Welcome to the continuing saga of The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas. You might want to checkout Part I before continuing. If not, just assume that Part II was preceded by a fairly crappy week. We last left our protagonist on his way to purchase a hunting rifle to be used on the swans, geese, birds, hens, doves, and partridge. He was not having a great week.
Day 8: Now, this is more like it. They say a mother’s breast can sooth a savage beast, and you just sent me eight milking maids. BTW – You just saved the flying flock of frenzied feathered festive gifts of Christmas day’s past. The hell with the damn birds, I am now fixated on those milking buxom beauties. Those cups are definitely more than half full.
Day 9: Did I die and go to heaven? How else to explain the nine dancing ladies that met me at my apartment door. OMG – You actually sent me nine strippers for Christmas. I am starting to think you are no longer mad at me.
Day 10: I knew it was too good to last. When I arrived home today I was met by ten leaping lords lurching round my apartment, and the buggers were leaping and jumping all over the strippers and maids. A couple of them even jumped me when I bent down to take off my shoes. I think I need to go to the hospital. On the plus side, I believe I found the missing three rings from Day 7 and one of the hamsters. Now I know how Richard Gere felt.
Day 11: Do you have any idea how much mess eleven puking pipers can make in a small apartment? Not only that, between the pipers and the leaping lords neither the strippers nor the milf-maids have any time left for me. And Christmas is supposed to be about me me me.
Day 12: All drummers should be shot. Not only do I have twelve drummers pounding their skins, they are also banging anything that moves. The pipers have been plugged, the lords can’t lay, the ladies will not be able to walk straight for weeks, and the poor maids are milked out. Not only that, I’ve been evicted, arrested for obscenity, and tested positive for all of the major STDs. And there is still bird shit everywhere.
Day 13: On the thirteenth day of Christmas my turned love sent to me: twelve twitter hacks, eleven over drafts, ten vet bills, nine Facebook photobombs, eight calling creditors, seven harassment charges, six restraining orders, five calling lawyers, four emptied bank accounts, three detectives following, two used wedding rings, and one SIGNED DIVORCE DECREE.
Have yourself a very non-marry Christmas without me, and please don’t send any birthday gifts this year.
Like Dr. StrangeJob on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/drstrangejob
Follow Dr. StrangeJob on Twitter at https://twitter.com/drstrangejob
Learn more about Dr. StrangeJob at www.drstrangejob.ca
Note: This blog was inspired by “The 12 Days of Christmas” from The Cunning Linguist by Richard Lederer. Using movie parlance, it’s probably safer to say that this version is more of a re-visioning rather than a straight-up remake. Actually, this blog has very little in common with his version, other than the twelve gifts, but my lawyer keeps pestering me about copyright infringements, so I am just covering my butt on this one. BTW – it’s a funny book.