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Subject: The Hell I Call Christmas
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1999 17:03:40 -0800
From: Sully
Newsgroups: alt.drunken.bastards

I hope you understand that the events leading up to this post have led me to become, nay REQUIRED me to become, very drunk. You see, according to the Christian calendar, Christmas is this coming Saturday. Not that I have anything against little baby Yeshua, mangers, No Vacancy signs, ZZ Top looking guys with funny herbs following strange lights in the sky, Joseph scratching his noggin trying to figure out how his old lady could have gotten a basketball under her dress since there wasn't any whoopie that would lead to the logical explanation. I got nothing against any of that at all. What really grinds my bones is the fat, white-haired old dude, Santa Claus.

And it's not really Santa that gets my blood boiling, it's the presents.

I mean, there's nothing wrong with the presents themselves, per se.

It's the wrapping.

I hate fucking wrapping presents.

The cheap sonsabitches that make the paper ought to be shot. The stuff tears at the corners, it doesn't fold straight, you can't cut it for shit, the tape pulls off the color and then won't stick, it's an absolute frigging nightmare Hell.

It started out pretty simple today. I don't wait for the last minute to go shopping, but I do go out and get it done in one shot. I know what I'm buying, and pretty much where, so I go get it done. Today was the day. I had the VISA smoking pretty good by the time I had the back of the truck loaded up to the top of the camper. Plenty of stuff, good stuff, not "it's the thought that counts" stuff.

By the way, and I digress, but it's NOT the thought that counts. What horseshit. That was made up by someone who gave someone else a crappy gift, and saw the look on the unfortunate recipient's face. Now maybe the giver didn't put enough thought into the gift, and was thinking out loud in a twisted way. But it's not the thought, IT'S THE GIFT that counts. You give a good gift, and you'll know what I'm talking about.

So I get home, and get all the booty inside, and I look at this pile of stuff and I start to get the cold sweats. I realized that I had to WRAP all this shit, and put on nametags and ribbons and bows, and the next thing I'm having a stiff Bourbon and diet Coke.

Well, this isn't so bad, I try to convince myself. A little relaxing afternoon wrapping Christmas Cheer with the able assistance from Mr. Beam, and then tonight I'll have the job done for another year.

The first package, I pick an easy one. Some stocking stuffers. Small, go inna sock, nobody'll even look at the wrap job. Get it started, man. Cool little thermometer on a zipper pull, so when we're out in the freezing cold and snow, we can see how bad the frostbite would be without Thinsulate, and you can zip the jacket even while wearing the thickest of gloves. I can already see it on a jacket, and I have a quick pull off my drink because I know I can do this.

Except it's not flat on the front like the back. First thing, the plastic pokes through the paper. Well hell, that's what bows are for, cover that up, tape the hell out of it, fold it over onto the back and do the other ones. Getting pretty good at that, so I try the diamondstick knife sharpener, and the damn plastic pokes through the paper again.

I'm ready to throw the thing across the room, but I see Mr. Drinky right there on the table, so I take a couple of minutes to calm my nerves, which are right on the edge and I haven't even gotten to the stuff that's going to be sitting under the tree on display for the whole critical world to see and examine with microscopic vision.

Now, a note on paper. Why do they have to make the damn stuff so thin?? I can see why the fat bastard elf just throws stuff in a sack, instead of screwing with the paper. I'm thinking about pulling the cases off the pillows for this one, because it isn't getting any better. At least they don't tear, and you can use string instead of tape.

And another thing, I thought paper was to kind of hide the stuff inside, so nobody would be able to figure it out until the big Unwrapping Ceremony. So why, today, when I go to pull a roll of paper out of the Trunk of Wrappings, do I see the word "Transparent" on the label? That got me so rattled I had to fix another drinky.

And thank God for Nicorette. The 4mg. chunks, and I got three of them going at this point. I can only imagine what would have happened if I was using tobacco. Cigarettes? I was ready to torch the whole pile, paper, presents and all, and I'd have had matches. Dip? I was already foaming at the mouth, so a good bit of tobacco spittle wouldn't have been noticed.

A box with some shoes inside. Tape the box so it stays shut. Pick out some paper, lay the box down, fold the paper over to see how it fits, kind of get a line to cut on. DAMN IT, pulled the paper a little too tight, and the damn corner of the box ripped the paper. Easy, Sully, a little tape'll fix it right up, nobody'll notice. So I get that one done, a drink, a piece of tape, another sip, more tape, set the glass on the box to hold the paper for more tape. Put bows on the water marks from the condensation from the glass.

And why the hell don't we all have a couple-three more arms, because two hands aren't enough to wrestle a box with tape and tissue thin paper while trying to drink this one into submission.

The big boxes are the worst. I got the bastard down on the floor where I can really get at it, and I go to cut the paper with scissors, and that's an absolute fiasco. Oh, sure, you just hold the scissors and ZIP it right up the paper, and it cuts like a charm. Right. It was exploding, tears running everywhere. I got out the straight edge and razor knife, and I'm slashing away, nice clean edges, no tears or anything, and then I look at the wood floor, and it's pretty obvious that a bow isn't going to cover that up. Damn razor cuts wood pretty good. So I move the whole shitteree over to the carpet, because a couple of cuts there will never be noticed. A couple more hits of the Beam and I'll be more careful.

Finally, I got down to the last present, no box, completely asymmetrical, I swear there were at least 17 sides. Fuck it. By this time, I've had it up to here with this. I made a big piece of paper, put the gift in it, and pulled up the sides like a hobo sack. A couple of wraps with the tape, a bow and a name tag, and I'm done. If it weren't for the fact that I'm tranked, plus the fact that I don't have to screw with this for another 366 days, I'd be in one foul mood, on the heels of 3 hours of Hell.

Happy Christmas.

-Sully (No gifts were harmed in the events leading to this story.)


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