Thoughtless for the Day

This year, Steve finally decided we could no longer ignore the financial woes associated with the fact that we both stink at handling money.

It's a Christmas miracle! Blair's December E-letter is here and ... Wait. What's that I hear you all crying out as if with one voice (or, more likely, do I have one reader)? Could it be: "Hey, what the fuck happened Blair's November E-letter? Are you holding out on us?" Well, the truth is that Blair's November E-letter was kind of... um... indecipherable. Seriously, I've spent weeks trying to edit the fuckin' thing into something even remotely readable. Here's a sample of my efforts:

I like November now. Here's why. [Did Blair hire an eight-year-old to ghostwrite her piece of shit E-letter? If so, where can I hire one to ghostwrite my piece of shit blog?] It has a big holiday in it, without all the stress [As opposed to all that stress normally associated with Arbor Day] . It involves one great feast, rather than a million parties[Ah, yes! The Feast of Cthulhu!]. The giving of thanks doesn't require a credit card [To thank redheads, press one, to thank Black girls, press two, to thank chunky, bottle-blonde ex-child actresses press three. All major credit cards accepted.]. Family sits around and talks rather than playing with new gadgets and toys [Blair's not talking about vibrators, is she?]. Pumpkin Pie trumps fruitcake. [It's official: Just as "Rock" crushes "Scissors" and Trannie Maylay hooker beats Neil Bush with a stiletto heel, pumpkin pie trumps fruitcake.]

And that's just a small taste of the horror. The damn thing goes on for twenty pages. Fortunately, Blair's December E-Letter is not only relatively brief it's also rather entertaining in he sense that it's completely batshit crazy; that's why I'm issuing the following disclaimer: RATYHTL is not responsible should any of you decide to gouge your eyes out midway through the first paragraph.

No need to check your stockings, kids; here comes you big ol' lump o' coal.

Cauble Family 2006 Christmas Letter [OK, just who the fuck are the "Cauble Family"? Yeah, I know it's probably Steve's last name, but can any of you ever remember Blair mentioning her married name? We're starting on unfamiliar ground here and that doesn't bode well for what's about to follow.]

Dear friends

Is it just me? [Oh Christ, I hope it's just Blair. Please, please don't let it spread to the other villagers.] Am I simply incredibly small and insecure, or do you sometimes want to throw up after reading certain family Christmas letters too? [This has to be a literary first. How many other family Christmas E-letter feature the matriarch getting ready to blow chunks in the second sentence? "Sorry 'bout hurling all over your drapes and shit, Uncle Bob, but that always happens when I hear about some cheesy little bastard making the Honor Roll. Hey, how 'bout some eggnog so that I can get this taste outta my mouth?"] I mean, isn't this the time of year when we are supposed to be sending good tidings of great joy? [if you say so. I'm an Atheist; for me, this time of year is about think about the same thing I think about the rest of the year: pussy.] After reading a litany of child prodigy [Admit it; you first read that as "child pornography"] feats and perfect family success stories, I often feel like pond scum. [Shit Luther, I was in a punk rock band for something like fifty years and I never mentioned vomit and pond scum in the same paragraph] Oh, and by the way, "Merry Christmas." [One can't help but wonder, especially considering what is about to follow, if Blair backspaced over "and fuck the baby Jesus with a pound of frankincense"]

Perhaps it is a knee-jerk reaction[Well, Restless Leg Syndrome is one of the side effects of being nuttier than Chinese chicken salad.], but I decided to write this year's family Christmas letter from slightly below the surface of the pond.

Although my whole family is onboard with this idea[and tied up in the basement], it is probably only fair that I begin with me and my "accomplishments" in 2006. [Cringe Alert!]

