Christmas time is here again, and I recently had my annual Christmas party. I’m not a very religious man, and I’ve never claimed to be. If anything, I’m a devout Atheist. So why all the pomp and circumstance of a Christmas party? Well, I love the feel of this time of year. People coming together in a spirit of friendship, snow on the window sill, multicolored lights hung on balconies, good holiday movies, secret Santa’s at work, and shopping for something that will FINALLY convince your girlfriend that you’re a good enough guy for her to give up that butt hole. Nothing quite like some holiday anal to celebrate the birth of a deity. To me, Christmas isn’t about religious politics; it’s just about that feeling of togetherness.
I thought my date with the yoga instructor went pretty well back on Halloween, alas I haven’t heard from her since then. So in November, I went back to the drawing board in my search for a significant other, and I found one. We talked on Skype for about a month and decided that we would meet at my Christmas party this year, instead of on a normal date type situation. Although my party would have a wholly religious theme, I can tell you that nothing religious happened that night. I’ve LONG since hung up my Jesus sandals, and now I bask in the light of science. What can I say? Dinosaurs are easier to believe in than an old dude in the sky who says he LOVES me…yet threatens to make me burn for eternity if I don’t beg his forgiveness because I accidentally farted in the confessional booth. Sorry Father Touchakid, but sometimes my ass needs to confess too.
But I didn’t always have this jaded view of religion. Before I went to military school, I was baptized by the youngest ordained minister in Illinois. If memory serves, the kid was 12 and I couldn’t have been more than 5 myself. It was in all the newspapers at the time. (Shit, I don’t remember much from that time, but is it illegal if I got molested by a twelve year old? I think the church finally found its fucking loophole. Diabolical bastards.)
When we’re kids we don’t have much of a choice but to believe the religious stuff that our parents force down our throats. Not only do we believe it, we accept it. It’s just the way things are. Over the years, our religious beliefs become so ingrained in our psyches that a lot of us don’t even question it. I think that’s WHY so many people, including myself grow up to be fucking whack jobs. As a child, you can SEE the hypocrisy, hell you can FEEL it. But you don’t yet know the word, and searching for the definition of a term you don’t know, can cause an internal uproar. As you grow up, you learn about religious inspired horrors, but the simple lesson of common sense is sidestepped by your parents in favor of cultish excuses. Priests are fucking kids, and your parents just say: They lost their way. Abortion Doctors are shot and your parents say: God will forgive the shooter. Someone commits suicide, and your parents say that he’ll burn in hell.
Fuck that. I’m older now, and able to deduce things on my own. However, I KNOW that common sense SHOULD prevail, but invariably it does not. That’s the way it IS, but that’s NOT the way it should be. ANYONE who molests a child deserves to be publicly executed. A woman’s body is her own to do with what she will, and if someone wants to commit suicide? Let ‘em, just so long as they don’t jump out of a window or off of a roof…because they might end up landing on me OR my car. And I don’t know if you know this or not? But your FULL coverage insurance will NOT cover that.
But like most of you, when I was young, religion was shoved on me like a ham sammich down Mama Cass’ throat. In military school I had church every Sunday and every year for the Christmas services, I was made to memorize and sing a hymn in its entirety, and NOT just the first verse that everyone knows, but the whole fucking thing. Every Wednesday I went to CCD classes where I had to memorize a part of the bible, and when I could recite the particular passage verbatim, I was given a candy treat. Talk aboutPavlov’s dog.
I didn’t quite understand the complexities of other religions, and my own was often a source of confusion to me. Church was a part of my life 3 days a week, and when I wasn’t there I was busy memorizing the Bible so that I could score more candy in my next CCD class. The initial reason I began to question my faith was because the people who PUSHED it on me seemed to live far below the standards that were being imposed.
However, as a good Catholic, I endeavored to ‘have faith’ as I was told, so I spent every single night, for the five years that I was in that military school, PRAYING that God would deliver me from its clutches, help my mother get sober, and send me home to her loving arms. All I saw when I went down on my knees and closed my eyes at the foot of my bed was a big middle finger in the clouds…it was God’s silent ‘fuck you’.
Well, now that I’m older I say ‘fuck you’ RIGHT back at him. I don’t mean that literally of course, because I don’t believe there IS a God. Although the fables of the bible are still entrenched in my head, I now know the truths behind them that people of faith don’t bother to read, or simply dismiss as lies if they do.
I don’t say that to be an asshole. I think that whatever religion YOU decide to practice is fantastic because it helps you through your day and in some cases, your life in general. The problem comes when you take it too seriously. I just ask that you don’t push it on me. I don’t need to be set up on a blind date with a God I have nothing in common with. Whatever you decide to share with your God is between YOU and HIM…leave me the fuck out of it.
