shoot the partridge and eat the pears

I think Santa came last night, but you would really have to ask Mrs. Claus. (ba dump bump) But seriously, there was so many fat people with facial hair walking around here in red fuzzy pants it made it impossible to tell who the hell I had to bribe to get a drink, and who had the sack full-o-goods.

They say it's about giving, and 50% of those who told you that are good people and the rest are just greedy pricks. But either way there are too many kids, right now, all over the nation bothering the shit out of their hungover parents even as these words are typed, just held on the verge of hysterics and the sun hasn't even had the balls to show its face yet.

I never got to rush. I always had to wait. Being an only child, there was always only one of me to hold at bay and there ain't no paper-tearing till the coffee has been made, till your aunt's hair is done up, till the other guests get here, till all us 'dults are good and damn ready and until then you will wait.

But today I can see the yellow light peeking through the shades and I have a feeling not unlike the child of my youth, I am the first one up on Christmas morning. Maybe there is something fishy under that tree...?

Who wants a mimosa?

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UPDATNESS:

Drinkin' never looked so awesome.

I may have forgot to put the top on the grill down, and the pork roast may have been "burning like a candle," but I refuse to be blamed. Merry Drinking.

Oh yeah, and Goldberg: