Surrounded by wrapping paper, gently falling around my ears like so much confetti.

THERE'S NO TIME LIMIT AS TO WHEN YOU CAN START DRINKING ON CHRISTMAS DAY, RIGHT?

Merry Christmas, bitches!

Hells, yeah. It's Christmas EVE. You know what that means, right? LOOT!

I cut my teeth on Calvin and Hobbes as a teen, and as such some of my fondest Christmas morning were spend snuggled up sharing a blanket on the sofa with my big brother (still my hero, forever and always) reading the C&H giant special books we'd been bought, and laughing ourselves silly. Those comics never go out of style, by the way. I re-read them all the time, catching a hell of a lot of the hilarious subtleties I missed when I was too young to know some of the longer words.

With this in mind, I present to you a couple of Calvin and Hobbes Christmas spreads - the characters and drawings and writing all from the brilliant mind of Bill Watterson and by no means my own. Please don't sue me. Here's a link to Bill's webpage.

And here are some picks of my favourite Calvin and Hobbes Christmas moments:

Have a CRAZY GOOD Christmas, everybody. I really hope you get to spend some lovely time with some lovely people.

I know I will! I'm spending it with all my family and it's going to be AWESOME. I mean, once my Mum has more than two glasses of wine she's going to start messing with my hair and asking me if I'm not really too old for the pillar-box red these days. I will sigh and catch my Dad's eye across the room, who will make a witchy-face behind my Mother's back in silent solidarity with my plight. And then it'll be all 'Why haven't you married the Spy yet,' and 'A long engagement is only for couples with no intention of marrying," and blah, blah..

But it's okay! I'll retreat to library where my Grandad will be camped out with a thick book of something that looks like the dullest book in the word ('The Five Hundred Kind of Bricklaying' or something such) but which becomes the most interesting book ever once he starts reading excerpts to me. His voice is packed with gravel and soaked in whiskey, it's a voice Morgan Freeman would be jelly of.

TODAY I have been wrapping presents and watching reruns of Rock of Love. That, my friends, was the trash TV that got me into Reality TV. If you don't know about it, it was a 'dating' show starring Bret Michaels of Poison fame, and twenty skanks vying for his love. 

YOU GUYS. THESE PEOPLE. I have never.. I mean.. They're naked half the time, drunk off their faces, trying to sneak into Bret's room to give him head, as if his penis is even capable of doing what it's supposed to these days, after all the Poison roadies he's banged and the plethora of STDs that come along with that kind of lifestyle.

You know, I watched all of this back in the day, and came to the conclusion that Bret is actually a fairly decent guy. The women are all skank cuntknuckles painted in three-feet of stripper make-up (even the ones that AREN'T strippers). And they crazy, you guys. CRAZY.

I would need to devote an entire post to the crazy of those women, what with the shoving people into pools, one of them maybe being legit possessed, The Letter, Erin's circus tits, Rodeo.. being Rodeo. My GOD I love Rodeo. She is about the best, craziest person I've ever seen on TV - and I watch TV for a LIVING! Sort of. Not really. You know what I mean.

I would need a whole post just to focus on RODEO. I might do that.

I'll look into it after Christmas!

Until then, HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE, have the best time, get drunk, get loot, eat until you're rolling around, and laugh the whole time. It's good for the soul.

Peace, lovelies.

xxx

December the WHATETH?

Oh good Lord, it's Christmas in a week.

I should really buy presents.

Not right now at this moment because I'm watching Catfish. I didn't even know this show existed. It's about people who fall in love over the internet but have never met. This guy takes one half of the couple to meet the other without the other's knowledge and so far NO ONE IS WHO THEY SAID THEY WERE. I mean, there were a couple of clues with the first one, seeing as no one who is a model full time and a cue-card writer on the Chelsey Handler show and a tragic past involving three dead sisters is going to be that active online anyway. But it was a girl! A nineteen year old girl! People be crazy, y'all.