Just because I don’t have faith in any one particular myth though, doesn’t mean that I’m evil. Some zealots out there have called me a Satanist because I don’t believe in God. Well here’s an obvious truth, if I don’t believe in God, then I don’t believe in Satan you moron. I have my own ethical code that I live by, and my own set of values. I believe in love, kindness, and finding inner peace through orgasm. I also know that there is a depraved world full of disgusting, sick, depraved individuals who would just as soon pray on old ladies as help them with their groceries. These people only seem to find God after they get caught, and the church is only too willing to envelop them within its fold. Fuck that.
Justice is the true God and if some guy gets drunk and beats the shit out of his wife and kids? Well the only religion he needs to find is at the end of a baseball bat as he’s being throttled in an arena full of spectators. I don’t need to believe in a story about an old man with a long white beard coming down off of a mountain top after some dude in a cloud handed him a five hundred pound marble headstone that said; Don’t kill people. I have a fucked up way of looking at things, and I HAVE to believe that if that story WERE true, after Moses read the commandments to the people, ONE of those sheep shit smelling guys must have screamed out “DUH! But what do we do if some dude DOES kill someone?”
Where do I get off? I’ll tell you where I get off; I could recite the bible to you backwards and forwards, both the New Testament AND the Old. Working in a bookstore for 7 years, I had the chance to read every book I could, pro AND con, about religion and every science book I could get my hands on. I’ve familiarized myself with a lot of OTHER religions as well; I’ve read the Quran, I’ve studied Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Cabbalism, and Judaism. They ALL fascinate me and they all have one thing in common…it all goes pretty good RIGHT up until people start to IMPOSE their beliefs on others. Hello, 9-11 is on the phone; he wants to talk to you.
Also, I’m a registered minister with the Universal Life Church, which is a non-denominational institution that believes that people WITHOUT certain religious beliefs should be afforded the same rights given to the devout. This means that I can LEGALLY perform any ceremony that a priest can perform. And NO, smartass that does NOT mean that I diddle kids, although apparently, priests CAN do that legally. I also went to a Christian college where I majored in Aviation and minored in religious history.
I could sit here and tell you all the scientific AND historical reasons why I don’t believe, but frankly, I’m not here to try to change your views. You don’t push your shit on me; I won’t push mine on you. Plus, I don’t need some lunatic flying a Cessna into my bedroom window. My point is that because I was brought up Catholic, Christmas still holds meaning for me, even if I don’t subscribe to the literal point of its message.
When I was very young, I remember being filled with joy on Christmas morning. I would wake up before the sun and watch cartoons while inspecting my beautifully wrapped presents under the tree. Because my mother would work on Christmas Eve, or be out drinking until all hours, she wouldn’t wake up until noon. I was allowed to open ONE present on Christmas Eve before she left, but Christmas morning I had to wait for her to wake up. The sound of her snoring filled the apartment on those mornings and seemed to go on forever, but the anticipation was always worth the reward.
Christmas time seemed to lift my mother’s spirits and put her in a better mood than the rest of the year. I get a great deal of joy from seeing the smiling face of someone when they open a gift from me, and I like to believe that I get that feeling from my mother. Although, like most children, I’d be disappointed when I’d open the gift with socks, or underwear, or school supplies, I DID receive 2 of the best gifts that I’ve ever gotten when I was a kid; A Castle Greyskull play set from the He-Man, and an Atari 5200. Hell’s yeah!
As time went on and her alcoholism began to take a deeper hold of her life, Christmas in military school became an unwelcome change to my early childhood experiences. Being left alone on that campus on Christmas day during my first year there was one of the most frightening things I’ve ever had to deal with. I was in 3rd grade, and a lonely old woman who ran one of the cottages on campus was the only person left there with me. She was a nice enough lady, but the whole day I cried and asked where my mother was. What could she say? There were no gifts that Christmas or the 5 that followed.
However, it became easier the next year, and more so the year after that. By the time I was in sixth grade, I almost preferred being alone on Christmas. I would walk around the empty, snow covered 180 acre campus, admire the frosted over window panes of the old brick buildings, the moon shining off of the snow covered trees, and the isolated feeling that fresh snow affords as it sucks all of the sound from the air.
After military school, I spent a few gift less Christmases alone because my mother would work double shifts at the jail for extra booze money. I still didn’t mind, and because I was older, I had a deeper appreciation for the feeling of solitude that a holiday spent by yourself can produce. After all, it was what it was. But sometimes I would watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, or ‘A Christmas Carol’, and wish that my mother would have that kind of holiday catharsis. Thankfully, she eventually would.
