Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.


Pimping Out My Sociopathic Family for Laughs, Part Two
Everyone seemed so cheered by the togetherness displayed in the first batch; I thought, "Why not stretch that warm holiday feeling out another week by posting more photos?" I, for one, don't want my cockles cooling off just yet. Do you?

Okay. So, um... We drank this.

And we drank this too. In fact, we refilled this sumbitch about, what... Eight times? Something like that. It's hard to keep track when you're so focused on getting your left hand and your right hand to once again work in conjunction.

Craig and yet another goddamn fish. I have no clue why he's got it on his arm like that. If you don't dissect it too much it seems like a reasonable thing to do, though, doesn't it? Just lay that sucker on there and look over and go, "Eh?" And then whoever's standing there will frown and nod and say, "Mm-hmm." At least that's how we did it.

Here's a close-up of the Mexican-themed appetizer. I wanted to get a shot of all that good, glistening oil at the bottom of the pan. God damn that shit was good. You really need to eat this kind of thing often, getting plenty of oil and grease and stuff in you on a regular basis. Otherwise you dry out and end up looking all awful and papery like Michael Stipe.

See? Neil eats plenty of that good stuff, and he's not all dusty like that fuckin' mummy Michael Stipe. No sir, he's got a fine, shiny pelt, and healthy gums to boot. I like this picture of Neil, because it's one of like, maybe, three in the universe in which he's not shooting a bird.

Here's one of the other ones where he's behaving himself and... Whoops, never mind. I think that bird thing might be genetic, like a reflex or a tic or something.

Dad knows karate. I think in this photo he was showing me how he broke this girl's arm. Or maybe it was a little kid; I can't recall.

Alright, I didn't want to expose anyone's identity, but the expression on this woman's face is too good. In the second pic, you can actually see the self-awareness dawning, that exquisite moment of dark, whirling fear when the implications of doing Christmas Jello shots with the Hughes Family Circus smash down on her consciousness like a black-hole satori. I'm posting these photos as a warning to you, kids — stay in school, don't do drugs. Brrrr.

Here's a series of photos I call Five Inanimate Things That Will Come Alive in the Dead of Night and Drink Your Tender Soul:

Ha ha! Just kidding. That duck statue rarely comes alive in the dead of night to drink souls.

Check this shit out. That's about 16 pounds of prime rib. And how much butter you reckon is slathered on those bad boys? About a pound each? Hot damn.

Originally, I thought this heartwarming little tableau was lost, because I was too drunk to competently operate my camera and shot a little movie of it instead of taking snaps. And there's just no way I'm fussing around with uploading a movie. But I figured out a way to snag some frames, so everyone can share in the Christmas miracle. Anyway, I had thought Dad was choking the brother-in-law here, but it's obviously not that serious a confrontation. He's merely grabbing our brother-in-law's face and painfully twisting it all around.

Aw, jeez, no... On the napkins too? Does anyone like these terrifying nutcracker dudes? I mean, besides Hitler? Yeesh. I was getting morbid Jan Svenkmajer flashes all through supper.

Did I mention my Pop is 61, but that he could still whoop your ass without half trying? Don't fuck around. Also, notice the can of Reddi-Whip in the lower-right corner. At some point, my brothers thoughtfully filmed me sucking the nitrous oxide out of it. I say "thoughtfully" because otherwise the magic of sweet booze would've washed awareness of that particular transgression away. But no, the next morning the whole family gathered around to watch me huffing that shit, a treasured yuletide memory we can share for years to come.

You know, I'm going to be 36 this month. Thirty-six goddamn years old... Well, human years, anyway.

Sweet shot of my brother-in-law's ass.

This is my fed-up sister hustling the guy off to bed. We chanted encouragements and sang him songs, but he was not to reappear that evening. The lure of barfing was too strong.

We love him, though. This is not a joke. We love him so much.

In case you haven't bothered to read the comments on the first set of photos, here's a story I meant to include earlier, but forgot:

So I walk up on my sister talking to the visiting British couple.

"Do y'all know what a redneck is?" she's asking them.

"...Excuse me?" the woman replies, clearly confused.


The British woman looks a little scared. "I... I'm sorry. No, we don't," she says.

"Well, it's my husband."

That exchange is obviously awesome on many levels, but I really liked how my sister sounded out "you all" in that loud I'm-talking-to-a-retard voice you have to use to make foreign people understand you. Hey, ambassadors — there you go. A freebie.

This was the last pic I shot before passing out. Craig's using the baby monitor to listen to my sister admonish her husband while my stepmother, in a bid to retain her tenuous membership in civilization despite her association with us, stages a feeble protest.

Hey, know what I did on New Year's Eve? Nothing. Not a fuckin' thing. Asleep by 10:30, suckers.


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