[REPOST] Dear Santa: Real Talk

A LETTER TO OLD ST. NICK

Dear Santa,

I’ve been thinking.  For the last couple of days I’ve had the pleasure of going all ‘Terminator’ on those barricuda Christmas shoppers at the mall.  As much as I’d love to say I enjoyed getting toys snatched out of my hands, my feet stepped on and my face scratched by some old lady because my shopping cart was blocking hers, I have to admit that this year’s Christmas shopping experience has been one great big ball of cow poo!  With that in mind, I wonder what you would do if your ass didn’t have those little brown-nosing elves to get all of your Christmas shopping out of the way, and eight reindeer to fly you over traffic jams, bird-flipping drivers and cops who are itching to give you a ticket.


I bet you wouldn’t handle it so well would you?  By the end of your experience, you’d probably be somewhere in a bar getting completely wasted.  Trust me, there are about 30 million, give or take another 30 million people – plus me, who end up in a bar fight after Christmas shopping.  If you think that’s bad, just wait until the post-Christmas sales.   I’d pay to see the look on your face if you had to deal with that.

Goodness gracious, Santa, I see why your hair is white and you’re so fat.  You are under a lot of stress.  You’re probably getting drunk all the time.  Santa, are you an alcoholic?  Is that why you have reindeer chauffeuring you around vs. you driving a big old U-Haul truck? Well, any way, what goes on in your home isn’t my business until it hits prime time news.  So enough of the drunk-Santa jokes.  Actually Santa, I kind of feel for you. While we regular Joes only have to shop for our small families, you have to shop for the entire world.  You have to be mindful of the old, the dirty, the unpleasing, the ungrateful, the arrogant, the evil and the rude.  That has to be a job in itself, attempting to satisfy those who are never satisfied at all.  Who could blame you for getting smashed?

You’re probably in cahoots with drug dealers, bank robbers and psychiatrists, because I couldn’t imagine any sane, sober person attempting to take on the challenge that you’ve committed yourself to.  And that sweet old Mrs. Claus is probably some bitter old skank who can’t count to –5- and only bakes burnt cookies to pay you back for keeping her trapped all the way in the North Pole.  She can’t even get any because you’re out shopping all year for other people.  She’s probably always PMSing because she’s too far away from civilization to have an affair; and no doubt the elves are out of the question. And in your spare time, you probably only have time to practice your aim for when you sh*t bricks down the chimneys of everyone who mocked you all year long, leaving yourself too grumpy to shut Mrs. Claus up and break her off a lil somethin’ somethin’.  Not to mention you’re probably always tired and in a grumpy mood because you’re strapped for cash, having to feed all them damn elves and those hungry ass reindeer.

Geez Santa, I was ready to rip you to shreds.  But now that I understand merely the possibilities of what you have to deal with all year long that we normal folks only have to deal with about 7-14 days out of a year, I’ll let you off the hook.  In fact, I’ll do better than that.  I’ll raise this glass to you in honor of keeping up the tradition of Christmas.  It’s because of your drunk ass that we are guaranteed to get laid on Christmas eve, and if the gift is good enough, on Christmas night too.  Thanks to you, our kids are nicer, our mother-in-laws don’t call, and our employees show up to work on time.

Kudos to you Santa!  Not for being lucky enough not to be the 100th person in the checkout line when the cash registers opens to the 3rd customer; kudos to you for only being fat after having to deal with all of that drama at home.  Just promise me one thing: That you and Mrs. Claus won’t remake any Ike/Tina or Chris/Rihanna Christmas specials.  I don’t think out networks can handle that right now, well not in the midst of our administration shift and all.

Well, that’s about it for now, Santa.  Keep your head up.

~Hottywood


Quote of the Week:    “Get your ass out of the street if you can’t see where you’re going.”

A Budget; The Hood; Whatever

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready.

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What is Hottywood Thankful For?

I come to you every week with words of wisdom, slapstick advice and bags of sarcasm.  By now you probably think I’m cold, angry or bitter.  I have to tell you that you’d be wrong!  I’m real.  Like it or leave it.

And so that you know that I do have a heart made out of white gold, on this Thanksgiving holiday I’m going to share with you what it is I am thankful for.

 

 


I’m thankful for cruel, foul-mouthed children at the bus stop. 

Those bad ass kids remind me that I was young once.  And that my insults were way more creative.  They also remind me of all the switches my grandma would pull off the tree if I even looked like I was going to come out of the mouth wrong.  “Ouch!”  I think I’m getting welps just thinking about it.  But now that I am thinking about it, I’m thankful for grandma.  Even for all the times she whooped the sh*t out of my ass.  Those country whoopings taught me respect.

 


 

I’m thankful for small paychecks and unexpected bills.

Even though I work like a modern day slave, sweat tears and cry rivers all for little more than a Scooby snack; and sometimes want to shove my head inside a burning toaster oven when the gas bill comes, or when the “check engine” light flashes on my dashboard, or when my cell phone bill lashes a ridiculous “tax” charge on my bill summary, I’m still thankful for the small paycheck and the unexpected bills because it reminds me that I have to work harder on my hustle to either accumulate more money to handle my business or land myself in a better class of debt.

“More money more problems.”   That sh*t ain’t gon’ change, but at least there’s a dime to count, a pot to piss in and window to throw it out of.


I’m thankful for the coworkers who always manage to find my last nerve to get on.

