Um, no, YOUR brain went right to elf fucking...

Sent by a reader. See also: Current status. 

(CAN I fuck while eating cookies? We've already established this week that I can find anything on the Internet. Surely someone on OkCupid is looking to get naked Keebler-elf-style. I won't even make you do it in a tree -- everything on me is over-tender, I couldn't possibly fuck in a tree.)  

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, some good mood-altering substances.

I think I'm packed for Christmas, yeah?  

No, wait... You're right. I need beer.

Also, I totally hear you -- Xanax would've been great, but alas, there's some shit about ethics where they won't give it to me because I don't actually have anxiety? I KNOW, right, what the shit? This IS America, right? Family gatherings + Jesus' birthday = special dispensation. That's in the Bible: "And lo, distributed among them, there were delicious medications, and yea, they were happy. OK, well...not really HAPPY, but they didn't hit anyone, and so there was peace on earth, and sedated goodwill toward men."

P.S. I will spend today baking MANY cookies; those are almost Xanax if you eat enough of them. 

P.P.S. That whiskey is not for me. That shit is like having one of those hippie honey cough drops in your drink. Ugh.

Shut up, vending machine. You don't know my life.

Let the record show that I just got up to get cookies from the office vending machine, and I had to extract my belt buckle from the fat on my belly. ("Buckle" makes it sound like I'm a big burly cowboy swaggering into the saloon through swinging doors. It's more of a "loopy bit," but that's not as clear.)

And then the vending machine took my dollar, twirled its swirly metal ring around my Famous Amos cookies, pushed them ALMOST to the front, and then just let them sit there. As if to say, "Hey, fuck you, fattie. Did you really just pull your belt buckle out of your fat and have the massive, chrome-plated balls to come to me for cookies?"

I know, right? My vending machine is a judgey whore.