The First Day of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, an Arctic blast straight up the ass. I’m sure residents of Minnesota are crying their eyes out for us, but it is colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra in Chicago presently. Anyone who watched the Bears in their Monday night game against the Cowboys had to marvel at the brass balls Mike Ditka brought with him, as he always does, standing in an open stadium on the lake where it was estimated the wind chill was -19 degrees with no hat or gloves. Looked like a fucking Christmas ham his face was so red, the wind whipping his silver locks and mustache to and fro. You just knew that fucker wasn’t going to be enshrined in Chicago lore for all time with a pussyfied winter cap on.

Ditka and I were cut from different cloth and I’m quite sure mine is mostly silk. On the way to work today I looked like Ralphie’s kid brother Randy in A Christmas Story. I couldn’t even keep my arms down. It makes the train ride that much more fun as well because CTA train conductors ensure that at all temperatures below 60 degrees the temperature inside the train is 90-105, comfortable Bikram yoga conditions. Combine that with the fact that all the obese people on the train are now obese people on the train with size XXXL down parkas, and you’re traveling in style. When you crest the stairs at the Jackson stop and the 20mph wind ushers the 8 degree air to your sweat-drenched core, you know you’re alive. The silver lining to this weather cloud is that when you make the reverse commute at night, after you’ve trudged a half-mile in the same conditions, your toddler and dog are rip shit with cabin fever because it is too cold for them to go outside all day. It is at this moment that you know ’tis the season for problem drinking.

I talk shit about moving to San Diego but how much fun could you have being comfortable all the time? You’d have to find entirely new shit to bitch about and honestly I’m too fucking tired for it. In preparation for taking my dog outside 3o minutes ago I geared up like I was about to lead a Sherpa team on a mission to rescue a stranded Everest expedition from the Hillary Step. That’s the way we like it: cold, miserable and with something built-in to bitch about all day. Sure, your hand flash freezes when you take it out of the glove and put it in the plastic bag, but that is what the piping hot dog shit is for; to warm up that hand.

Throw a log on the fire and microwave a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, the First Day of Christmas is colder than a frozen dick.

 

 

 

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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2 Responses to The First Day of Christmas

  1. Pingback: The Second Day of Christmas | What Sux Now

  2. Pingback: The Twelfth Day of Christmas | What Sux Now

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