In my twenties I began going to Christmas parties that my friends would throw. They were grand occasions of gift exchanging, drinking, and laughing into the early morning hours. Those events meant more to me than most others because I knew that Christmas Day itself would be spent alone. On Christmas night I would stare out of my bedroom window into the parking lot and the highway beyond and wonder where all of those people were driving to. Were they going to a family member’s house? Or were they headed home from one? What gifts would they receive? Were they looking forward to it? Or was it an obligation that needed to be fulfilled? Then I’d catch my reflection in the window. The Mike that looked back at me seemed sad and distant, trapped in that square piece of glass with dull Christmas lights hanging on the transparent wall behind him…and then I met my first REAL girlfriend when I was 22.
Spending Christmas morning with Jackie and her family warmed my heart in places that I didn’t know existed. I think the reason that I didn’t mind spending all of those holidays alone was because I truly didn’t know what I was missing out on.
Jackie was the love of my life, but I was young…and didn’t know what I had. We dated for 7 years and every holiday during that time was the best holiday of my life. Her family’s home was warm and inviting during Christmas time, offering the feeling of stepping into a Dickens novel. A fireplace blazed on Christmas Eve with stockings hung over it and her sister would make hot chocolate while her mother began preparations for the next day’s meal. The sound of laughter filled the house as Jackie, her brother Chris, his girlfriend Nicole, and I would speculate as to the gifts we might be getting, and sometimes her intimidating father would hand me a beer and talk to me about current events, sports, or cars.
After he stopped hating me, Jackie’s father and I would set up the Christmas tree every year and decorate it with tinsel, lights, ornaments, an angel on top…and one year? He handed me a box and told ME to put what was inside on the tree. It was a small picture of his daughter and me holding each other next to the tree from the year before. The picture was in a tiny frame and there was a small hook coming from the top. In that moment I felt something other than love for Jackie, something that was in many ways more important than love…I felt like I was a part of her family. But like most things in my life, that was a feeling that was destined to be taken from me through my own ineptitude.
After our relationship ended, I started spending Christmas at home again. During the next several years, as I started the process of getting to know my mother, I would have Christmas parties at her condo where her presence was always welcomed by my friends. She had long since stopped drinking by that time, and I could tell that she enjoyed having everyone over for the holiday. But even though those were good times, there was always a hole in my heart from the loss of, not only Jackie, but her family as well.
The old saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is mostly true. Now that I’m older, I don’t think about Jackie as much, at all really, but the pain hasn’t completely dissipated. It’s like when someone loses an arm and they get what’s called a ‘ghost pain’. Although the pain of losing her and her family has stopped being a throbbing, blood spurting, loss…sometimes I still feel the dull ache.
In a lot of ways, Jackie is the standard by which I hold other women too in my search for a girlfriend. NOT just any woman, I know I joke around a lot about ‘getting pussy’, but the truth is that I’m trying to find a woman with a sense of humor AND a sense of fidelity. I know it doesn’t SOUND like I’m asking for a lot, but it’s been harder to find than a good review of ‘Highlander II: The Quickening’. I’m not necessarily trying to recreate the relationship that I shared with Jackie because that would be disrespectful to the memory of it, and rude to the girl that I meet. But, I want someone to wake up with on holiday mornings, I want someone to buy presents for, I want someone to kiss under the mistletoe…in effect, I want someone to make NEW memories with. THESE are the things that Christmas inspires in me now, and for those reasons it’s a time of hope for me.
So, when I met a woman last month who contacted me after reading one of my articles, that hope sprung up inside me once again. She said that she shared in my search for love and asked if we could talk further. We exchanged pictures and I have to say, I was impressed with what I saw. Over the next couple of weeks we began talking on the phone, and I found out that she had recently moved to Chicago from Canada. As our fondness for one another grew, she asked me if I would like to ‘Skype’ with her and we could have our conversations over the internet while being able to see each other on a webcam. The next day I went out and bought the equipment, and that night we had a video conversation that brought our talks to a new level.
Because I work so much this time of year, it was hard to for us to pin down a day that we could actually meet. She was 22 and going to college, but she got out of her classes early in the day. The problem was that I was working mostly nights at my retail job, and my store was open later during the holiday season. Finally, after telling her about all of the preparation going into it, she agreed to come to my Christmas party on Saturday December 7th. I was excited because like MOST men, I had CLAIMED to have fucked a Canadian chick when I was a virgin, but I had never ACTUALLY fucked a Canadian chick. Another reason to love this time of year!
