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Tag Archives: ornaments

How to Have a Heinous Holiday Party

19 Dec

Want to have a Christmas experience like we do at the Ave?

Here are just a few things you’ll need to make sure you have a Merry Heinmas:

1. Ugly sweaters, Santa hats, and reindeer antlers

Just the basics.

2. Alcohol

Lots and lots of alcohol. You wouldn’t want to hang out with your closest friends and family sober, now would you?

3. A good present

Suggestions: leather handcuffs, a framed picture of kittens, 300 pages of your Japanese homework, porn, three copies of a book that literally nobody likes, coal.

**SPOILERS** All of these presents contain porn.  Every last one.

**SPOILERS** All of these presents contain porn.

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Fuck This Tree

17 Dec

Fuck this tree.

This fucking tree. I promise I don’t normally start stories in medias res, but I can’t help it. This tree is a giant, nine-foot, demonic, home-wrecking, total piece of fucking shit.

Commandant L.S., face full of Christmas rage.

Commandant L.S., face full of Christmas rage.

I say this as I stand next to my family’s royal failure of a tenenbaum, something which even Linus from Charlie Brown would be ashamed to be associated with. This tree has taken so much time from me, enacted so much emotional stress on my family, that I can’t help it if I no longer see it as an inanimate fucking object. It’s got a life of its own. It’s a damn demon tree. I’ve stood next to it, supporting it, for the last 90 minutes, trying to keep it from falling over again. I only momentarily take my hands off of it to help unwind the garland and remove the ornaments, and I swear it knows that I’m starting to trust that it won’t fall over, so it decides to make a move to take out the window behind me.

Like most disasters one lives through, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the tree first fell, a little over two hours ago. Except that, like most disasters one lives through, the trauma of the event likely prevented my memory from working correctly. I think I was playing video games in my room at home, waiting for my buddy to call me back about going out for a beer. But for all I really know, I was furiously masturbating to a Celine Dion song in the furnace closet down the hall when my mom shouted up to me. Continue reading