Perhaps I need more cookies

I'm glad I'm not one of those people entrusted with writing holiday stories to delight an entire generation.

Clement Moore wrote "Twas The Night Before Christmas,"
Dr. Seuss wrote about the Grinch,
and Charles Dickens wrote about Scrooge.

That's gonna have to be enough, 'cause lemme tell ya, I am too exhausted to have my name added to the list. I have no energy. I am curled up in a little ball waiting for it all to be over.

If I had to wrote a heartwarming holiday story right now, it would probably come out sounding like this:

"Once upon a time there was somebody. I don't really remember who. They lived somewhere and did something, and there was somebody else who tried to stop them or kill them or something, but somehow they lived happily ever after anyway, except for one guy who died a hideously painful death. Oh, and I think it might have been snowing.

... The End."
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Please go check out my post over at Burt Reynolds' Mustache today, where I further embrace my inner Grinch.
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