Just when you think you’ve made it through the most unbearable of all seasons without any major emotional scarring, a diseased liver, or a divorce they start to infest your mailbox. Then those violent holiday urges resurface one more time.
I’ve really tried to be good this year, too! Not one fruitcake hurled through a thoughtless friend’s front window. No repositioning of front-lawn reindeer that makes the teenagers snicker. And I’ve even managed to avoid telling any neighborhood tots that Santa isn’t real. I really miss those sobbing reactions as they run home to their parents, too.
Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about, either. It’s those overly optimistic yuletide missives extolling the vast fictional virtue of your un-special family intended only to make our pathetic lives pale in comparison. Don’t pretend that you don’t send ‘em, either, because we know you do.
Does anyone really care if baby Timmy mastered the art of toilet training at the age of 3 weeks? Would our lives truly suffer if you failed to inform us that little Suzy managed to translate the Bible from the original Aramaic? And what made you think we really wanted to hear about your family vacation to a high falutin’ locale like Dollywood?
So, if you really wanna put me in the post-Christmas spirit this fine holiday season, don’t even think about sending me a Christmas missive, or better yet, how about penning a holiday communique that makes us all feel a little bit better about ourselves. I’m thinking something along the lines of this:
Dear Friends and Family,
We’d apologize for sending you this impersonal form letter, but you’re not nearly important enough for us to take the time to write a personal letter and you’re barely worth the price of a stamp. Moving on!
We did it! We finally got the indoor facilities installed in the doublewide. No more running across Route 38 to the Shell station in the middle of night for my Ellie Jean. She got pretty peeved when her butt froze to the seat last January and she had to sit there until I made it across the street with a crowbar the next morning.
As I like to say, nothin’s too good for my blushing bride!
And speaking of Ellie Jean, we’re hoping that Presidential pardon will come through so she’ll be home in time for Easter. So, she had a bit too much Fireball and threw up in Mitch McConnell’s top desk drawer. I’m sure he’s done it dozens of times. I’m proud to say that I’m the one who bought her those “If you can read this I must be drunk” panties that she was wearing when the Capitol Police hauled her away.
Of course, I’m still working down at the nuclear power plant, but being a “valued member” of the decontamination crew (my Christmas mug says so) down ain’t so bad. With all those glowing body parts, Ethel says if I take my clothes off and she hangs a few ornaments on me, it’s more festive than a fake blue and silver tree.
We’re proud to say the trailer’s gonna get a little more crowded next year. That’s right! It’s hard to believe our 14-year-old Latoya is expecting her sixth child. But things are improving! She thinks she knows who the baby daddy is this time, but that won’t stop her from trying to sell that alien insemination story to the National Enquirer.
And thank the Lord Jesus that Jermaine was paroled just in time for Christmas Eve. He now realizes it was a mistake to try to rob that gun store with a baseball bat. Lookin’ on the bright side, we’re grateful the owner just winged him. Some folks say that boy won’t amount to much, but we think he’s got a bright future in the Trump administration
More good news! Little Tito is finally coming home from the hospital. You may have heard about the unfortunate “Deaf Leopard” tattoo incident. Sadly, the infection set in right after he tried to make the corrections with that soldering iron.
Cross your fingers! This year could be the charm for young Marlon! We’re confident he’ll finally move on to middle school in the fall! At just 27, he’s poised to become the scholar of the family, but he still says those six years of sixth grade were the best time of his life.
We’re also thrilled to report that Uncle Bubba is recovering from his recent surgery, but it’s taking him a while to adjust to life as a woman. I suppose it would be tough having to come up with a whole new wardrobe when you’re 6-foot-8, 456 pounds. For now, we hear he’s borrowing clothes from his younger sister.
The highlight of our year had to be the family trip to Branson, Missouri. What an amazing place! That female Elvis impersonator got me so choked up that I went right out and had “hunka hunka burning love” tattooed right across both butt cheeks. Long live the King!
But as I sit here thinking about all the trials and tribulations our wonderful family endured last year, I can’t help but find comfort in the thought that we didn’t have to see any of you this festive season and we’re still not nearly as bad as the Kardashians or the Trumps.
Yours Truly
Billy Ray
Not only would I be proud to be a part of such an intriguing family, but you can’t help but step a little lighter after reading something so uplifting. So, unless you can come up with something similarly sinister, stop sending me Christmas letters! If you don’t, I’ll tell Billy Ray and Ellie Jean where you live!