For starters, I gained ten more pounds this year and went up two pant sizes [Eminent Physicist Roger "Puddin' Pants" Penrose has theorized that, expanding at her current rate, Blair would "reach terminal mass and implode" on May 21, 2009. When Stephen Hawkins questioned Penrose's findings, Roger fired back with "Oh yeah? Well, you wouldn't be in that wheelchair if you weren't such a total AIDS fag." The debate was only settled after Hawkins transformed himself into a bat and infected Penrose with the AIDS virus.]. The bathroom scales hadn't seen those high digits since my third trimesters. [And in a completely unrelated story: Haven's 4-H project, a fifty-pound goat named "Kevin", has gone missing] The publishing company I'm currently signed with sold to a publisher that turned me down two years ago and they still don't want me. My last book [ironically about how Blair would've killed Nicole Simpson, if she had done it] way undersold projections and is probably available at your local bookstore on the clearance table.

This year, Steve finally decided we could no longer ignore the financial woes associated with the fact that we both stink at handling money. We got all of our back taxes cleared up, and we are ready to tackle the debt we got into when we couldn't get enough women to attend our MomTime Getaway events back in 2003. [I once tried to pay Kathy McCarty to attend a MomTime event and she wouldn't go for it: and I once saw her strangle a hobo with her bare hands.] This living on a budget is for the birds. [The big, fat, scale-tipping birds]

Tucker fell in love for the first time and, subsequently, experienced his first broken heart. [... and torn rectum] After six months, he is still recovering from the break-up. On a happier note, he finally completed his geometry curriculum. It took him a year-and-a-half, but I'm sure all those theorems will come in handy in the life of a musician. [OK. First; Tucker, if you're going be a musician, then you've got to learn that a broken heart shouldn't last six minutes, let alone six months. You didn't see me crying like a little bitch when, back in '89, when that woman...what was her name?...the redhead...the one that was in all those porn flicks? Anyway, you didn't see me bawling my eyes out when she left. No, I took my lumps - later diagnosed as genital herpes - and moved on. Grow a pair. Secondly; am I nuts or is Blair basically telling Tucker "no need to concentrate on all that fancy book learnin'"?]

Haven is no longer part of the student ministry worship team at church. [Turns out she was possessed by demons. Who know?] She was replaced this year by a drummer with fancier fills. ["Fancier fills" is the polite version of "big tits"] She received a "D" on her first English Lit essay, complete with notes from the teacher like, "Don't use such lame sources" and "Did you even read the book?" [but I'm sure all that literary criticism will come in handy in the life of a truckstop whore]

We are thrilled to report that after three years, Clancy finally made a friend here in Texas. [He's a forty-five-year-old man she met on the internet] She played "Juliet" in her homeschool academy's school play last year, only to earn a bit part in this year's production. [... of Equus. Get it? "Bit part"? Equus? Eh, fuck you.] After playing the bass guitar for three years in the junior high worship band, she's a bit bummed about the fact that she's not yet good enough to play on the high school worship team. ["Jesus finds your choice of picks to be unacceptable, you wanton Jezebel]

Donut, our family dog, no longer has the run of the house. She has been relegated to a pen in the kitchen with a doggie door to the backyard. [Sadly, she has to share that that pen with Clancy] After failing two obedience schools, we resigned ourselves to the fact that she just wasn't going to get this whole house-training thing down. [but I'm sure all that house-training will come in handy in the life of a butt-sniffing, toilet-drinking mongrel. And I don't think the dog would've benefited either. Badda bing!] As soon as we get this whole budget-training thing down, we'll replace all the carpet in the house. [... with deli meat]

Now, don't you feel better? [Um...No, not really. In fact, this was pretty much the E-letter version of Visitor Q] Merry [fuckin'] Christmas! In my opinion, this letter more accurately reflects the spirit of Christmas. No, stay with me here a minute, I'm serious. [And I would've loved to stay with Blair, but she goes off on a tangent about how Jesus loves us and a bunch of other sparkling from the center of the ass bullshit, thus totally missing the point of her own E-letter. Blair, like millions of other Americans, is teetering on the verge of poverty and she, like millions of other Americans, is scared. Maybe she, like millions of other Americans, should've voted for politicians who promised a living wage and universal health care instead of laws preventing them thar Gays from marrying - "I promise you nothing and a tax cut for the wealthy". It's just a thought to keep you warm this Christmas.]

Christmas blessings,

Steve, Lisa, Tucker, Haven, Clancy, Donut, and Rodney