If it weren’t for those coworkers who ignore me at the water cooler or the colleagues that astonish me with their lack of knowledge of computers – especially those bullsh*tting tech support guys – I wouldn’t appreciate my time away from home.  The sound of fighting neighbors, barking dogs, and nagging family members would drive me insane as I lose all hope for a dream vacation.  Alas, I have all of the pitfalls of a 9 to 5 to relieve me from pulling out my hair from menial stuff or being cast aside and called typical if and when I miss one Sunday church service.

See, work isn’t a place that just works you hard and pays you in Monopoly money.  It’s also a place that reminds you that you always have more than one aspect of your life that’s not in your control.  Me personally, I’m thankful just to have a job at all.  Holding up liquor stores is not “in” this season and jail doesn’t match my shoes.


 

I’m thankful for being able to make shrewd business deals and deal with even more shrewd businessmen. 

It’s very true that I could come up with a lot of things to say about people who underestimate my ability to make a sound decision, spot a load of crap, or adapt to a shifty situation when the air is more than hot and thick, but I must also keep in mind that those people who miscalculate, misjudge or underrate me are the very people to show me that I have a lot to prove to myself in order to be the best at what I do and better than those who oppose me.   And those same people are the very ones who afford me the chance to say “Na na na boo boo” as many times as opportunity allows.

 

 


And finally I’m thankful for family.

Because through it all – the good times and the bad – family has a way of keeping me grounded and letting me know that I’m not the only crazy mofo walking the streets and saying some weird sh*t.  Family also reminds me that no matter what hand I’m dealt, I can always play the game and win, even when I’m bullsh*tting.  And remember that dear old grandma I mentioned earlier who didn’t hesitate to pull the thinnest switch off the tree to whoop my ass whenever I got out of a child’s place?  Well that same grandma is still around today, ready to sucker punch me w/ her antique boxing gloves when I say anything less than, “no ma’am,” or “yes ma’am.”

And although my wild ass family gets on my nerves just as much as they love and encourage me to be a better Hottywood, I wouldn’t trade them for all the boxes of Popeye’s chicken in the world. …well, maybe if the deal were really for all the boxes… Wait, no I wouldn’t.  Damn.  That’s a tough choice.  Let me get back to you on that one.


Happy Thanksgiving to all you jive turkeys!


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Happy Thanksgiving from Hottywood Helps!

Twas the night of Thanksgiving,
I could not sleep.
I tried counting backwards,
I tried counting sheep.

The leftovers beckoned –
the dark meat and white
I fought the temptation
with all of my might.

Tossing and turning with anticipation,
the thought of a snack became infatuation.
I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door,
and gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore!
Gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes,
pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes.

I felt myself swelling so plump and so round,
’til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground.
I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky,
with a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie.
I managed to yell as I soared pass the trees….
Happy eating to all – pass the cranberries, please.

May your stuffing be tasty.
May your turkey be plump.
May your potatoes ‘n gravy have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious.
May your pies take the prize.
May your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs!!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM HOTTYWOOD HELPS!


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A Birthday Tribute to the Hills of Hottywood

Ladies and gentlemen!  Guys and gals!  Kats, kittens, dawgs, and bitches!  I greet you in the name of all things coated with vegetable oil and all-purpose flour!  Today we celebrate a very special day.  No, I’m not referring to the anniversary of the Alabama law that states it is illegal to sell peanuts in Lee County after sundown on Wednesdays; or the Oregon law that dictates canned corn is not to be used as bait for fishing.  Though, in my opinion, those days are worth celebrating.  Today we honor and celebrate the birth of Hottywood!  

Today, as I blow out a flattering number of trick candles, eat mounds of chocolate cake and pass gas profusely from all the lactose-induced vanilla bean ice cream I can eat, I invite you to unbuckle those horrible skinny jeans, kick off your white socks and sandals, and put your table manners to the side as we feast at a table of endless chicken wings and sesame seed buns! 

On this cold day of February, all should be reminded and some even encouraged that there are many things that we can all get away with in the name of Hottywood, simply because I said so.  And I don’t give a damn who doesn’t like it.  You don’t even have to thank me for this encouragement because some of you reserved tykes have probably been waiting for the right opportunities [anyway] to: 

  • Tell your neighbors to shove their loud stereo sets up their ass;
  • Suggest to your coworkers that they email themselves straight to hell;
  • Lead that one self-absorbed person to the middle of a bullfighting coliseum after coloring their body w/ permanent red magic marker;
  • Dip your enemy’s underwear in raw hamburger meat and unleash a pack of hungry dogs on them;
  • Turn off all the hot water in your apartment complex at the break of dawn so people’s annoying shower singing can actually be what it sounds like – screaming; or
  • Put baby snapping turtles inside your landlord’s mailbox. 

It’s probably not ethical for me to give you ideas on how to get back at all those folks who forgot your birthday, have done you wrong, or even the clods that you simply don’t like.  But as I’ve stated before, today is a very special day and the only rule that applies is that I make the rules.  So you can do whatever the hell you damn well please in the name of humor, emotionless love and my birthday!    

May the rest of your day be filled with chicken wings, stripper poles, and restraining orders.  Not necessarily in that order.  

…oh, and if you don’t think you have the balls to be bad, relish in the thought that 90% of any effort is getting started!  Follow my lead and you just might learn something.  Happy birthday to me from me!  

Luv ya, babies.

________________________________________________________

Quote of the week:  “Birthdays are nature’s way of telling us to eat more cake.”