Yes, You Really Have To Hang That Shit
December 09, 2016
I hate to break it to you, but you have to keep hanging that shit forever. If it makes things any better, I promise you that I hung more ugly mangled garbage than you, especially since you're a fictional construct that I used to get this topic moving.
For example, we have this white popsicle stick, with some random bits glued on, and a puff of cotton hanging down like its big, fluffy scrotum. I don't even know what this could have been BEFORE it was mangled. But it's a white popsicle stick where some preschool teacher at some point wrote my youngest son's name on it, so here it hangs for all eternity.
Here's a teeny-tiny Wally World moose head slash beer mug for insect-sized drinkers. There's red writing on the back that someone with younger eyes than mine tells me says, "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation." This is just about perfect, because that one had nothing to do with Wally World.
I have no recollection of ever having seen this ornament before. It was probably on the end of a zipper on something that someone else got for Christmas last year when it accidentally got dropped in with our ornaments. But in with our ornaments it is, and so I'm fated to hang it on the tree for all eternity.
This is nothing more than a laminated circle of copier paper made entirely by an anonymous preschool teacher. (It would be nice if they occasionally put the year on there too.) It was probably done during nap time, because I see no sign of three-year-old handiwork here. But again, she took the time to write my kid's name, so it hangs on our tree for all eternity.
By now, you're probably feeling a certain amount of hopelessness. I won't leave you that way. There is an out.
When your kids get grown, you can pawn this crap off onto their families. This bear has MY name on the back. It's the crappiest of many ornaments that my mom made me take from their home.
The most horrifying thing about this is that it's dated 1984. That puts me at having painted this at the ripe old age of 13. Was I a pussy, or what?
I can only hope that it was a day full of freezing rain, and that whatever hijinx Jeanne was up to with Major Nelson and Major Heely was one I had already seen 700 times.