Poop In My Stocking, For All I Care

I think there is only one question on everybody's mind these days. Why the FUCK do people I don't even know keep asking me what I want for Christmas?!?!?!?!

Let me tell you a secret. If I am NEVER the one that contacts you first, or every time I see you I say, "Omg! How ARE you!?" It means I don't know you that well or I just don't fucking like you. And if that's the case, you can bet your Hanukkah bush that I have not and will not get you a present for ANY kind of holiday. Including your birthday.

I mean, let's be real. I don't even give presents to people I seriously love. I figured that just the fact that I don't consider you an asshole is a gift enough (Editor's note: you are an asshole).

So fuck it. I'm not getting you a present. End of story. BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

Turns out, people I don't really know or like always end up being the queen whores of getting ME a present!

WHY!!!!!!!?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111

Well, I guess I don't really care why. The point is, people think I'm awesome and just love buying me shit.

If you fall into this category, here are some presents I will accept:


-a blank check

-a pony

-cake

-worldwide recognition of the Potato Famine as the number one most devastating historical tragedy

-a really nice toothbrush

-using science and/or magic, transform me into a baseball that Tim Lincecum will pitch with

-a gay president

-extermination of all spiders

-a contract signed in blood by every model in the world stating that he or she is never again allowed to talk about how "difficult" his or her job really is (side note: breach of contract is punishable by death)


I mean, all of these gifts would be wonderful but even ONE of these would make me soooo happy! My Christmas tree is waiting, bitches. Get it done.

Happy Kwanza.