However, there was SOME cause for concern. One of the things that I noticed about her was that whenever we talked via the webcam, her face was nearly pressed up against her web cam. She always said that it was because she was lying on her bed while she talked to me, but I started to get suspicious and asked her to take a step back. I had told her the story of Tubby Tiffany, and made it quite clear, as I always do, that I’m not a chubby chaser. She assured me that the pictures I’d seen of her were really her, and the only reason she didn’t step away from the camera was because she was topless. I believed her because there MAY have been a nipple slip at one point. With my fears put to rest, I could concentrate on preparing for the party. My Christmas miracle would soon come in the form of a new girlfriend who I would be warming with my Yule log by Saturday night. I GOTTA stop getting excited to meet these internet chicks.
The big day finally came and everyone showed up. It was a joyous occasion of which was filled with copious amounts of alcohol and friends. I felt more comfy than Ed Bagley in an electric car on his way to a recycling center with a trunk full of empties and a solar powered auto suck. There were Christmas rap songs playing on the stereo, the TV’s played ‘Friday after Next’, ‘Christmas Vacation’, and ‘Bad Santa’. There were lights hung throughout my apartment, tinsel hanging from my cabinets, mistletoe in the doorways, and egg nog full of rum.
I like mixing people together from different parts of my life, and then shaking them up like a martini at a Kennedy family event. There were people from past jobs and my present one, old friends, dear friends, neighbors, family, and even cartoon characters (although they may have shown up after my 17th beer or so.)
It was truly a United Nations event because there were people from all over the world there. There was Gordon from Scotland, Babatunde and Olyanka from Nigeria, Anny from Puerto Rico, Tenice and Neecy from the ghetto, Martha and Ruthie from Mexico, Mike and Joe are Irish, a Muslim named Ali, I’M native American, and there was even a Cous’n Hemp’n in attendance. Once my new female Canadian friend showed up, the circle would be complete. I was convinced that if I could have found a Jew and a North Korean, we all could have hashed out world peace over a few white Russians and the occasional beer bong.
Parties aren’t successful because of your decorations, all you can do is deck the place out, throw some hors devours on a table, and hope that the right people come. People make the party, and this was the best group of people I’ve had at a party in a long time. I figure if someone gets laid (preferably me, but NEVER me), someone bleeds (accidentally of course), someone passes out and gets drawn on, and a woman leaves crying, it’s been a successful party. By THOSE standards? This was my most successful party ever.
I woke up at around noon the next day, and went out to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. The place was a disaster area, but I expect that’s going to happen when I throw a party. When I looked down at the tile of the kitchen floor, I saw a pool of blood there. Not a murderous amount, but enough to make me go ‘hmmmmm?’ My dog was lying on the couch, wrapped in silver tinsel, and when I went to make my bed, I found a bra from, what I can only assume is an entirely NEW class of heavy set woman, LITERALLY strapped AROUND my queen sized bed, mimicking the size of its owner.
When I looked at my phone to see if I had gotten any text messages, I saw that I had 42 missed calls that occurred between 6 and 9 AM. I shook the cobwebs from my memory and tried to recall JUST what took place the previous evening.
People started to show up around 9PM. First, as always were Mike and Joe. Mike is my best friend and Joe is his friend that we both know from our job at the Electronics Boutique. Then came Matt and Rob from my old job at the book store. We’ve all kept in touch since I left that job in 2005, and Matt and I had even taken a trip to California together. However, Rob has always seemed a bit shady to me. Rob has the tendency to be a pathological liar. Not in a harmful way, but in a way that makes him hard to take at times. For one thing, he brags about getting laid in instances when we can easily discover the truth. He’s like the boy who cried ‘pussy’. His problem is that he tries TOO hard to get laid and comes off VERY creepy to chicks. Then after he creeps a girl out, he’ll tell us that he fucked her, someone ASKS her, she denies it, and Rob moves on to the next chick. It’s a little sad, but he really is a nice guy.
Soon after Matt and Rob, other people started to arrive. By ten o’clock my apartment was packed. The Canadian chick lives on the North side of Chicago and doesn’t drive. She told me earlier that she would be at the train staition by my apartment at around 10. I planned on being drunk by then so since Babatunde and Olyanka were driving together and going past the train station on their way to the party, I asked them to pick her up. I sent Tunde a text at 10:30 and asked if they found her. He replied saying that he had, and that I was in for a big surprise. I didn’t know what he meant by that, but by that point I was feeling no pain.
When Tunde and Oly came into the party without the Canadian chick, I asked them where she was. Tunde told me that she wanted to talk to me outside before she came in and met everyone. He and Oly giggled at one another and went on to the kitchen to commiserate with the others and get a drink. I didn’t mind that at all because it meant I could kiss her under the mistletoe as we came in together. I went downstairs with the beginnings of a good buzz to meet the woman of my dreams…and she turned out to be a fucking line backer for the New York Jets.
