Reindeers shitting on my roof.
Some fat guy, that ain’t me, eating my midnight snacks.
Got some suspicions about my girlfriend’s excuse for the size 15 black leather boots with the buckles next to her bed.
Kids. Damn kids. Louder and stickier than usual.
Coal. Always coal in my stocking.
Got some suspicions about all the gray hair in my girlfriend’s shower drain on Christmas morning.
Wrapping paper. Waste of money. It’s already in a damned box! I have to unwrap it twice? I paid for it, I already know what it is.
Gifts. I don’t need no frickin’ sweater and my underwear isn’t that brown yet. Give me something I need, like a carton of Camels, a case of domestic or bail money. If you don’t trust me with cash, I got a tab at Bob’s Bail Bonds.
Got some suspicions about where that red hat on my girlfriend’s couch came from.
Gifts. I hate buying gifts. I never know what to get anyone… except the girls down at the club. They like cash and I like giving to them… one dollar at time.
Christmas oranges. Is fruit even food? It’s okay in drinks at the beach, but don’t see what else it’s good for. Still not as bad as vegetables. Still don’t know what vegetables are good for unless they’re deep fried and sitting next to a steak.
Got some suspicions about that yearning look my girlfriend has when she hears the song Here Comes Santa Claus.
Toys. Damned toys. Now I have a twisted ankle, a Baby Yoda stuck to my head and a concussion from my head hitting my brand new Xbox.
Christmas carols. I hear one more damned Christmas carol and I’m going to jingle someone’s bells, thrash them through the snow and pa rum pum pum pum their ass with 12 days of beatings.
Got some suspicions my girlfriend might be a Ho Ho Ho.
Christmas lights. Every year someone in the trailer park drinks too much after catching his girlfriend and Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe. And those damn red and blue flashing lights blind me as I’m being put in the back of the police cruiser just as the stars in my eyes are clearing up after being tased. Someone call Bob, I’ll be needing that bail money.
I hate Christmas.