Merry Christmas... I need a shower.

Well, here it is... the day before Christmas. Let us revel in all it's splendor and majesty. If you're done reveling, you can read on. If not, continue to revel, and read on later. Done? Good. Let's move on. As I write this, I'm at the old man's house in fabulous Jamestown. That fact will become relevant as you read on.

Well, let me tell you how my happy holiday started. Last night my sister and I had dinner with the old man, and then, much to the protest of my father, went out downtown in Jamestown, NY. Due to the fact that it's just about the most exciting place in the world, my sister and I refer to it as Jamesvegas. Regardless... we went out, hit a few of the "hot spots" in Jtown, and we were crocked by about midnight. Called a cab, headed home. I love calling a cab in this armpit of a city. It's $4 to anywhere in this megalopolis. Perfect. Anyway, when we got home, I made sloppy joes. Yes, you're impressed, and I know it. Sounds like a pretty average night, right? Well, let me tell you how I was roused from my pleasant holiday slumber this morning.

About 9:00, I hear someone knocking on the old man's front door. Since no one apparently is awake, I get my lazy ass out of bed, and go to see who, in the name of all that is holy, is knocking on the f'ing front door. Now, before you read on, let me preface this with a couple things. One, to look out of the front of the house, there are a few options; I can actually go downstairs and answer the door to whatever asshole is out there at 9 freaking AM on Christmas Eve, I can go through my father's room and look out his front window, I can go through my sister's room and do the same, or I can head out to the guest room and look down. Two, my sister is home with her dog and we left her alone for about three hours last night when we went to dinner. I chose the latter of the three options; I threw on the t-shirt I had on last night, and headed for the guest room. Now, bear in mind that I'm not really conscious. I was drinking Budweiser and Southern Comfort last night (not mixed together, moron), and I've had about, well, 9 hours of sleep. I'm not really in the game yet, and I'm not what one would call a morning person.

Anyway, to continue the story, I head for the guest room. After taking about two steps into this room, I feel something uncomfortable mash underneath my bare left foot. Now, remember... my sister is home with her dog and we left her alone for about 3 hours last night. Immediately, I'm stone cold sober and wide freaking awake. I look down, and there is dog shit strewn about the floor. If you're not quite getting the jist of what I'm saying here; first thing this morning I stepped in dog shit. Seeing as it was in the guest room, my guess is that the dog figured, "well, hey, I'm a guest, right?" By the way, my father was wide awake and on the phone in his bedroom, and the jackass at the front door was one of his clients that evidently had to show up at 9 freaking AM today and cause this mayhem.

I can't even impart to you the horror of stepping in dog shit, sans shoes. It's not pleasant. It's less than not pleasant. It's just terrible. It's like, well, it's like something. It's like ordering something in a restaurant that you're really excited for, and when the waitress brings it, she's got fresh stitches and there's a hair in the middle of the plate. It's just miserable. Stupid dog.

Anyway, that's going to be about it for the Christmas Eve post. My sister and I need to go to the palacial Chautauqua Mall so that she can get the old man a shirt. Me, I'm done with my shopping. I'm just going to look at the rest of the morlocks that didn't finish their shopping. Ever been to the Chautauqua Mall? It's a freaking leper colony in there.

I will leave you with one thing to amuse you through this holiday. Assuming you've seen Napoleon Dynamite, you'll find this to be just about the funniest thing ever.

Anyway, off to the mall... gotta pick up some slippers.

Until next time...

R