Here's a blog because NOBODY else has one!


The fire is slowly dying. You got your Christmas goose. The mistletoe has wilted. The figgy hs fizzled in the pudding.

The frenzied orgy that is modern Christmas is over.

Let the post-holiday letdown begin.

And what better time to think about your yuletide regrets than when you’re feeling low?

Have a blue Christmas, indeed. I’ll have a blue, blue, blue blog post…

I’m sorry I spent all that time trying to figure out how to wrap a stack of paper in wrapping paper. Mind. Blown.

I’m sorry “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians” got off scott-free, while Seth Rogan had to watch “The Interview” get shoved into some Sony executive’s junk drawer.

I’m sorry Peace on Earth is such an elusive little shit.

I’m sorry hanging up Christmas underwear never caught on. Where will I put my yule log?

I’m sorry for that last joke. That was uncalled for and in poor taste.

Like Christmas sweaters.

That joke is more like it.

I’m sorry science hasn’t advanced to the point they can reanimate Bing Crosby to sing “White Christmas” just one more time.

I’m sorry my wife won’t let me shake Christmas packages to try and guess what’s in them. Seriously, who – besides her – doesn’t shake Christmas packages?

I’m sorry for the way the elves in the Hobbit movie behaved. That was very un-Christmas-like.

I’m sorry egg nog tastes exactly like it sounds.

I’m sorry they don’t make movies like the Allister Sim version of “A Christmas Carol” anymore.

I’m sorry a bow on a big box is considered festive, but  a bow on a pile of dog poop is just disgusting.

I’m sorry my idea to have Funions and Mt. Dew for Christmas dinner was laughed at. I thought this was the season of goodwill.

I’m sorry when we finally had dinner, it was late. I thought having the goose and the turkey fight to the death first would be more fun. Excuse me for trying to entertain you.

I’m sorry Santa at the last cookie. And by “Santa”, I mean me. And by “I’m sorry”, I mean I’m not sorry.

I’m sorry that instead of going door-to-door to sing Christmas carols, more people don’t go to door giving out cheesecake.

I’m sorry Bob & Doug McKenzie’s “Twelve Days of Christmas” doesn’t get nearly as much as radio play as Perry Como’s “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

I’m sorry

I’m sorry this is my new jam:


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