Why must women tell such bold faced fucking lies? I TOLD her, from the start that I don’t like big chicks. I even cited a SPECIFIC example of a fat chick that lied to me on the internet and she ASSURED me that SHE wasn’t lying. But she DID lie. Even so, with my beer goggles firmly in place, I decided that maybe she wasn’t THAT bad. At least she wasn’t a fucking mess. She was about six foot two, with broad shoulders, large breasts, and bit of a belly. But it wasn’t a HUGE belly. However, I got the feeling that SHE was disappointed in MY looks when I went out to greet her. Who da fuck is YOU?
We talked outside for about ten minutes, and I made her comfortable enough to come meet my friends. The friends you have say a lot about the person you are, so I was convinced that introducing her around the party only made me look good. I wanted to rid her of that feeling of disappointment I caught on to when I first met her outside. I wasn’t sure if anything would come of this, but I was getting drunk enough to know that I wanted to fuck her. After all, she came all the way out to my place expecting to spend the night so I knew the INTENT to fuck me was there, I just had to provide her with a REASON to fuck me.
After having met everyone, I gave her the grand tour of my apartment. I was starting to get a little bit PAST buzzed, so I felt the need to cement my intentions for the evening, and make an awkward pass at her in my bedroom. She DID kiss me, but after that initial kiss she rejected me like Peter O’Toole at the Oscars. After we left the bedroom, we both went our separate ways into the party and began to drink more.
Mike approached me and asked what happened in the bedroom and I told him that nothing happened; I didn’t think she was into me. I can own that because I know that I’m not an attractive man. Even to fat chicks. Mike said ‘fuck that Canadian moose’ and the name stuck.
As the party continued and more people came, Mike and I heard a ruckus coming from the kitchen and went to investigate. Everyone was crowded around the window that looked out onto my balcony. Cous’n Hemp’n was laughing hysterically and told Mike and I that we HAD to see something. We crowded up to the window with everyone else and looked onto the dark balcony outside. Over to the left, we could see the Canadian Moose seemingly making out with an imaginary man. Her arms were held around thin air, and her face was pressed up against nothing at all. “Is she a mime or something? I know those French people are into that shit” Mike said as everyone else snickered like they were in on a joke that we didn’t know. And then Cous’n Hemp’n flipped on the balcony lights.
Holy shit. The Canadian Moose was making out with Olyanka! But because he’s blacker than Wesley Snipes in a coal mine, we couldn’t see him against the back drop of the night. It was like an optical illusion. Everyone burst into laughter as Cous’n Hemp’n flipped the switch on and off while saying “he’s there! He’s NOT there. He’s THERE. He’s NOT there.” And then he turned to me and said “Wasn’t that supposed to be YOU out there with her Casanova?” and he burst into another fit of hysterical laugher.
Well merry fucking Christmas to me. He was right. I had no comeback. That WAS supposed to be me out there with her. She CAME here to meet with ME. Sure I’d only known her for less than a month, but she JUST met Oly an hour ago. Fucking internet. At least when I would meet chicks at a bar, it would be a few years before I would catch them making out with a black guy on my balcony. I was disappointed, but fuck it…another bullet dodged. However, Oly would NOT be the recipient of her favors that night.
As I continued to drink, time seemed to slip away until I realized that it was five AM. Only a few stragglers remained, and the Canadian moose came to say goodbye. I asked her how she was getting home, and told her that I would sleep on the couch while she slept on my bed if she wanted to crash. Then she told me that Rob was going to give her a lift. Shit.
I tried to convince her that that wasn’t a good idea. First of all, Rob is the WORST driver when he’s sober, and right now he was drunk off of his ass. Second, although Rob DID live in the city, he drove Matt to the party. He would have to drive Matt home which was in Naperville, the EXACT opposite direction of where she needed to go. Third, I told her that Rob was going to try to fuck her, and in her state she MIGHT do something that she regretted. She ignored ALL of my warnings and all but told me to fuck off.
By then everyone was gone but her, Matt and Rob. As the three of them stumbled out of my apartment and left me standing drunk in the living room with Blue Christmas playing on the stereo, I found myself worried about a girl who I didn’t even find attractive, and who didn’t want anything to do with me. Ho, ho, fucking ho.
By the time I discovered the 42 missed calls on my phone the next day, it was 1PM. Every call was from the Canadian moose. I tried calling her back but she didn’t answer. I figured it must have been important for her to call so many times, so I tried calling Matt and Rob as well. No answer. I tried throughout the day to get a hold of all three of them, but none of them were answering their phones. It was frustrating to say the least.
