Hi. My Name is Skippy and I have a metal plate in my head. I live in a Doublewide in a Trailer Park with Mama and the twins of my former dead sister, plus our cat “Mr, Whiskers IV,” just down the row from Floyd the Truck Drivin’ Man. I really really like Lemon Meringue Pie
This is Skippy’s Anal Christmas Letter, which also doubles as his Christmas Card and is also in lieu of a fruitcake, too, which no one gets this year, praise the Load. So, Firstly-wise, Skippy wishes all and yours a Meretricious or Chanooka or Ginsu, or Ramalamadingdog, or whichsoever your Faith of Preference is.
Secondly-wise, Skippy is fat busted this year like Pamela Anderson. So busted that a scammed artist broke into Skippy’s blank account and left a note saying, “Sorry to have bothered you.” And Skippy’s not the Lone Arranger in hat irregardless. The empire country pf USA as a hole is in a Repression because of George Bush “W’s” Presidential Recrimination. Bush, his President of Vice, Dork Cheney, and their Fart Cat buddies stealed from the poor and give to them selfs. Now everybody, for richer or poorer, has gotten their ass handed to them in a cocked hat and the black guy has to clean it up.
Meanwhile as the daze dwindle down to a precious few in the Bush Caporegime, George W has been on a farewell tool collecting going away presents and Awards. For instance, the American Organ Meat Association just honored him with its prestigious “Liverwurst President Ever” Prize. Then Bush went to Baghdad and was given a t-shirt reading: “I Destroyed an entire Nation and All I Got Was a Used Pair of Shoes.”
It have been a grimed year for Skippy and his or her loved ones.
Skippy’s best fiend, Floyd, the Truck Drivin’ Man, who has lived at the Trailer Park since 1982, had his brand new Peterbilt almost repossessessed. The bank had just started the process when they got bankruptured themself. They took his bilt, but Floyd got to keep his Peter.
Meanwhile, Mama’s 401(k) has all but disappeared. Now we knows what the “(k)” stand for. It stands for “Krap.” The only thing that has not shrinked down to nothing in Mama’s world is her Goiter. It recently replaced Pluto as both the 18th Planet in the Sonic System and Mickey’s favorite dog.
The twin offsprung of Skippy’s dead sister have seen their collage fund been spent on frivolous needs like food, shelter and drugs. Because of the finagle disaster, Mama has had to cut back on her Medico Marijuana, which leaves less weed for the twins to steal, which caused them to be depressed, which qualified them for their own Medical Marijuana to treat their depression, which cured them of their depression so they couldn’t get no more medical marijuana, which depressed them again, which qualified them for more medical marijuana which enabled this sentence to win the Nobel Peach Prize for Endless Roundelays.
Then there is Skippy’s kittycat, “Mr. Whiskers IV.” Because of hard times Mr. Whiskers has
been reduced to eating cat food, just like Mama.
In medical gnus, Skippy recently had emergency surgery to have the mental plate in his head removed, rotated, degaussed, relined, chopped, channeled, lowered, louvered, and reinserted back in his dome. Post surgery, Skippy is very confused, utterly befuddled, dangerously disoriented, badly bewildered, disturbingly dizzy and agonizingly addlepated. In other words, good as new.
Skippy would like to thanks his Doctor, Vincent Boombatz, of the Philadelphia Boombatzes, for his excellent work while sedated. And by that, Skippy means Skippy was sedated, not Dr. Boombatz. Dr. Boombatz was drunk.
And finally, as the Year of Our Load, 1929, comes to an Merciful Contusion, Skippy wishes you and yours from his and hers, a Fastidious Festivus and a Hoppy New Year, if there is one.
Fondly,
Skippy
