This Christmas Eve I find myself in a basement with a nearly empty bottle of bourbon on the table and Kill Bill Vol. 1 on the television. I’ve got to work tomorrow. Uma Thurman is trying to wiggle her big toe. There are weird clicking sounds in the kitchen that I can’t seem to find a way to stop no matter how I stack the filthy dishes in the sink.
When I was a kid, I’d play with my toys under the tree for the entire week after Christmas. I remember playing with a my new Punisher van in the space under the tree branches, beside the wall. It is a good memory. Christmas is better earlier in life.
I got my brother two action figures for Christmas. He’ s six. I’m in my 20s. Both the toys have spring-loaded projectiles. One is a Transformer. The other is a stealth-flavoured Venom. I hope he likes them. Kids might not play action figures any more.
Christmas, treat everybody as well as it has treated me.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
PS: Turns out the weird clicking noises in the kitchen were the sounds of the fridge dying. Now everything smells like rotting beef. Its red juice covers the freezer. Sick.
Sure hope Stanta brings me some ice for Christmas.