Finally at around 8PM, the Canadian moose called me back. She told me that after they left the night before, Rob drove Matt home and the three of them went into his apartment. Matt soon fell asleep and she asked Rob to take her home like he promised. Rob told her that he wanted to sleep as well, and would take her when he woke up. That didn’t sound unreasonable to me. THEN she told me that Rob said he would ONLY give her a ride home if she blew him. WHAT?
She fumbled around her words as she spun this tale, and apparently after she refused, Rob led her to the doorway and threw her out of Matt’s apartment. She tried calling me as she walked FIVE miles to the train station at 6 AM in the rain. When she got there, she realized that the Metra train doesn’t run on Sunday, and in a fit of tears she kept trying to call ANYONE who could give her a lift home. Finally at around 9AM she got a hold of a friend who came and picked her up.
That didn’t SOUND like something Rob would do. He was full of shit, but he was always harmless. Granted I didn’t know him that well, but I DO know Matt well enough to know that he wouldn’t hang out with someone who would do such a thing. However, if this were true…I’d have to kill Rob. There was nothing for it. Even though things hadn’t worked out between her and I, when I throw a party I take responsibility for the people there. This happened on my watch and it would have to be dealt with.
Matt returned my calls later that evening and when I asked him what happened, I got a completely different story. He said that he DIDN’T pass out and that he was awake the entire time. The Canadian Moose DID ask Rob to drive her home, but he was entirely too drunk and tired to take her all the way back to the north side of the city just then. They offered her Matt’s bed to crash on, and the two of them would sleep on the couches. She refused, and although she WAS upset, she walked out of the front door on her own steam, and NO sexual overtures were ever made. What the fuck? I was starting to feel like a detective. SOMEONE was fucking lying to me, and before I could make any accusations, I had to have the truth. So I called Moosey back.
When I told her of the conflicting story, she said that she didn’t want to talk to me ever again. She said that she wasn’t attracted to me, so it wasn’t worth wasting her time. I told her that I understood, but I was no longer interested in who’s attracted to whom. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. If I was ever to trust Rob again, I had to know the truth. Then she dropped the bomb and I got a THIRD story. She assured me that everything she relayed to me was true; only she left something out…she fucked Matt. C’MON! She said that she used to fuck a lot of guys when she lived in Canada, and she was trying to change her ways. Getting drunk at MY party put her back into her old mindset, and speaking with me would only remind her of what she did the night before. So I was being put on the ‘no call’ list.
Who gives a shit? I was now affected by this story. I HAD to discover the truth. I’m not gay, but I can tell when a guy is good looking. Matt is VERY good looking. Chicks often approach him in bars, and although his girlfriend is the hottest redhead ever, he’s cheated on her with EVEN hotter chicks. He’s been with Sarah for almost three years now, and I’ve come to know her pretty well during that time. The three of us sometimes hang out together, and although they have their problems, as any couple does…Matt hasn’t cheated on her since they first started dating and I can’t see him doing it now, ESPECIALLY with a Canadian Moose. It would be like Brad Pitt fucking the wrestler China.
Well, of course Matt denied it and said that the Canadian moose was fucking crazy. I had nowhere else to go for answers, so even though it pained me to do so…I dropped it. And then two weeks later it resurfaced and the REAL story finally came out.
I was at Hollywood Blvd. with Matt and Rob. Hollywood Blvd. is a fantastic movie theatre that serves alcohol and dinner while you watch your flick. The three of us were sitting at a table in the lobby and sharing a bucket of Blue Moon. Matt had just broken up with Sarah, again, and we were all discussing our past conquests, as men will do when they drink. Matt told us of his love of ‘fidgets’, which are very tiny hot chicks. I lamented on the yoga instructor and told them how I would have liked that to go somewhere. THEN, Rob said “I haven’t been laid since the Canadian moose.”
WHAT? Matt shot Rob a ‘shut the fuck up’ look, but my previous curiosity regarding that situation forced me into a full court press. “What? Matt told me she just left after you passed out?” Rob gave Matt an apologetic look and then said “Fuck it dude, you’re not with Sarah anymore.” Matt sighed, looked at me, and said “Dude, I didn’t want to tell you because I was still seeing her and I thought you’d be disappointed in me.” The wheels were turning in my head now “In YOU? Rob just said that HE fucked her, why would I be disappointed in YOU?” And then I finally got the truth.
It seems that, as I was standing in my living room listening to Blue Christmas, the three of them stumbled down to Rob’s Capri. Rob got in the driver’s seat, Matt got into the back, and instead of sitting up front with Rob, the Canadian moose climbed in with Matt. Before Rob even put the key in the ignition, The Canadian moose was blowing Matt in the back seat. As Rob drove towards Matt’s house, watching creepily in the rear view mirror, he announced that he was feeling left out…so the Canadian moose snaked her hand into the front, and started giving him a handy WHILE she was blowing Matt. Oofa.
