Seems forever since I’ve dashed off one of these poor excuses for a Christmas present. So much to share about the family up here in the vast high desert wasteland the locals call Palmdaletucky.
2020. Darn strange year — idn’t? Folks’ve been skittish during these uncertain political climes. At Palmdale WalMart No. 46, some fool arts major from AV Junior College was acting the complete nut, screaming, knocking over floor lamps, sobbing, starting fires in the Gatorade aisle, accusing people of un-Christian things. Caught her trying to paint “BLM” on her tongue over on Aisle 4 although why she was so in love with the Bureau of Land Management I could not say.
Seems a mob of patriots dragged her all the way to the AV CarWorld fountain and performed an exorcism, which as you know, is nothing new here. Thinking was they’d strap her underneath a new Ford 450, pop it into burrowing gear, submerge Young Mrs. Karl Marx into the pool and if she comes out dry, she’s Satan. Or, a Democrat. If she drowns, she’s innocent.
Does that not strike you as a Lose-Lose? Anywho.
Madame Socialist comes out dry. Hysterical. But bone dry. Guess previously in these confrontations, the accused usually ends up FULL of H2O to her coffee can curlers and it’s never gotten this far. Folks from Fish & Game broke up the crowd. Said it was flirting dangerously with Dining Out.
Cousin Enid-Bob went full cross-gender over Thanksgiving. Truly? It wasn’t out of any attraction to the Unholy Love That Knows No Name. EeBee figured he’d/she’d get double the Xmas gifts as a bisexual. You know. Like you guys’ congresswoman/swinger, Katie Hill? Yeah. Wonderful. Open your present and it’s TWO lime green Hillary pants suits. Life suddenly has meaning.
Uncle Tiburius got cuffed for making not-so veiled threats against some new public attorney in downtown L.A. Tibby said he was going to shoot the barrister in the male naughty parts. The local sheriff (our cousin, Wade Wayne Wade?) wouldn’t press charges indicating 1) Tib’s family; and 2) no one’s that good a shot.
Uncle Steve over in Lake Los Angeles Federal Penitentiary caught Covid 23. Four times worse than the 19. Steve’s nearly out after a 27-year stint for grand theft. And having disgusting teeth. If any of you have been paying Steve conjugal visits, don’t even THINK of dropping by Christmas. Poor guy’s been sicker than a dog eating chocolate chili. Throws up like Joe Biden trying to take communion. The other inmates have taken to calling him Thievin’ Heavin’ Steven.
Embarrassed to say, I got myself arrested. Made the mistake of wishing the Palmdale librarian “Merry Christmas” and they called S.W.A.T. on my rural behind. Claimed “Merry Christmas” “triggered her.” Lady’s mouth shrunk to the size of a Cheerio and she went B.H.M. (Blind Hysteria Mode). I got a second chastisement during arraignment when the judge sort of caught me making eye contact and mouthing the carol lyrics: “We WISH you a Merry Christmas…” at her. Quivering like a raccoon that swallowed a vibrator, she got early stress retirement at triple salary. And an Oscar. I know this isn’t Christian, but I hope Mrs. Victim burns in a Hell Without Books.
Or Mojave.
Not much difference either way.
Bettina’s boy, Bucephelus, and his wife Lilaloulou? Just moved to Boron. Society’s belly-flopping into the cesspool but California’s handing out jobs like they were Books of Mormon at the Riverside County Fair. Boose and 2L both got fat jobs as Caltrans dispatchers at six figures — a month. Each. How hard is to answer the phone and say, “Go east on 58” or “Go west on 58?” The other 2L, LorettaLou? Hit the lottery. Her Secret Santa gifted her a certificate to Heck Angel’s Tattoo Parlour in Rosamond. LoLou finally can now buy that billboard-sized “T” to finish the “SLU” above her ample derriere oft-viewed by trailer trash from many nations.
QuinnRay-Nathan finally got accepted into the Army. Been a dream of his since 2nd grade. Alas. Our own armed services didn’t have the stomach to hand our boy brass buttons, live ordnance and a beige uniform. QuinnyRay had to settle for enlisting in the Nigerian Army. Still. The lad’s giddy. Hopes to make field marshal in six months. Quinn says he’ll be sending everyone uncut diamonds next Christmas.
DHYB.
Don’t Hold Your Breath.
Phoebe, Zadie’s daughter? She’s pregnant. No. 19. Not a twin in the litter. Young woman’s got innards tougher than the California Aqueduct. Doctors say she has some sort of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not short gestation period allowing her to toss out babies like kernels from a hot air popcorn popper. Phoebe’s still single, lives in that 15,500-square-foot eyesore faux estate in Quartz Hill. Do the math. Welfare’s Poster Girl, Phoebe makes seven figures on handouts, owns a food stamp card the size of a plywood sheet and buys OJ in glass decanters.
Inez and Qint? Still married, still in outer Pearblossom. I & Q do not cotton to the Nanny State and take no handouts. Of course, they’re having coyote and bean, singular, for Xmas Eve dinner. There’s one. How does one prepare coyote?
“Same as the neighbor’s Pomeranian!” Grandpa Pervis likes to kid.
I worry about those two. Qint’s 86 next month, Inez 28 in June. Almost Christmas and fortunately, it’s unseasonable warm in Palmdale. The couple’s on some sort of hillbilly time share so they can both wear the same sweater.
Welp. Gotta run. There’s some big steak-&-lobster drunken Christmas fest at the Hyatt for state employees, no masks required. Gonna disguise myself as a waiter, steal 147 pounds of free lunch, loaded with butter not margarine. Me and my tummy’ll be comatose ’til post-inauguration, if’n there’s still a America. For you heathens? Happy Holidays. Rest of all y’all? Merry Christmas…!!!
No Republicans were harmed in the construction of this column. John Boston is a local writer who, after the above, is on Santa’s Industrial Naughty List until Christmas, 2074…
