Well, this is it. I’ve been talking about it for a long time, and those of you who know me best know that I’ll go through with it. It’s Christmas, and this one is going to be the biggest, badest one yet; the rental fees and permit taxes alone have cost me a small fortune. The harsh elements of winter may numb our stubby fingers, but the colder emotional winter of the holidays breaks our spirits and keeps us marching down the long road to inevitability. But I’m not scared. The late but great John F. Kennedy once said, “there is nothing to be scared of but scare itself,” and this Halloween I found out he was right. Man, oh man, was he ever right.
This year has been particularly profitable for my interests here and abroad. Some of you may remember that I made a small fortune playing wall street, but lost it all on a bad bet with a bad pirate. It’s true what they say about pirates and pleasure; you better believe they don’t mix. More importantly, this year I found a bride - which you may have seen on Unsolved Mysteries. A couple months after that I found my own bride, and she was even prettier and less dead. Annabelle and I are very happy but we are also very bitter. It’s this give and take and take some more that makes our marriage work.
I’m still employed (knock on wood), but I’ve saved a whole shoe box full of food stamps just in case. Since I’m technically a non-profit organization, I don’t have to pay taxes anymore, which allowed us to buy a beautiful white rhino horn bathroom set on Ebay. In addition, my new mail order powdered sugar company is really taking off thanks to all the extra media attention it’s received. The post office even has a special section for all my powdery envelopes and boxes.
Which brings us back to what the Christmas season is all about: Pirates. You better believe if I ever find that crooked peg-legged pretty boy he’s gonna wish he was born an Eskimo.
I remember snowy Christmas eves long since past. My family and I would bundle up nice and warm and trudge down to Arby’s and buy a whole pillow case full of roast beef sandwiches for 99 cents. My dad would dress up like Santa and we’d take those sandwiches down to the homeless shelter. At $2 a pop, we made a good profit each year that helped us pay off court fees.
We may all be older now, and the older you get the more afraid of robots you are. I’m here to tell you that the only way to stop them is to reflect their death rays and melt down their parts. The secret to telling them apart from humans is that robots have mustaches. It wouldn’t be Christmas if we weren’t being threatened at every turn by a super-race of destructobots. But then again, it wouldn’t be Christmas if the robots could fly; imagine that!
In closing, I want each and every one of you to know that although I spread gossip about you, inside I’m as human as the rest of you. When I get sad, I cry. When I get hurt, I bleed. When I get hungry, I cry. And when I slip on the ice and fall down the steps leading up to my apartment, I bleed on the inside.
Save your pity. Heaven knows I’m saving mine.