Matt said that he never ASKED for a blow job, he wasn’t EXPECTING a blow job, and in all honesty he didn’t really WANT a blow job from this chick. However, how can you turn down a free mouth fuck? My reply to that was “So, in the scenario you just described, it would have been just as acceptable if ROB went down on you?” The two of them winced and told me not to be gross, and then they went on with the story.
When the three of them got back to Matt’s apartment, they all went into his bedroom. Matt has a tiny bedroom with only a twin sized bed and a TV. Rob sat on the end of the bed watching, as Matt fucked the Canadian Moose. I have to say at this point, that the image this brings into my head is creepy as fuck. I just imagine ROB sitting Indian style on the end of the bed, leaning in ever so slightly for optimum viewing, and watching with a sinister smile on his face as Matt’s white pimply ass was pumping up and down into the twat of a Moose. Ewwww, the horror.
At this point, the questions flew out of me “Rob, what the fuck do you SAY while you’re watching this? Because if you just stared silently, that seems even creepier.” Rob said that he KNEW he could get some of that too, because she didn’t seem to mind that he was in the room, so he got up and started taking his pants off. “Let me get this straight, because you were in the ROOM, you suddenly jumped to the conclusion that she would fuck you too?” his reply was simply “well, she DID give me a handy in the car” Fair enough.
Then I asked Matt “So you were on top of her in a missionary position while Rob was behind you? Doesn’t that make for an uncomfortable fuck?” Matt said “I wasn’t really thinking about Rob…until he slapped me on the back.” WHAT? This was just getting worse. I ALMOST didn’t want to hear anymore. “Are you telling me that he tapped you out?” Rob grinned like an idiot, and Matt just hung his head in shame “yeah”.
Matt didn’t stop fucking so Rob went around in front of him. When he did, the Canadian moose grabbed his dork and started pulling it toward her mouth. Rob put his knee on the corner of the bed and leaned in for the blowy. “Wait, wait, wait” I said putting a halt to their story of madness “She’s on her BACK, you’re on TOP of her, and now ROB is leaning in for the blowy? You realize that without SAYING it, I KNOW that your face was in the immediate vicinity of Rob’s junk?”
Matt told me that as soon as he REALIZED that Rob’s ‘who dat’ was in his neighborhood, that’s when he got off of her and sat out for a breather. The Canadian moose then guided Rob on top of her as if Matt had never left, and 18 seconds later, Rob was asleep on the floor while Matt bent her over and power washed her back. They BOTH got the distinct feeling that they were NOT her first threesome.
Well…let’s just all take a minute to soak this story in.
After Matt was done, the Canadian Moose insisted that he drive her home. When he told her that he was WAY too tired right then, she got pissed and walked out. He pleaded with her to stay, he offered her his bed, and he even tried to call her a cab, but my guess is that as she sobered up, she became so full of shame that she just needed to get out of there. This is why she didn’t want to talk to ME anymore. Whatever. I’ve been more wasted than Hunter S. Thompson in a Canadian pharmacy during a half off sale, but I’ve NEVER given someone a handy WHILE giving someone else a blowy. Any feeling of pity I might have had for her died when I realized that I DID warn her not to leave with Rob. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.
Look, I’m HARDLY one to judge another person’s sexual activities, but watching a chick get DP’d in a porno, is WAY different than hearing about two of your friends doing it. It seems that Matt AND Rob got their Christmas Goose early, and once again, I was left holding the bag that it came in. (That’s what she said).
The bottom line is that I may not be a religious man, but the faith I have in my friends is all the faith I’ll ever need. And for that reason, I’ll always love Christmas time, I’ll ALWAYS have a Christmas party, and I’ll keep hope alive that one year I’ll have a girlfriend to show my friends off too at that party. They may do some seriously fucked up shit from time to time, but the stories they give me make life worth living.
So to all of you out there, friend AND stranger, I say: Merry Whatever and Happy Something! May your holiday be filled with whatever the thing is that YOU want it to be filled with. Even if that thing is two dicks. In Loving Memory of Lois Anne ‘Penny’ Hempen Or Simply: ‘Ma Hempen’ The End
 Cass Elliot (10/19/41 – 07/29/74), born Ellen Naomi Cohen also known as ‘Mama Cass’ was a singer in the group ‘The Mamas and the Papas’ and later a solo artist who released 5 successful albums. Mama Cass was a heavy set woman who was found dead in her London hotel room from, what reporters were told, was a ham sandwich. When asked what the cause of death was, a police officer on the scene pointed at a half eaten ham sandwich and said ‘There’s the culprit’. Even though it was later proven in an autopsy that Mama Cass had passed due to a massive heart attack, the urban myth had been created and is still perpetuated to this day. Although that PARTICULAR ham sandwich did NOT kill mama Cass, I’m sure that years of downing similar sammiches contributed to her death.
