The Christmas Mongrel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
My Christmas offering

Submitted: December 22, 2014

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Submitted: December 22, 2014



~~I just don’t think I could be a woman. I couldn’t do it. Pretty sure I would beat someone to death with my stilettos if I were. Consensus is that having a vagina is like walking around with a one pound bag of Peanut M&M’s. Everybody always wants some. I couldn’t take that constant pressure. Plus all the maintenance on that thing. It’s worse than an Audi. Sure vaginas are fun to play with but they require lots of maintenance. All the leaks and annual inspections, even haircuts. I hear rumors about Turtle wax but I’m not sure what’s going on there. Understand that I do love riding in them, I just wouldn’t want the responsibility of owning a vagina. Kind a like a boat I guess. There’s also a lot of prep time to being a woman. Eyes, hair, makeup, nails, even toenails all the time, every day. Worship at the makeup mirror. I couldn’t do it. In the venue of complete honesty. Some weekends I don’t even comb my hair. I just put on some deodorant and a hat. I’m thinking questionable hygiene is one of the few surviving advantages to being a man. 

Do you know who else could never be a woman? Santa Claus. That’s right Santa Claus. Santa Claus was the business model for Federal Express. Few people know that. Who do you call when it absolutely positively has to be there on Christmas Day? You don’t call Mama. You call Santa. Santa don’t have time for no woman stuff, no makeup. Women can’t pee off a roof. High heels can’t be worn on a rooftop and no woman would ever ride one million miles in a convertible downwind of nine reindeer. Santa don’t even shave. Anywhere. No time for it. He’s busy checking list twice and turning out gifts 24/7. Don’t let that red suit fool you. He only wears that one night each year. The other 364 days Santa is wearing a pair of Carhartts and kicking Elf ass. Santa couldn’t be a woman. If Santa wanted a vagina he’d just have his Elf’s build him one.

I’m writing this partly for the challenge to segue a thought seamlessly from vaginas to Santa Claus. And they said it could never be done. But mostly because I heard someone say recently “men are useless at Christmas time”. I’m not going to say who made that derogatory comment about men. But her initials are Molly. For the record the useless man was carrying a nine foot soaking wet stinking Christmas tree though the parking lot of Lowes at the time. In the pouring rain. Molly was carrying the dry receipt. Later that week the same useless man decorated his house at great peril with enough Christmas lights to make Clark Griswold salivate. That same man plays the part every year of Chauffer and Camel on countless Christmas shopping expeditions and has assembled more bicycles than Lance Armstrong. He’s every man. He’s not made up looking pretty waving at the crowd. Just like Santa Claus, he’s in the trenches and behind the scenes making Christmas happen every year.

So this Christmas when you sit down to that beautifully decorated table for an exquisite Christmas dinner or open those perfectly wrapped presents and comment on a beautifully decorated tree and home. Remember to give thanks also to the men who dragged that soaking wet tree in and set it up. Remember the poor bastard that lugged all those groceries in and set up those lights and will pack it all up for next year. Remember the man who financed the whole operation and will work the next six months to pay off all those credit card bills you’re unwrapping. Give thanks to the underappreciated men. The Christmas Mongrels. And no milk and cookies for Santa this year. Give him some M&M’s. Santa Claus loves M&M’s.
Merry Christmas ?

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