T’was the night before blogmas and I was back home,
All the way up north where mammoths still roam,
Where it’s sure to be cold with the possibility of snow,
Let’s hope it doesn’t jam up the roads, but we’ll see how we go.
I’m visiting my family and there’s sure to be war,
Shouting and fighting and maybe a lot more,
I’d like to think otherwise, but I know that I’m right,
I’m just vainly hoping I’ll make it through the night.
“But how am I reading this? Is this post here by chance?”
No it is not my friend, it was scheduled in advance,
So while I knuckle under and try my best to stay alive,
To you a very, Merry Blogmas and all that associated seasonal jive.
So it’s Christmas Eve, I’m at home. Although I’m sure you gathered that from the crime against the English language above. I don’t have much else to say really, Christmas is Christmas. You cram yourself into tight proximity with your blood relatives and then remember in vivid, pant-shitting detail exactly why you left home in the first place. The only sane response to this is to eat and drink as much as you can to numb to pain. I’m not really one of those people filled with Christmas cheer. My friend @Lynxifer made me a Christmas card for me to distribute to you feckless human meat-people. I think it sums things up nicely, he captured my rant voice quite well. I will hasten to add that I am most assuredly not a real doctor of any sort.
Merry Christmas you filthy animals