HAIRSHIRT
Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
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HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
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Tuesday, December 07, 2004The Annual Christmas Newsletter
Christmas Greetings to all from the Wacks!
My goodness, such a busy year for everyone in this household. And now we find ourselves coming together again to celebrate Christmas and take a look back on the year and all it held for us and those we hold dear. We invite you to look with us. Joe Jr. is finishing up his third year at the University of Colorado. This tall, handsome musical-theatre major has found a novel way to help Mom and Dad out with his tuition. He’s hustling in Boulder on the weekends! While the Wife and I are worried about how often he runs into “rough trade,” we’re just as proud as can be at his ingenuity. And it’s paying off. Joe Jr.’s all-albino production of Mame was the smash hit of the student works festival and was lauded by theatre critics and the freakishly pale alike. We’ve got a sneaking suspicion that this is one part-time man-whore who’s gonna be taking Broadway by storm in a few years, one way or another. Meanwhile, the lovely Miss Jr., always the opinionated little gal, has formed her very own cadre of skinheads which operates out of our garage. You’ll pardon this proud papa if he says that very few young ladies can pull off the skinhead look and maintain their stunning good looks, but Miss Jr. sure can. And she seems to have inherited her mother’s ability to argue. At last week’s rally, she really wowed the crowd with her screed on “The Liberal Conspiracy.” I don’t know where she gets some of her wackier ideas. Probably from her mom’s side. (Did I say that? Whoops!) Our youngest child, little Flaubert has entered the sixth grade. Can you believe it? It seems like yesterday he was getting the dickens knocked out of him in kindergarten. His run for student body president was, alas, unsuccessful, despite the both-end-candle-burning his mother did preparing all those campaign posters and t-shirts and bumper stickers. Personally, I think it was because they stuck with Miss’s “Vote for Me Because I’m Your Intellectual Superior” slogan instead of my catchier “Flaubert Wack: A Name You Can Trust, Even if You Can’t Pronounce It Because You’re Intellectually Inferior.” Oh well, there’s always next year. Speaking of next year, we’re all really looking forward to this coming March, when the Wife’s new line of sport fishing gear for ladies, Trout and About is scheduled to hit stores. I have to tell you, our buttons are bursting with pride at the way Mom has hustled (in a completely different way than Joe, Jr., mind you) to get this line out. Now, dozens of women around America who love to fish won’t have to feel so dowdy. It takes a woman of imagination to design clothes equally suitable for either a muddy river full of squirming cat-fish or a Broadway opening! Quite a gal, our Wife. As for myself, I’m finding fun new ways to prevent bed sores as I spend my record-breaking eighth year in the sack! [record not recognized/endorsed by Guinness and is based on figures for non-catatonic bed-bound people only.] Who knew that, when I told the Wife I didn’t feel like getting up, I still wouldn’t be up eight years later? Time has really flown since I got that bed pan, let me tell you. And fat! Whoaa, Nelly. I’m happy to say that there is now four hundred and seventy-nine pounds of me to love. Sure, it’s meant saying goodbye to my genitals, but I feel more rested than ever. Oh! Did I forget to mention that I found Christ? He was hiding in one of my fat rolls. Kidding! He was hiding in the heart of several people who visit with shut-ins like myself, and boy am I glad he came. Well, that’s what’s happening in our neck of the woods. If we cared what you were doing, we’d call. Happy, happy holidays. And may our Lord Jesus wash away your wretched sinfulness, you vile, vile person. The Wacks
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