Seasons 52

It's that time of the year again... Corporate holiday party for boring ass banal (take away the "b") food that people of the "light complexion" like. Sweet Jesus, look around... It's like the "Gosh darn" Brady Bunch Christmas special. The only thing missing is chestnuts roasting on an open fire... "Fudge", speaking of the devil, would you look at that... Jack "trucking" Frost in triple pleated khakis warming his yule log by that fireplace. You just can't make this "shite" up.

Did I not get the memo about the fugly sweaters? Have you ever seen an old "light skinned" dude wear a Coogi sweater like it was ever in style? Well, that "freezing" numbnuts just walked in like it was 1986 with his Yenta wife cackling like a hyena and draining me of my life force... That old "skeezer" is parading around in a white mink coat with more Botox than Joan Rivers. Her petrified mug is probably the only thing stiff in their marriage. 5 minutes after sitting down and poof! The lights go out above our table... What is this? A friggin' magic show? Where da "frick" am I... And where is the safety switch on this gun?

Oh, yeah... the food was more pedestrian than a crosswalk. Flat bweads reminded me of a CiCi's commercial. Desserts in shot glasses, why? They were design to hold booze, not low-cal sludge. I thought I would be avant-garde and metropolitan by ordering the Venison... WRONG. That roadkill was more rubbery than the dualie that hit it. We ordered a bunch of other crap on the menu that were so delicious, it made me forget what they were. The only thing that saved the night was the garçon that kept bringing out the Gascon. Did I mention that I like booze?

Ho ho ho, can't wait for my package of Pete Schweddy's balls to arrive in da mail... I like how they glisten in candle light. Happy X-Mas and Merry New Year.

Seasons 86'd.

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