Monday, December 26, 2005

Christmas Recovery

Well, despite the Grinch-like predictions of the blotchy-faced, morally-leprous, walking-talking anal wart and terrorist sympathizer -- whose own Christmas card wished everybody "Happy Holidays" -- and his butt-buddies at Faux News -- whose own Christmas card wished everybody "Happy Holidays" (and had shooting stars bouncing off buildings identified as NBC, CBS, ABC, and CNN) -- Christmas made it on December 25, just as scheduled.

My son got a Cranium game and some clothes, as well as tons of other stuff, the seven-year-old forensics genius loved the crime scene set, his little sister loved the "My Little Pony" stuff, and our great nephew (he's okay, but I'm not sure about 'great') had a blast ripping paper off everything.

The lovely-yet-talented Mrs. 618 got the first season of "Touched by an Angel" and the show's soundtrack, and I... well, I got the very best present a guy could hope for: I got to wake up and see the lovely-yet-talented Mrs. 618 next to me.

Oh, and the Great Lakes Pasture Wolf got two cans of tennis balls, a couple of toys, a new toothbrush (only dog I've ever met who likes getting her teeth brushed) and a set of boots.

One sad point: our next door neighbor got a six-month-old Beagle for her two little boys, and the puppy managed to get out. The missus and I spent three hours looking for him, along with the neighbor's adult relatives. Still haven't found him, but we're not giving up hope.

Shrub, unfortunately, was a bad boy all year (or, more correctly, all his life), so he got a lump of coa-- err, a barrel of oil. No brain, no heart, no compassion, and still no clue.

We hope you and yours had a happy holiday (take that, O'Reilly).

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