I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, and I’m Not an Idiot, I Know It Was My Dad in a Santa Suit, but Have You Ever Seen Your Parents Do Santa Roleplay?!

Posted on by Dan Rice

I can tell by your reaction that you seem to think this is cute. It’s not fucking cute. I don’t think you’re seeing the reality of this situation at all. Let me lay it out for you. 

When I heard commotion downstairs on Christmas Eve, I decided to check it out, thinking it was a burglar or something. I brought my baseball bat with me because I’ve always wanted to beat up a bad guy with a baseball bat. Imagine my surprise to find my Dad in a Santa suit, loading presents under the tree. Yeah, I thought it was kinda cute at first too, even though I’m way too old for this kind of gimmick. 

Then it hit me — wait a second, he doesn’t know I’m watching him from the top of the stairs right now, why did he bother with the suit? That’s when Mom came in. Mom, in her red, white fur-trimmed nighty and matching fishnet stockings. Yeah. Not so cute now, huh fucker? 

They got into it right away. “Oh, Santa! Have I been good this year? Tehe!” “Why, as a matter of fact, young lady, Santa thinks you’ve been very, very naughty, hohoho!” “Oh, pwease mistur Santa Cwaus, there must be something I can do to get a pweasent!” “Well, why don’t you start by giving Ole’ St. Nick a little sugar?” 

Now, when I say they started kissing, you’re probably thinking some cute, Norman Rockwell/Hallmark little Christmas smooch, yeah? Wrong. This was the most hardcore make-out I have ever seen! They were on each other like animals! Then, I went to go back to my room, where it’s quiet, and safe, and the stair creaked! I know they heard it because the disgusting sucking sounds stopped immediately. They were worried I was getting up and I was worried about them knowing what I saw so the three of us just sat there in silence a minute. After a while they went back at it and I knew there was no escape, so I just closed my eyes, covered my ears and tried to be somewhere else. 

It was not their first time doing this, that much I’m sure of. They definitely do this kind of thing a lot, and I know that forever now, and I’m 12. Long road ahead. Long, therapy-filled road. 

Christmas morning was has been the most traumatizing event of my entire life, and while I’m still young, I really don’t see anything topping this. Maybe if I hadn’t seen what I saw I would be too distracted by presents to notice their non-stop innuendo, but I did see, and they were fucking rellentless. “I can’t believe big ole’ Santa fit all the way up my chimney last night!” “Saint Nick sure got his milk and cookies this year!” “You weren’t the only one to get a candy cane in their stocking last night son!” Those are just the ones I’m not actively blocking out! These people are fucking disgusting.    

Welp, that’s a wrap on Christmas forever as far as I’m conserned. Used to be my favorite holiday, now I hate it. I guess I’ll just be a Halloween guy now, I still love Halloween. Every year my Mom dresses up like Velma and my Dad dresses up like Scooby and… Oh. Oh God. Oh God no. 

Geese Fan’s Parents Get Her Goose Tickets for Christmas

Posted on by Tim Graham

NEEDHAM, Mass. — A self-avowed super fan of the rock band Geese was surprised by her well-meaning parents with a pair of tickets to see the jam band Goose, sources confirm.

“My parents tried their best and I appreciate that,” said Jane Salerno. “But it was hard to hide my disappointment when I opened the envelope to find tickets to see Goose—I hate jam bands. I just smiled really big and said, ‘Gee, thanks!’ When my mom texted me last month asking for the name of the band I’m really into, I thought she was going to get me a tee shirt or cassette tape like they did last year. Do they know me at all? A jam band? Why not just get me a pair of devil sticks, a hacky sack, and some nag champa while they’re at it?”

Salerno’s parents are still under the impression their gift was a hit.

“Jane was ecstatic on Christmas morning. She’s been talking about wanting to see The Goose for months. Apparently they’re a really big deal—the singer played piano at Carnegie Hall!” said Mrs. Salerno while flattening crumpled wrapping paper to reuse next year. “We always do our best to figure out what our kids really want for Christmas. You should’ve seen our son Brian’s face when he opened his gift. He’s a big fan of those comic book movies, so this year we got him one called ‘Morbius’ on DVD.”

Music critic Shep Quinn says that bands with similar names have been causing confusion for nearly as long as rock and roll has existed.

“Early on, there were The Who and The Guess Who—a lot of boomers can’t wrap their heads around that one to this day,” said Quinn. “Then there’s Bryan Adams and Ryan Adams, and people still get screwed up over Rocket from the Tombs and Rocket from the Crypt. Even a music writer like myself can get mixed up. I once brought a Velvet Underground LP to get signed at a John Cale show, only to discover J.J. Cale was performing that night. He said it happens all the time and gladly did a competent forgery of John Cale’s signature on my record.”