At any given moment recently I will hear a rustling noise and look over to see one, two or all cats in the Christmas tree. It's driving me up the wall. Their main reason for being in the tree is, apparently, to see who can knock the most baubles off it and subsequently make me huff and puff and complain about having to hang them again. I woke up yesterday and the angel from the top of the tree was on the lounge floor, looking at me with a kind of shell-shocked, traumatised expression. She'd been through things, man.

No matter how motionless you are, I CAN STILL SEE YOU, CAT.

Christmas Massacre??

I finally put the Christmas tree up this afternoon, which involved climbing into the attic to drag down my box of decorations. Something happens up there in the eleven months they're not used, and I wish I knew what it was, but I'm mostly glad I don't.

All I know is that all the ornaments went into the box neatly arranged and in one piece.

But, man..

TINY MURDER

What the hell did that Nutcracker dude do to deserve such an ugly death? He looks as if he's been drawn and quartered. I was rummaging through the box to try and find the tiny Joffrey & Iron Throne that must somehow have materialised in there to call down punishment like that. I couldn't find one, of course, but I would hang the shit out of a Tyrion tree topper. That would be amazing. In fact, if anyone wants to make me a whole set of Game of Thrones Christmas tree decorations, I would be really appreciative. I'd particularly like a Jorah Moremont one, since I am nursing a gargantuan crush on him.

Anyway, I stood looking at the sad broken pieces of Nutcracker dude for a while, wondering whether or not I should glue him back together, or if I should respect the decision of the rest of the decorations and allow them to keep their justice. I mean, I only turn up once a year, they have to maintain order somehow for the entire time they're packed away in the a--

What the actual fuck is wrong with me, sometimes.

It's Horror Thursday!

I do look forward to Thursdays. It's the day I get to watch American Horror Story and have the bejesus creeped out of me. Amidst all the sappy, heart-warming sitcom Christmas specials, I doubt there'll be much to celebrate in Braircliff, what with all the aliens and devils and woodland melty-face creatures.

I'll be watching AHS first, then all the aforementioned seasonal sitcom specials, to ensure I'm manipulated into feeling Christmassy. I need a kick up the arse to put the tree up.

I can't recap AHS because I watch half of it through my fingers, but..

DUDE, IT'S AL.

Deadwood was one of my favourite shows ever, and though I'm aware Ian McShane has been in a buttload of movies and TV shows, he'll always be Al Swearengen to me.

Anyway, I'm delighted to see him in American Horror Story, talking smack to Santa wh-- Oh, sorry, amend that to 'killing Santa'. Someone's on the naughty list! Boom-tish!

Okay, Ian McShane has knocked all the Christmas out of me by tracking down people with lots of decorations, trussing them up and shooting them. Suddenly I'm really glad my tree isn't up yet. My GOD, he's a good actor. I've got chills.

Speaking of chills, it's the opening credits! Freakiest opening credits since.. well, since American Horror Story season one. Every time the statue of the Virgin Mary smiles I spaz out.

Devil!Eunice is in the Christmas spirit though, and it's just delightful. She's prancing around taking hair and dentures from the inmates to use as tree decorations, since Sister Jude threw all theirs out last year with a promise that they would never celebrate Christmas again. It's super creepy. NEVER LET A DEMON HAVE YOUR HAIR OR YOUR TEETH, PEOPLE. Honestly, even I know that, and do I live in a freaky asylum run by the devil?

Anyway, I'll be quiet now and watch this.

OH MY GOD, AMAZING. DEVIL AND SISTER JUDE SHOWDOWN.

Ugh, I'm NOT recapping this, I swear. It's just I get a bit giddy when things like this happen. And MAN, Jude has the devil down bang to rights, speculating that the only reason the devil can be around so many sacred icons and wear a cross is because of Sister Eunice's purity.

BOOO, stupid Dr Arden interrupts their smackdown and Jude gets escorted out. Man, I was really hoping she'd kick some unholy ass.

