The scent of pine covered his fingers and

The scent of pine covered his fingers and reminded him it was Christmas time when he leaned a cheek against his fist. Only two days left, but five before Christmas. He would never
sober up again. Time to get S-faced and ruin this Christmas. His family was all hypocrites. His mom wanted lights on the roof. Instead he was chugging Bud Ice. To hell with
Christmas spirit. He emptied his beer on her denuded rosebush and set it aflame. "Here Mom, it's a Hanukkah bush," he sneered. Next he set his sights on the
20 year old yule log. Passed from generation to generation. We all waited with baited breath. What was he goi ngto do to it? All we heard next was the known sound
of something smashing against the wall. "Uncle Sammy?" we called out. "I'm fine," we heard him say, but we knew he was lying.
The sound of shattering glass told the whole story. He'd found the pictures. The ones of Aunt Shirley and the postman. Er. men. Why had she insisted on framing them? They only
served to underline the maxim, "come wind or snow or driving rain.". Aunt Shirley's postman fetish had become so acute that
UPS men would no longer do. She needed the satisfaction that only a certified letter could bring. She could not even imagine the pleasure possible from "signature required." It
made her anus wink to think about it -- the letter, pristinely sealed, weighed on the stainless steel scale, stamped, certified label affixed, the "signature required" box checked.
She dropped it in the mailbox and headed home. She wouldn't worry another minute about it. She felt free! She walked and hummed and thought about what the future held.

Started: 2010-12-20 01:44:57
Finished: 2011-01-16 23:02:02

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