Sunday, December 11, 2005

What the Juice likes about Christmas – Day 14 or Day 1. Whichever...

Welcome to the Juice's countdown to Christmas! Over the next fourteen days the Juice will yak on about what I actually like about Christmas. It’s kinda like that stupid song the 12 days of Christmas, only it’s 14 days. And the Juice don’t sing on about stupid shit life 5 Cornish hens.

So, we begin with Day 1 of our countdown. Or in this case, Day 14, dependin' how you look at it. And you better look at it the right way. But, before ya hurt yourself thinkin’ about it, why don’t the Juice just cut through the shit and get to the point? That’d be a first for the Juice, right?

But, I digress…

So, what the Juice likes about Christmas this day is…(if the Juice had some webspace, ya be hearin’ a drum roll right about now. but webspace ain't free, and you folks don't never buck up for the Juice to get any) When Christmas is over.

Oh, here they come. Here come the “Humbug’s” and the “Scrooge’s” and the “You have absolutely no soul’s”. But, c’mon! The Juice is just sayin’ what you’re thinkin’ every last second until the glorious day of Christmas is over. It’s so much fucking work for one day, right? Can the Juice get an Amen? No? Fuck you then.

For the Juice the whole holiday is maddenin’. Between the shoppin’, the wrappin’, the gettin’ of the trees (yes, that is more than one tree. As in plural. Cause it’s a known fact that you don’t love Jesus unless you have 2 trees in your house.), the decoratin’ of said trees, the sendin’ out of the Christmas cards, and the all around bein’ nice to everyone. It’s all craziness. It just ain’t natural.

And in all this, I haven’t even mentioned the dealin’ with the kids. ‘Cause on top of all that other madness, if ya got kids, they are seriously hopped on Santa’s special brand of goofballs. Dealin’ with children at Christmas is like takin’ your kids to Disney. If you were of sound mind, you would never participate in either. Oh, don’t give me that horseshit. I hear ya sayin’ it. “What about tradition? My mommy and daddy did this for me and that for me…” Fucketh thateth, the Juice sayeth!

The whole holiday is enough to make any one have a melt down. Which, now that I mention it, is exactly what the Juice had the other day.

See, when ya got four kids, ya learn not to get hung up on stuff. Or, ya should learn at least not to get hung up on stuff. Like, when someone dumps nail polish remover on your sacred Sega Genesis system. Or throws your Atari Lynx in the turlet. Or draws with permanent marker all over your walls. Ya’know, the shit that would break the soul of a non-four kid responsible man. Ya just learn to ignore it all, or ya’ll never live to see the next day. Which you pray will be better than the one you’re currently sufferin’ in. But, it never is.

the Juice, whose family ain’t “known” for their patience, has his limits. Not only did the Juice pass those limits this pass weekend, but I headed into territory that would make the heart of a mortal man explode from the stress. The Juice is just one man, with four kids. What’s a dude gonna do? It’s a constant barrage of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” Day in day out. Every last waken second. Picture, if you will, four faces talkin’ at ya all day. And they ain’t listenin’ back. Whether ya scream your fuck head off, or ya cry your peepers out, kids don’t listen.

And with Christmastime upon us, kids get this horrifyin’ disease called the Christmas Jimmies. Every kid gets it. They’re outta control with excitement. They ain’t in their heads, at all. They don’t give fuck one what you think, do or say. If they normally don’t listen, kids take it to the next level of unlistenin’.

Take, for example, my oldest, Sara. Seriously, take her, cause she’s really gettin’ on the Juice’s nerves. ‘Cause not only is she mind fuckin’ the Juice, but now she’s taken to torturin’ everyone else younger than her. It’s a horrifyin’ symphony of screams, a cacophony of “DADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’s” that, believe you me, ain’t music to my ears.

And no matter how many times the Juice told Sara to stop torturin’ whoever she was torturin’, no matter how many times I threatened her bodily harm, no matter how many times the Juice pleaded or yelled, Sara just kept on mind fuckin’ everyone.

Kinda like:

“Sara, knock it off…”

“Sara, if ya don’t stop it, the Juice is gonna beat your ass”

“Sara, I swear to all that’s holy, I’m gonna put a serious hurtin’ on ya.”

“Sara, please stop. Please. Please. Please. I’m beggin’ ya! For your dad sanity”


“Sweet mother of all that’s holy, Sara, knock it the frig off!”

And so on and so on. Normally, at some point, Sara would stop. More than likely out of boredom. But, with the Christmas Jimmies coursin’ through ‘er, she wasn’t hearin’ a word her ol’ man was sayin’. So what does the Juice do when, he realizes that she ain’t listenin’ to me? Try somethin' different? Walk away? Meditate? Count to ten? Nope! The Juice kept on screamin’. Up until the missus came eventually came back from whatever kid-free place she holed herself in. Then the Juice got the hell outta dodge.

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’: “Wait, the Juice. Where was your wife the whole time?” I’d like to say that she was doin’ somethin’ important. Like findin’ a cure for leprosy. Or feedin’ the rich. No. She weren’t doin’ no such thing. She claims she was out Christmas shoppin’. The Juice figures she was parked three streets over hidin’ out in the car with her smokes and a 40. Much like the Juice does whenever he can.

So…to wrap this fucker up, one of the things the Juice likes most about Christmas is when it’s over!