Fuckin Reruns

Due to the writers strike and the fact that I'm just not feeling all that fucking festive, you will have to deal with a 3 year old story. I originally posted this December 29th 2004. It was funny then and it's still funny now. I wish y'all a MERRY CHRISTMAS but not a happy holidays because that's how I roll. It's Christmas or nothing at all. I guess if you're Jewish I could wish you a happy Hanukkah but to all you muslim fuckers out there. Go fuck a camel.

To Grandmothers House We Went

We spent the holiday at Granny Grunts house. It was fairly uneventful, no screaming, yelling, fighting, or any of the other pleasant things I remember of Christmas' past. It took all day Christmas Eve to get there, what with going through the woods and over the hills and over the bridges and across the plains and past the swamps, we finally arrived at Granny's house late as usual.

We have a fairly small car (tiny, tiny, tiny). So the back was full, there was stuff shoved between the boys, and Jen had stuff under her legs and in her lap. But I was comfortable, because you never crowd the driver. When we got there I had to surgically remove everyone from the car. No easy task.

We finally settled in and the feast began. Tamales for dinner, Christmas Eve. Chicken spaghetti for dinner, Christmas Day. Tons of cookies and other sweets throughout the rest of the weekend. My mom has always made Chicken spaghetti and Blonde Brownies for Christmas. It used to be the only time her four boys got to indulge in these treats, so she was always sure one of us would be there on Christmas. She finally gave up the recipes a few years ago to her daughters-in-law. I guess she figures she's getting up in years and she won't always be around to cook Christmas dinner for her boys. She spoils her boys and now she spoils my boys.

Granny Grunt sounds like your typical little old lady. Cooking pastries and wonderful meals and just generally spreading love everywhere she goes. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We all remember Little Red Riding Hood, right? She gets to Granny's house, only Granny ain't there, it's the Big Bad Wolf in Granny's clothes. That's my mom. The Big Bad Wolf in Granny's skin. Only this time the Woodsman didn't show up to cut Granny out. Oh she's nice enough on the surface, but if you cross her you'll be dealing with 5'3", 115lbs. of claws and fangs. Most of you know how vindictive I am from reading my past stories, well let me tell you, I come by it honest. Compared to Granny Grunt, I'm strictly amateur hour. I've never seen anyone hold a grudge like this old woman. Jack hasn't been allowed at her house since 1985. It's nothing he did, it was just easier for her to hate him than to apologize to him, because she was clearly wrong. I'm going to give you both versions of the story. Jacks version and the truth.

Jack's Version: Jack was sitting in a chair in Granny's house watching church on TV, having some milk and cookies, while waiting for me to finish getting dressed. We were late for choir practice. We went to church every Sunday morning and night, and also on Wednesday night. We never did anything wrong. Suddenly the modern day version of Lizzie Borden (Granny Grunt) came sneaking up behind him. She was holding a Louisville Slugger tight in her little withered hands, but she had a real good grip because her claws sank deep into the wooden handle. She raised the bat above her head and just as she was about to strike I came around the corner screaming "NO, MOTHER, NO." It was too late. She beat Jack without any mercy. She swung the bat repeatedly, striking him about the head and shoulders, until I could grab her. As I held the snarling beast, Jack, bloodied and beaten crawled to the front door to make his escape.

The Truth: Early January 1985. The day before I left to serve my country, Jack and I hung out together. That evening we wound up at my mom's house. My mom and I were having a heated discussion about the truck that I was selling to my brother. This little talk eventually turned into a full blown argument. My mom and I are both very animated people when it comes to arguing. At some point she jumped up screaming, so I jumped up yelling. Jack knowing about my violent tendencies, jumped up to stop me from clocking the old broad (I would never have hit her, but Jack didn't know this). Jack landed between me and The Big Bad Wolf. He was facing me. I said I would never have hit her, but I didn't say she never would have hit me. Right as Jack landed between us, she swung. POW, right up side Jacks head. I could swear I heard bones break. She was mortified, she had just hit an innocent (yeah right) bystander that was trying to protect her. Jack was immediately banished from the house. FOREVER. If you remember a few post ago I said I don't apologize, well, I come by that honest also. For the last 20 years my mom has hated Jack. It was easier to hate him than to admit she was wrong.

The day after Christmas I was on the phone with Jack. We wanted to get together for a few minutes before me and the family left town. After I hung up my mom said the damnedest thing.

Granny Grunt: "Why doesn't he come here? Wouldn't that be easier?"
Trashman: "What?"
GG: "He can come here, can't he?"
Trashman: "You hate him."
GG: "Why do I hate him?"
Trashman: "Because you hit him."
GG: "I didn't ever hit him."
Trashman: "You hit him."
GG: "If I ever hated him it was because he was a doper."
Trashman: "He's not a doper. Never was a doper. He's a narcotics officer. He's the anti-doper."
GG: "All your friends were dopers."
Trashman: "My friends were not dopers."
GG: "Well I never hit him."
Trashman: "Jesus."

I told her the story exactly as it happened 20 years ago. I called Jack back and told him to come on up to Granny's house.

Jack: "You want me to come where?"
Trashman: "Come to my mom's house."
Jack: "Are you sure?"
Granny (In the background): "Tell him I won't hit him."
Trashman: "She says she wont hit you."
Jack: "HA HA HA HA HA"

Keep on keeping on. Merry Christmas Fuckers.

This is a must see NSFW