is finally upon us once again...where liquor sales are goin thru the roof thanx to COVID while parents start loose'n it and begin booze'n it...just cuz all hell will break loose if that hystorectomy pad in heels can't get their glittered claws on the latest fad fer their special lil ones reason why they have a cottaged cheese ass...while dear ol' dad goes an extra 100 miles outta his way just to take the "babysitter" home every nite...
so they alternate that tired old excuse...either #1 ol' fat ass in the red jumper was systematically busted once again fer drive'n under the influence on Christmas eve nite....or #2 they ended up on Santa's shit list again this year...
as to why certain lil kittens...who caused beyond unbearable chaos durin' these lockdown months...wouldn't be gett'n that special lil gift that they've been bitch'n and begg'n fer all year long
in the 50's...every lil lassie went ape shit if dear old saint what's-wrong
with-his-fuck'n-memory...fergot to get them the much sought after hula hoop so they could pratice the proper way to twerk their tush to keep their future pathetic excuse fer a marriage from fall'n apart by play'n that dreaded "my rocket fell into her socket" game
by the 60's...every lil girl and girlie boy wanted that bearded booze hound
to leave them an easy bake oven so they could create their own personalized "baked" goods...just so they could drown out the screams of ma & pa after cocktail hour with the neighbors
once the 70's rocked on...everyone was pett'n somethin' on someone...but
fer those unfortunate souls that never got asked to the prom...or even to their high school gang-bang...they always had their pet rock to keep them miserably happy til it was time to see Krusty Kringle the follow'n year
in the 80's...parents were pick'n out their plots if they couldn't get their lil
grubby paws on that delightfully diabetic insanely bloated Barbie doll that that fruitcaked fellow was suppose to set beautifully wrapped under their coke flocked xmas tree
by the 90's...every child would shank a skank if they woke up xmas morn'n
without their very own personalized speak'n furby from Papa Noel...which was really just the bastard child as the result of a gremlin and a pickled owl’s nite of inbreed'n
and once the new millennium rolled around...it was all just a CROC of shit from old Saint Dick!
though now a days...unfortunately still...the only thing approxiamately 666
children of a certain demographic class want from Santo Clos this year is a proper bed with 3 proper meals a day along with proper medical attention outside of the kennel they’ve been forced to reside in thanx to the mentally deranged IMPEACHED FOR LIFE Grinch & his complicitly evil administrational elves...
and to get reunited with their parents fer xmas...
after travel'n endless miles fer a better future!
so remember...sometimes yer lil kittens should just be grateful that they
live where they live & quit bitch’n about what they don’t have...now GET OFF MY DRESS!
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