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Re: Thursday’s Family Christmas Reunion Party
I suppose it wasn’t too much to ask for. Just one Christmas dinner that didn’t end in disaster–no passive aggressive comments made by uncles to uncles in law or cousins violently smacking each other, just one night free of racist remarks made by the elderly, with minimal breakdowns by the emotionally-crippled single aunt seeking reassurance from her married sisters that she is not past her prime after someone makes the inevitable weighty comment. Mom kept saying that all she wanted this Christmas was one family reunion to go smoothly, and I gotta say that I feel at least partially responsible for this year’s failure.
So I’d just like to apologize for a couple of things. I’m sure you guys all know this anyway and were just being polite by not accusing anyone, but Christmas is a time of atonement so I’ll be upfront: it was me who drank all the eggnogg. It was selfish, I know, I should have left some for you guys (especially you Uncle Harry, eh? EH? ;-P). At the very least, I should have waited for everyone to get to the party before I started gettin’ my hootenanny on. But mom made it seem like this was going to be a giant shitshow so I thought I’d come prepared. That being said, I got sloppy.
I guess Great Uncle Giles was right when he said: “You can’t hold your liquor boy!” I took offense to it at the time, which was wrong, but I still think my retort “YouCan’tHoldYourLlliquorbboy!” was pretty funny. I’m sorry, Unc, that I followed it up by hitting your hand hard to make you spill your cranberry juice all over yourself. But you have to understand, the hand-hit was the crux of the joke.
I would also like to clear up some inappropriate remarks that might or might not have been said, by me, out loud. I do not think its funny that Aunt May will “die a fucking spinster”, nor do I truly believe that “rimjob” is a suitable word to say during grace.
The Christmas carols were a lot of fun! I suppose Aunt Mary was right though, everyone might have had a better time had I not screamed “COCK!” as each verse reached its decrescendo (it might have at least kept Young Little Adrian from crying so much).
Thinking back, I guess it was probably not a good idea to keep insisting that we replace traditional Christmas celebrations with Pagan Ritualistic sacrifices to an ancient heathen Blood-God. You guys said no once, I could have left it at that. Its just that I wanted to try to have a seasonal celebration more honest than all that mindless corporate consumerism. But I can see how yelling “DEATH TO CHRIST! THE WORTHY SHALL FIND REBIRTH IN THE PHLEGM OF THE NETHRON-KA!” could have offended dear Great Aunt Gladys (God rest her soul). I maybe should have pushed for Kwanzaa.
I still don’t know what was going through my head when I started dry humping that girl in the hallway. I can’t believe it took so many slaps from Uncle Gerald’s loving hands to realize ‘that girl’ was actually the mop Aunt Louise handed me to clean up that puddle of sick I made. Boy, was I red-faced. We all had a good laugh over that. Well, we could have.
The upper decker—that was me. I know there’s no excuse for it now, but it’s just that when everyone was singing along to “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire” I got a bit caught up in holiday cheer and thought I’d leave you guys a little “Chestnut Surprise” of my own. But I’m coming around now, and I guess Grandpa was right. It was a little gross.
Just like all of you, Christmas time can get me feeling low, so it was a real picker-upper to see the whole family dancing and smiling and generally in high spirits, especially old Great Aunt Gladys. But there I had to go again, ruining the budding festive spirit by using the decorative wreath for another one of my silly suicide attempts :(. Oh brother, when will I ever learn? :~/
May: Dearest loving and understanding Aunt, your overly sensitive heart can rest assured that I meant “fat gross hag” in the most complimentary, gentle and endearing way.
Uncle Monty: I’m really sorry for bothering your daughter the way I did. It was wrong of me to follow her around all night with mistletoe. But just to clear a couple things up, it really isn’t “sick” as you suggested it was when you were yelling at me at the end of the night. The thing is, I’m not actually related to her, because my parents adopted me at a young age. You said it yourself at the end of the night, “I can’t believe we share the same blood.” We don’t, so your daughter and I are in the clear. I hope this revelation sheds a new light on matters and maybe changes your opinion on last Thursday’s events.
Ryan: I’m sorry, bro, that I kept referring to you as “my gay brother”. You’ve always been kind of weak and weird and never really played sports or had a girlfriend, but mom said I tea-bagged grandpa and you know what they say about people who live in glass houses (—they shouldn’t walk around naked! Lol! Just kiddin’ squirt!)
Mom, Dad: I’m sorry I told everyone I was adopted.
And for what I did to your rug.
I look forward to seeing all of you again next year. I know some of you might be a bit sour because of what I’ve done done or said, but I know you will all forgive me. That’s what’s so great about family. We share blood, and that can never change. I hope that we can all look forward to a time when we will be able to look back fondly on last week’s mishaps. I know I do.
Your loving son/grandson/nephew/cousin/uncle,
Pps: Holly: I can’t stop thinking about you. You are so sexy that it must be true love. I feel as if I have known you for my entire life, for reasons more spiritual than your having been in the emergency room when I was born.