Oooh, Ian McShane is in solitary in Briarcliff! And Devil!Eunice has brought him a present. I'M SO EXCITED. Ian McShane's prezzie is a Santa suit, and ours is a flashback to the Christmas that made Sister Jude ban all Christmasses from thereon out - Leigh (For that is Ian McShane's character's name) spoils a photo for the newspaper that Jude has arranged. He does this by biting a man's face off in front of the photographer.

Devil!Eunice expositions that the reason Leigh hates Santa, presents, etc is because he got Jean Valjeaned at  Christmas when he was young (thrown into prison for stealing a loaf of bread) and when the prison guards went caroling five men held Leigh down and raped him. Which is.. horrific.

Shh, I'll be quiet, I'm watching, honest.

OH MAN, Dr Arden has bought Devil!Eunice a Christmas present. I'm so blown away by Eunice's performance, it's just incredible. She was this timid little mouse, and now she's just.. well, the devil. Ohhh, DR ARDEN. Giant ruby earrings, genuine, from the concentration camp where he took them from a woman who swallowed them every day and then pooped them out to hide them. Devil!Eunice gives the earrings a sidelong glance as Dr Arden mentions the poop, but then she does this hilarious half-shrug and continues to put them on.

It's amazing, seriously.

Dr Arden kind of impresses me by saying he gave them to her in the hopes that she would throw them back in his face and be horrified at the story of the woman who died from internal bleeding after swallowing her earrings and passing them so many times. He wanted a glimpse of that sweet girl who was too afraid to take a bite of his candy apple. But then I remember that creepy scene and go right back to being quietly revolted by Dr Arden. Then I remember he's a Nazi and feel really bad that I ever liked him even a tiny bit.

Lana is being sick. I hope she isn't pregnant, that would suck.

Arden seeks out Jude at the nunnery and the scene kicks ass. Those two are amazing combatants, it's a classic 'the enemy of my enemy' collusion.

LANA STOP TRYING TO ESCAPE FROM THINGS. EVERY TIME YOU TRY SOMETHING WORSE HAPPENS.

Ugh, I predict Frank is going to get impaled on the special glass Christmas tree star. There's no way Devil!Eunice would let him hang around while he's ready to go to the police about Kit and Grace.

Oh, I was wrong. Ian McSanta tries to slash Frank's throat with the star, but he misses and gets thrown back in the hole for his trouble. Eunice finishes the job though, to Leigh's immense shock:

Oh BALLS.

Sister Jude expected to be locked in the office with Eunice, but that wily devil has put Ian McSanta and a straight razor in there with her instead. I've paused it because I love Jude and I don't want her to die. Arghhh.

LANA, what did I TELL you about trying to escape? Now fucking Threadson is back and menacing you and knocking you around and being creepy as shit. He's burned all his Bloodyface paraphernalia at home and now wants BF to be born again. Oh, and Lana's skin will be the start of that. Which is nice. Always nice to be included, to inspire, even.

BLAMMO! Kit clocks Threadson with a rubbish bin! Or possibly an ashtray. Could things actually be looking up for the good guys?

Certainly not in Jude's office, where Ian McSanta has found the cane cupboard. Ugh. This isn't going to be pretty.

Kit won't let Lana kill Threadson, which is kind of the only good idea she has ever had. Sigh. They truss him up and chuck him in a back room instead.

Oh HURRAY! Jude manages to stab Ian McSanta in the neck. To death.

And aliens take Grace's body in front of Dr Arden.

This wasn't a recap, honestly. I know it wasn't because it didn't take six hours.

Man, that was a good episode! I'm looking forward to seeing how Eunice finds out Jude isn't dead, and what happens between the two of them when they face off. I want to see how Dr Arden tries to science away the alien abduction that happened right in front of him, and I'd really like to see Lana dispense some bloody justice on Bloodyface.

Time to watch something Christmassy and to try to scrub my mind of the image of a rape-y, Ian McShane Santa.

Watch American Horror Story, it's BLOODY brilliant!

December is the season for PLAGUE

Ugh, ugh.

