Those of you who are veterans of my ranting ways will probably be expecting my stock “Christmas Isn’t What You Think It Is” blog right about now; Not this year. This year, because I seem to be in an uncharacteristic good mood, I want to send out a message of peace and joy to all the losers out there who will be by themselves this Christmas.
If you’re alone at Christmas…
You’re also not with Andy Dick, Glenn Beck, Ann Coulter, or me. Count your blessings.
You’re not flying home wedged between two bumpkin elephants who are excited about “bein’ in the ‘Big City’ for the first time” while trying to peel the plastic wrap off a luke warm chicken breast as the guy one row ahead of you in business class complains that his champagne is tepid.
You’re not trapped in your kitchen with Aunt Bea, who’s just polished off her fourth double Glenn Fiddich, as she explains to you that Uncle Bob is now a monster in bed since he started getting regular prostate exams.
You won’t have to fake a smile and begrudingly say “Thank you” after unwrapping the Official Toby Keith Belt Buckle your sister-in-law was certain you’d love.
You can change the radio station to avoid hearing “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” for the 10,000th time without having your hand smacked by your mother who still thinks the song is funny.
You can do heroin, cocaine, mushrooms, LSD, or whatever tickles your fancy at the dinner table without having to admit to your family that you have a drug problem.
You can sit around the house naked hoping there really is a Santa Claus and that he knows Sasha Grey.
Finally, if you’re alone at Christmas, you’re guaranteed to have the most sensible conversation you’ve ever had over Christmas dinner.
Merry Christmas everyone.