For Part I, visit my December 20th post. Seriously, does anyone ever check back on earlier posts? Really no biggie if you don't. It's not like you missed vital plot elements, you know. And if you've come to Penwasser Place expecting "vital plot elements," you should seek psychological attention. I mean, I have a picture of me sitting on a toilet on the street.
When last we left the Penwasser family, they were returning home from a joyous Christmas celebration at Saint Stanislaus Roman Catholic Church....
|"Who the frik needs kung-fu grip? |
Damn thing melted my junk off."
Meanwhile, Mom merrily prepared the
“Holiday Feast.” The star of the show was, of course,
the turkey, which had been mummifying in the oven the past two days. Its aroma filled the house with flavor and
its burning grease flooded the kitchen with smoke.
|Some cultures adhere |
to the charming "Feast of
the Seven Fishes."
Although one seems
plenty for this guy.
Besides the turkey, dinner featured food you’d only see one other time: Thanksgiving. For instance, I can’t imagine any egg nog keggers at a Fourth of July picnic.
|"Vat do you mean 'I suck?' |
Oh, I'm a vampire.
But, I will have some of that blood pudding."
|"Whatever he doesn't have, I'll eat."|
NOTE: Second use of Nixon in one story.
After which, we flung dinner rolls at Karen and the dog, Duke IV.
Sufficiently gorged, we retired to the living room to strap Karen’s Barbie to “Revolving Color Wheel of Death” while Mom hosed down the dining room. Dad, on the other hand, attired in his festive tee shirt and tighty-whiteys, plopped in front of the television and scratched his back with a fork.
As afternoon dragged toward evening, our eyelids grew heavy. Our early morning rampage had finally caught up with us and, chocolate-fueled frenzy notwithstanding, we were sliding closer to sleep.
Through lidded eyes, I remember my father lurching toward the kitchen. Before I lapsed into a food coma, I heard a faint, “Boy, I sure could use a turkey sandwich with Miracle Whip.”
|Smeared with feces, |
also a hit with the Viet Cong.
“Hey,” Gary mumbled as he drifted off to sleep, “Santa’s back.”
Let’s see Kwanzaa match those kind of holiday memories.
|Swahili for "Something to do between Christmas and New Years."|
Wow. Well, that wasn't worth it. Sorry. Carry on with your post-Christmas celebrations. I've got some chocolate Santas and marshmallow snowmen to eat. And, I'm gonna go see if those wooden arrows I have will stick to the neighbor's cat.
Happy New Year!!