point I am trying to make is this: I am now on the other side of Christmas. The “dark side” if you will. I am no longer
primarily a receiver of gifts, I am now a giver. This relates in no way to my sexual status with other men—I am still a receiver when it comes to that. Bring on the
yule log!

Looking at Christmas this way changes everything. I now have to hold a job to buy tons of shit to accommodate everyone. I have to start a
family so I can have people to buy presents for. I have to buy a house to keep that family in. Well, I may be moving a little fast, but you get the idea.

Christmas as a whole may never be the same for me again, but a few things will remain constant. I will always spend it with my family, a dog
will shit on the carpet, and I will make vulgar
penis-shaped cookies. Merry Christmas.

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