Happy Holidays, team! Christmas and its compatriots are on their way, so I’m here to provide you with the annual (sometimes) uncouth heathen gift guide. If you’re looking for something unique for your office party, drunk uncle or cray-cray roommate, but you just haven’t stumbled upon the right thing, have a look below. I guarantee you’ll have your Internet shopping cart full by the time I say “Amen.”
I may or may not have mentioned that I have a roommate named Cassie. Cassie is an amazing person – she’s smart, fun, funny, kind, thoughtful, a sass mouth and kind of a dick. I enjoy her company, which is good because she spends most of her evenings two feet across from me on the couch, when we’re not out dancing with the gay ladies at Hot Flash or drinking drinks with the gay ladies at wherever we find gay ladies. But what Cassie doesn’t know is that I’m secretly keeping track of all the times she eats the Reese’s peanut butter cups I keep in the hallway and doesn’t replace them with fresh ones. And soon, in like…four peanut butter cups…I’m going to use this blowdart gun to take her down.
I’ve been single for nineteen months, now, and in that time spent many hours considering what I’m going to do for the rest of my life. Do I want to travel the world? Do I want to reconsider becoming a Buddhist nun? Will I drive off a bridge and die already? In all my considerings, one of the things I have settled on is that I should drink more. And so I have. And I do. And I will. Drink drink drink! I’m gonna do it all! I’m going to drink all the things! Specifically I’m going to drink all the whiskeys and Rainier beers I can muster. And when bringing the drinks somewhere is inappropriate, like in the car on the way to a bar or on the bus or at my nephews’ birthday parties, I’ll just fill up this flask tie and drink my drinks in peace, thank you very much.
As I have mentioned, oh – I don’t know, ten scrillion times in the past – I have a lot of feelings. ALL THE FEELINGS ARE MINE. I once considered using my tears to sell on the streets for their pain killing properties. I’m still considering it, though I’m now looking at other options. For example, some clever motherfuckers have decided to go ahead and make salt from tears. I’m in awe…because how do they harvest so many tears? Do they steal children and tell them horrible things? Do they come to my house at night and siphon my sleep cries? HOW ARE THERE ENOUGH TEARS TO MAKE A BUSINESS OF SALT MADE FROM TEARS? I will buy them all but mostly because I need to replenish my body’s salt reserves because of all the cries I cry.
There are like, maybe, five people in this world I do not hate. The rest of them are all listed in this little book, with their misdeeds. It talks about that time my ex-fiancee told me she never loved me, when an old roommate stole my bottle of Dom Perignon and drank it with his alcoholic sex-friend, when my mom gave me all those home perms, how my brother still owes me $50 for cleaning out his car when I was 12 years old and then is basically along lists of all the times anyone didn’t respond to a text in a timely manner or ever at all. I WILL NOT BE IGNORED.
Once you fill out your Shit List book, you can send each of them a bag of dicks, lovingly made by KitsKrappe at Etsy. Because you know what, you assholes? You can eat a bag of dicks. Except these dicks are magnets and that’s dangerous. But fuck you anyway.
As I was writing this post, I pulled up the battery operated Zamboni desk vacuum and Cassie looked over and said “That’s a dumb idea.” And you know what I did? I got her with the blow dart gun, stole her shoes and put her in the driveway because YOU DON’T KNOW. Then I Zamboni’d the hell out of her bed because she eats chips while she sleeps and CRUMBS. CRUMBS EVERYWHERE.
Is it a couch or a pig? A pig or a couch? WRONG! It’s both. PIG COUCH. enough said.
I feel like fanny packs are making a sort of comeback, mostly in terms of people not being completely shamed by wearing them. Let’s be clear – it’s still not cool. But sometimes it’s necessary and for those times, ye shall not be shamed. If you’ve got a certain fella you’d like to get a gift for but you’re not sure he’s on board with shame free fanny packing…try the man sack. It’s useful, it’s manly and it’s better than the real thing. Ugh. Old balls. I’d shame those over a fanny pack any day.
To round out this amazing group of gifts, I give you BREAD GLOVES. I showed these to Cassie and she said YES. YES I WANT THOSE. And so, soon, I shall find her on the couch with gloves made from bread and a tub of pub cheese from Trader Joe’s. And that’s just the way I like her.