The Annual Christmas Retelling...
The Twelve Days of Christmas
On the First day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a pure evil, pure white cat - I called it Satan. Then she left me.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... two grams of pot! She felt awful about the 'leaving' thing and wants me to take her back. So she showed up with a little baggie and brandishing a big ol'hickey I know nothing about! hmmmm... Oh, and Satan, the dam cat, basically lives under my big comfy chair.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... three tabs of E! and said "lets go dancing." Geez! I said "No, my ankles are bleeding and swollen!" I chucked the E. It turned out that the pot from last night was cat-nip! Satan got into it big-time and now the dam cat lunges out from under the comfy chair to claw and bite at the ankles of who ever's sitting.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... Four turtle doves! No, seriously. She thought it was all poetic and from that song… you know about the Days of Christmas. Well she got that wrong - it was "four calling birds". Did you know that 'turtle doves' are basically pigeons! She came in the door and released (RELEASED!) the fucking pigeons in to the apartment. When she saw that I really wasn't into the 'poetry' of the whole thing… and after I corrected her about the 'calling birds' thing, she stormed out. So Satan - who is stoned all the time now - is hunting the little shit machines all over the place. I can't even find two of them. This blows.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me... a night on the town. She came back this morning (another hickey) and when she saw the state I was in - searching for now completely un-locatable birds - she told me to get dressed and dragged me out for dinner and a movie. I gotta say this pumped me up a bit. Then we came home... holy Christ! Satan has managed to catch something besides my ankles. The cat spread the entrails of one totally off'ed pigeon across my apartment like it thinks it's maybe Charles Manson or something. I knew I was gonna loose it when I saw the pigeon poop all over the furniture but dam, the cat has managed to take the concept of vivisection'ism to all new heights. I politely asked her to go home and take the hickeys with her, closed the door and vowed to rid my life of unnecessary wild life.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me... a subpoena. Seems the SPCA has a problem with the way things went last night. Of course, hickey girl has to sick them on me. I mean she brought me the cat and the stupid birds, how fair is this? You see I opened the door to the balcony... and was balling up little pieces of tin foil from my pack of smokes hoping the stupid ass birds would take the hint and exit. One flies into the room and perches. I start tossing little ball of tin foil at it to get it's attention. This works, so I start tossing them closer to the door... trying to get the thing to take a hint. I toss a ball of tin foil right out of the apt, and over the balcony. Well, guess who notices this and tries to catch the stupid ball of tin foil? Did I mention that I'm like, on the 14th floor? So now I've got three turtle doves living and pooping here and a lawsuit hanging over me because hickey girl thinks I tossed Satan off the balcony.
On the seventh day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me... Seven hundred dollars in fines! For what, an accident with the cat? And if she had kept her mouth shut... Well that is officially it. I'm done. She can come begging at my door and it just is not going to happen! Seven hundred dollars basically sucks Christmas out the window... hehe, to join Satan on the roof of that car!! Oh, and one of the idiot birds flew out the window this morning... So I'm down to two freaking turtle doves. Did you see that Hitchcock movie... "the birds"... just try waking up at 4:00am to the sound of a dove warble that seems to be coming from right beside your head!
On the eighth day of Christmas my ex-love gave to me... Eight reasons to take her back! She comes over and I make her stand outside the door to talk to me. So through the chain on the door she tells me that I should take her back because (1) she loves me and not Bill (Bill? wtf, I don't know a Bill?), (2) She's sorry about the cat, the pigeons and the fine, (3) I need her to help clean the bird bombs from the apartment (4) tons of oral sex *SLAM* *CLINK* I unlock the door and tell her that "that's enough" and I don't need to hear the rest.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love - I know, I know - gave to me... Nine auto-spray cans of roach cloud. We're going out for the day and when we get back... those birds will be late! - no question. And yes I took lil'miss hickey back. I refer you to day eight.
On the tenth day of Christmas my dysfunctional love gave to me… The complete and total brush off. Wow. Use your most vivid imaginative energies to summon up a mental picture of the condition my one bedroom apartment was in after having nine jumbo cans of fogging cockroach killer unleashed with the windows closed. What in the name of fricking god was I thinking… what have I done to my stuff? We walked in, started gaging on the smell, took a look around and she pushed back with a head shake. She split say'en "you got trouble … not me." Bitch. Upside: Two completely dead, never to poop again, turtle doves turned up in the shower stall!
On the eleventh day of Christmas my fickle, turncoat, remarkably lackluster love gave to me… Eleven screaming phone calls. She had to scream to be heard. You see I decided to get poetic myself… except I know the proper order for the 'Days of Christmas' song. And today is "eleven pipers piping!!" When I finally finished cleaning up in my apartment to consider it livable, I was tired and rather put-off about the brush-off from last night. So, I blew a bundle of cash and contracted the St. Georges Bag Pipe troop. They are, as we speak, earning every penny right outside her friend's house.
On the twelfth day of Christmas the only true love in my life gave to me… Wonderful advice, warm hearted words, memories of great love, and peace in my sole.
My mom phoned.
Eleven screaming phone calls.
The complete and total brush off.
Nine auto-spray cans of roach cloud.
Eight reasons to take her back!
Seven hundred dollars in fines!
A night on the town.
Four turtle doves!
Three tabs of E!
Two grams of pot!
And a pure evil, pure white cat - I called it Satan