‘Tis several weeks beyond Christmas when you realize You forgot it completely—doggone it, time flies!
After leaving his wife and stumbling out of a piano bar, George Bailey drives into a tree. Or as it’s also known, “The Billy Joel Trifecta.”
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, Although millions of microscopic mites which live in the pores of the skin will be out to feast
(Hark! The Herald Angels Sing) Hush! Santa will hear our plotting, He’s gone mad, brain is rotting. We should organize a coup, Before he makes new boots from you.
As for the incalculable diminished commercial value you have caused us in previous years, we are willing to settle for a one-time $8 billion settlement.
I’ve been silently scorning them for years and I’m ready to take it up a notch—with a decapitated horse head and powerful pagan curses.
At 1,559 years old, I’m not getting any younger. And a woman has to do what she can to make it through this cold, ice-hard world.
Remember the true meaning of the holiday: Getting some $15 shit from Target and being done with it.
If you hear Wham!’s “Last Christmas” at Trader Joe’s, stop shopping immediately and guzzle a 32 oz. carton of eggnog. Post #Whamanogageddon!
Now, instead of giving off the "vibes" of a Hallmark movie, I'm basically just a glorified lasso wrapped around your windowsill.
I know I told you no animal print this year, but boy am I glad you didn't listen! Again. For the third year in a row.
Just like you, with some strategic bright lights and a huge painted-on smile, I make it look like everything is peachy keen.