Fuck this virus, seriously. I'm so disorientated today, I'm trying to write a Happy Endings recap and I keep forgetting-- IT HAPPENED AGAIN. Completely lost my train of thought mid-sentence. Hateful, hateful virus. I have fever confusion, which is a malady I just made up but you know what I mean.

I just accidentally punched one of the cats in the face when she tried to jump on my lap while I was sitting on the loo. I can't tolerate noise of any kind, I nearly knifed the binmen to death in the face, with my face. FACE. Oh, hysterical laughter. Great, I've actually cracked.

AND I HAVEN'T EVEN PUT THE CHRISTMAS TREE UP YET. This virus is RUINING December.

Trying to cheer myself up by wearing a crown but I just noticed two of the fake rubies have fallen out, which frankly has upset me much more than it has any rights to. I like how I felt the need to say they are fake rubies, just in case anyone is under the impression I have the actual crown jewels lying around. Good one, Jen. Fake rubies. Frubies.

Great, I've watched so much Sister Wives while poorly that Cody's verbal retardation has spread to me.

Also, I had a fever dream last night about beating Christina Aguilera at a dance competition, then arranging a fashion show by being number two in a big company, then being on an airplane that was as big as an airPORT and had its own Blockbuster.

I know, crazy right? Blockbuster doesn't even exist anymore.

NOTHING IN THIS ENTRY HAS ANY WORTH, DON'T READ IT.

Send help. And re-hydration sachets.

Tra-la-la, something about Christmas.

So, yeah! It's December 1st tomorrow, how the hell did that happen? I know it is, but only because I did the song in my head, otherwise I never know how many days a given month has. It's probably a requirement for being a grown-up, knowing things like that. Sort of proves that even though I've just turned thirty, I'm unlikely to be an actual, proper grown-up for, well, never. Thirty days has September, April, June and Novemb-- Ah! November has thirty days, result.

I'd usually have enraged the Spy by already having the decorations up by now, flashing and twinkling and driving the electricity bill to as yet unseen dizzy heights. The tree would have been up a fortnight ago, already looking like Christmas vomited on it, but I'm angling for a NEW TREE this year, so it's still up there in its sad battered box.

We can't have a real one because the animals would use it as pissing post/scratching thing/excavation dig site/feast of needles. I'd come down one morning and there'd be poop and wee everywhere, the dogs would be borking up needles and the cats would have found some raptor bones in the pot and would be conspiring as to how to grow claws that big. Oh god, the horror.

The Spy was telling me earlier about how one of his co-workers has a WHISKEY ADVENT CALENDAR! How amazing is that? Instead of gross chocolate shaped vaguely like bells and evil santas, you get a wee dram o' whiskey every morning! I mean, sure, not so great for the kids I should imagine, but for us?!! (Oh, see how I suddenly want to be a grown-up. Hypocrite.) INTRIGUED by this, I set off to find my own Mecca of advent calendars, which clearly would be one with a wine bottle for every day.

They don't sell them, so I'm going to fucking trademark it. I'll make them. They'll be classy as fuck, all done in the finest plywood Homebase can sell me on the cheap, and the Christmas day bottle of wine will be vodka, because families are hard, y'all. Well, I'd like them to be super classy. It would probably turn out like some kid's failed woodworking effort.

I tried to find a photo from the internets to illustrate what I mean, but my Google-fu failed me. Between pictures of Lady Gaga, Dame Judy Dench and still from some movie thrillingly entitled 'Bad Kids go to Hell' (Bear in mind, please, that my search string was 'Terrible kid's school woodwork projects'. Dame Judy Dench, really?! I mean, Gaga, I could maybe buy that, But DJD is National Treasure) I found this picture which more or less captures the spirit of what would happen:

Classy as.

Oh, oh - and I like that Google things THIS is a failed school woodworking project:

"If only you'd applied yourself!"

That's all I've got for you today. The Spy will be shaving off his 'Mo later on, I'll be cracking open a bottle of wine, and we'll see if my favourite Blogger Amber wants my help wading through the shitefest that is 50 Shades Freed.

PEACE.