 Classical conditioning, also known as Pavlovian or Respondent conditioning, is a form of associative learning that was first demonstrated by Ivan Pavlov in 1927. In his first experiment with conditioning, Pavlov predicted that if a particular stimulus in a dog’s surroundings were present when the dog was given food, then this stimulus would become associated with food and cause the dog to salivate on its own. In his initial experiment, Pavlov used a bell to call the dogs to their food and, after a few repetitions, the dogs started to salivate in response to the bell. The bible was my bell and candy was my food. Religion is SUCH a mind fuck.  He-Man is a character featured in the Masters of the Universe franchise. The character first appeared in mini comics, and then in 1983 in a cartoon show. He-Man and his friends defend Eternina and the secrets of Castle Grayskull from the evil forces of Skeletor. He man was my favorite cartoon as a kid, and it wasn’t until I was older that I realized the true nature of cartoons such as it. Master of the Universe was basically a 22 minute commercial used to sell action figures, Just like Star Wars Episode’s 1-3 were 2 hour movies made for the same purpose. Whatever its advertising campaign was, that shit worked on me. I cried and whined for my mother to buy me every god damned He-Man action figure and playset I could get her too. On Christmas morning in 1984, she finally got me the one that I’d wanted all along, the coup de grace of childhood toys…The Castle Grayskull playset. My interest in the character would soon die however, with the release of the 1987 movie ‘Masters of the Universe’ starring Dolph Lundgren as He-Man. Even though I didn’t know shit about film yet, I knew that was a huge pile of ass.
 The Atari 5200 is a video game console that was introduced in 1982 as a higher end console that could replace the Atari 2600 which was released in 1977. My only contact with video games before I got this Christmas gift in 83, was ‘Pong’. Going from ‘Pong’ to the ‘5200’ was the equivelant of going from handgliding to flying the space shuttle. Although by today’s standard of video gaming, the 5200 was like a wooden cart with square wheels, I spent hours playing that mother fucker.  Released in 91, Highlander II ACTUALLY made 3 times more money than the original. However, both fans and critics alike consider it to be one of the worst science fiction movies ever made. The movie was SO bad that the third film in the series just acted like the second one never happened. The director blamed everyone from Argentina where the movie was made, to the fucking key grip. But to me this movie represents the thing that I find MOST annoying in a film; bad fucking editing. Sure the actual story sucked donkey balls, but the way the movie was put together made it incomprehensible. Highlander II: The Quickening makes Plan 9 From Outer Space look like Citizen Cane. I know I said it’s horrendous, but you almost HAVE to rent it just to appreciate its badness. The irony of this movie is that the FIRST one with its great soundtrack by Queen, its original concept, and its well told story, was maybe the best action film of the 80’s.
 Begley Jr. is one of those actor who doesn’t get enough credit. Although he’s a pompous environmentalist freak at times, he’s appeared in some of your favorite movies, although you might not know it. A few of note: Superdad (with Bob Crane, Kurt Russel, and Bruno Kirby in his first role), Elvis (the 1979 John Carpenter film starring Kurt Russel as Elvis), An Officer and a Gentleman (he was just a voice in that one, but still), Spinal Tap, Transylvania 6-500 (an awesome flick starring Jeff Goldblum), Best in Show, Auto Focus (Which was about Bob Crane who Begley Jr. worked with in Superdad), A Mighty Wind, and Pineapple Express. He’s also appeared in a ton of TV shows including my personal favorite comedy…Arrested Development. I say: If you’re gonna be that prolific in film? Go ahead and drive around in an electric golf cart. Good for you Ed.
 Peter O’Toole was nominated 8 times for a Best Actor Academy Award, making him the most nominated actor to never win. He was nominated for Lawrence of Arabia but was bested by Burt Lancaster in To Kill a Mockingbird, In Goodbye, Mr. Chips he was tackled at the end zone by John Wayne in True Grit, in The Ruling Class he got outclassed by Brando for The Godfather, In The Stunt Man he was stunted by Deniro in Raging Bull, for his role in My Favorite Year he got his ass kicked by Ben Kingsley in Ghandi, and most recently he lost the award from his role in the movie Venus to Forrest Whittaker in The Last King of Scotland. I gotta say…that’s some bad fucking luck. Those were some tough movies to go up against.