please force your husband to hand feed you these cookies while you crank up the music box and use the melody as the background to your chewing. you're a peach and a plum and you deserve ten million dollars every time someone says "aw, she's so fucking nice," because i'm positive you'd redistribute your wealth wisely. one day i'll kill elon musk and hack his bank account and you'll wake up considerably wealthier and just know what happened without even checking the headlines. please set this card on fire when you're through reading it so nothing will incriminate me other than the note i write on his walls in my own blood. merry christmas!
i know you're reading this while you're sitting across from tas as she's reading hers (if you guys timed this right, and i hope you did, what the fuck's the matter with you otherwise?) and you're probably wondering "why did she get an adorable pink christmas card and all i got was a sheet of loose leaf paper?" well, i'll tell you: your card was my very last card and i fucked it up completely by starting it off with the rather unfestive note of "doesn't it really say something about our rainbow connection that you wrecked my relationship and ruined my life and replaced me with another cat and we're still the very best of pals?" and then i tried to write my way out of that mess because what's festive about inner turmoil, but by the time i got myself to a safer place, it was too late! and now i regret writing even this but it's a funny story and you should like it and sorry about the college ruled paper but at least it's not wide ruled, right? live with it. i love you oodles and oodles, you're my favorite dog in the whole world and in ten years when the vet puts you down i'll be there to hold your paw and watch the life slowly fade from your eyes. merry christmas!
i regard this as a starter kit to evan engelson's great loves. i found the emily's sassy lime t-shirt while on the hunt for a bikini kill t-shirt (so cliche, right?) some guy wearing sunglasses at 9pm held it up to say "what the fuck is emily's sassy lime?" and i spied in the corner of my eye the need to intervene. don't worry, i didn't have to resort to physical violence to get it from him. only a hand job and 20 bucks! just kidding... maybe? happy hanukkah, merry christmas, kiss your mother for me.
i pray to god every night the christmas clown you showed me springs to life and crawls through my fire escape and holds me captive for 7-10 years, long enough for everyone i love to believe i'm dead, before i return from the north pole physically unchanged. wait, no. maybe even hotter? maybe less hot... but by then you're all genetically mutated from years of radioactivity in the environmental apocalypse so me being less hot is still very very hot by society's standards. anyway i hope this holy trinity keep you safe until i return in 2027. i really think it's going to happen before christmas! i hear whispering a lot lately so it's either auditory hallucinations or my christmas clown boyfriend summoning me to hell. love you. be safe.
finally, finally watched noelle and i now regard you as the priestess of christmas. i'm not sure about the religious complexities of this gig but i don't think you need to do much beyond anoint people in eggnog if they should request it. i'm not requesting it because i'm pretending to have a dairy allergy for the foreseeable future. anyway i hope this beret and mouse find you safely, please take a photo of yourself wearing one and holding the other. whichever speak to you in either direction. merry christmas!
a bee brought us together. do you ever think about the poetry in that? some unconscious part of me knew you would be in my life forever the night you went scavenging for a bee. i remember thinking, "this absolute buffoon, my life is ending and all he cares about is a fucking bee on loan." isn't it funny how it ended up meaning so much? i think about that moment constantly. when you close your eyes and try to conjure a memory of us, what comes to you? i can never make my mind stop long enough. everything's a flicker: the look in your eyes when you told me my bee was lost, the night i punched you for the very first time, the drip drop blood on your handkerchiefs, the way you licked yogurt off a plate, crumpled up paper bags in the backseats of your hundreds of rentals, crying and crying and crying over you for reasons sometimes real and true and sometimes entirely imaginary, climbing in bed next to you after you fucked a pitiful divorcΓ©e and thinking life would never be any better than the moment i felt that grotesque wet spot beneath me, crawling under a table to lick your scraped knee, watching you find new ways to fall down every time i saw you, sleeping in a circle of your flowers, hearing you call me mother, everything, all of it. munich, chicago, locarno, new york, atlantic city, london.
i'm going to love you for the rest of my life, you'll be my best friend until i fucking die. i'll find god if you ever leave me again, and i'll pray and pray that you fucking rot in the absence of me and live your days out in some pitiful state of nothingness and destroy every relationship you ever have by comparing them to me endlessly, and god will take my prayers seriously. live in fear of him and promise me your devotion. i love you, i love you, i'll love you even if you lose all your hair and gain thirty pounds - i'll love you less, but i'll still love you. you're my whole world.
burn in hell.
merry christmas, happy hanukkah, have a festive prime day, whatever. you touched it so it's yours now.
you're the sweetest, most tender, giving person on the whole planet and i want to hold your hand crossing the street until we're both so fucking old that we have to settle for holding hands while our bodyguards push our wheelchairs across the bridge to the moon where we share a residence that you pay for and allow me to live in because i'm still super hot at 39. why are we in wheelchairs at 39? why are we on the moon? there's a whole backstory here that i don't understand. when did we adopt six children of varying ages hoping that some amiable white lady would make a movie about us called "little intergalactic women, also valid"? i don't know. you figure it out. i'm getting a hand cramp. love you. merry xxx-mas, sorry i didn't get you the shape of water dildo like i promised, maybe next year.
i couldn't decide whether or not to send these, but they're the first sweaters i've ever finished and i don't know anyone else with two dogs whose last name starts with s, so they're yours. unfortunately upon finishing them i learned the knitting patterns were from some dumb harry potter thing, and jk rowling is a terf i guess, so now you're a terf too. how sad! i hope tumblr finds out. merry christmas.
sorry for leaving the box by your door, but i didn't want to see you. i know myself and by the time you see this note i'll have texted you six times with variations on "sorry i didn't knock" or maybe i won't have and that's what we call character growth and the transformative effect of the holidays. who am i to predict my own psychosis? i'm sorry for a lot and i'm probably not sorry for even more than that, i don't have the time to reflect right now because it's 3am and i need to stop leaving my christmas cards for last. i hope you look at this holiday as a new beginning, the way it was for baby jesus when he left heaven and woke up in that manger and went "what the fuck?" i hope it's merry and bright and very sober, but even if it isn't, i hope it's nice. i believe in you wholly and purely and truly. you're one of the strongest people i've ever met in my whole life, and also one of the dumbest, and that's a really tough competition because i've met a lot of idiots. i love you. please be good. merry christmas.