At press time, Ms. Salerno had reportedly taken a large dose of mushrooms and listened to several Goose live shows back to back, but was unsuccessful in her effort to force herself to like the band.

Opinion: If My Coworkers Didn’t Want a Bag of Loose Pills as a White Elephant Gift, They Should Have Put X’s on Their Hands

Posted on by Jack Humphrey

Deb From HR’s Office, Pennsylvania — The White Elephant Gift exchange is a cornerstone of the office ecosystem. It allows an employee to embody the spirit of giving during the holiday season by sharing a little piece of themselves with a coworker. Unfortunately, when that little piece of yourself is a ziploc baggie with 14 Adderall, 9 Vicodin, 5 Xanax, 2 Fish Oil Tablets, and 3 of what I am pretty sure is generic Viagra, your apparently straight edge coworkers will mostly respond by yelling.

While much of the blame for my poorly received contribution to the gift exchange was attributed to me, I can’t help but feel like my coworkers could have warned me of their straight edge lifestyle. Simply putting X’s on their hands would let me know that they do not partake in alcohol and drugs. Instead, I’m supposed to make Sherlock Holmes levels of deductions, like noticing I’m the only one drinking at this 10:30 am Christmas party or remembering the company’s strict anti-drug policy. All things considered, I can’t shake the feeling that I was set up to fail by my coworkers. 

My attempts to remedy the situation also fell on deaf ears. I offered to take my bag of assorted drugs back, put my pants back on, and leave the party to go home for the rest of the day. Instead of the kindness and understanding that most people strive for during the holidays, I was met with “take his keys” and “do not let him drive home.” I then spent the rest of the party locked in the conference room, with nothing to do except think about how everything would have gone differently if my coworkers had just warned me of their lifestyle preferences.

I know you’re probably busy with your own holiday bullshit, but after the new year, I think it would be wise to blast out a memo reminding all straight edge employees to wear X’s on their hands so that I know who not to offer drugs to, or really try to hang out with at all. And hey, fair is fair! I would be more than happy to write “Drugs yes” on my hand if you feel that’s the more diplomatic approach. 

Also, my key card stopped working, and the security guard refuses to make eye contact with me, please resolve ASAP. 

Opinion: It’s Time To Put the “Christ” Back in “Not Giving Money to Homeless People”

Posted on by James Knapp

This holiday used to mean something in this country. It meant the joy on your children’s faces when they woke up to the Christmas present banquet. It meant gathering around the chestnut fire with your beloved family members to share in a merry eggnog shot. And it meant remembering that even on the darkest, coldest days of our year, it’s important to be kind and loving to all of God’s children.

Unless it’s one of those disgusting street goblins who keep bothering me outside of the good Panera. It’s the good Panera because you’re not there, you knobby-toothed disgraces!

I don’t mean to sound insensitive. I have full respect for the monetarily unempowered. But there are only three higher powers I respect in this world – the father, the son, and the… holy shit is the gross-looking marine veteran on crutches looking directly at me! Roll the windows up. Roll the windows up!

Anyway, back to Jesus. The Christ child is an important influence in both my life and my unwilling family’s life. But if he were alive today, he never would have approved of all of this rampant “wokeness” and “general acceptance of all people regardless of background or situation.

Look, if Christ wanted us to be “tolerant” like those Socialists in the unbiased press like to say, then he would have written it down — likely in some large book that we all have access to in literally every motel room.

But this season is supposed to be about being with people. Particularly, people whom I don’t need to throw a can of exploding wet wipes at before running away. And Jesus, he would have understood that. 

Sure, he was the man who overturned the moneylenders’ tables. He created a feast from famine by sharing fish and bread. He never even owned a proper pair of shoes, which must have been murder on his arch support.

But in my heart or hearts, built by the the parts of the bible I like and Tucker Carlson, I just know that giving that clearly anemic baby and her mother the finger rather than the $400 in cash I have on me is exactly what our father, son and… holy shit I was so distracted giving them the finger I crashed into a telephone pole. But at least it was a Christmas telephone pole! Like Our Lord Christ intended.

Jumbotron at Weezer Show Exposes Tech CEO for Being Completely Alone

Posted on by Carson Kile

CLEVELAND — The jumbotron at a local Weezer concert exposed an important tech CEO for being completely alone without a trace of feminine energy or infidelity in sight, unsurprised sources say.

“No, no, no! I swear I’m having an extra-marital affair with a super hot member of the board,” declared Brennon Quincy, CEO of Duolingus, an app for white guys to learn creepy pickup lines in any language. “She just stepped out for a while to, I think, have her period or something? Alright you got me, I came here alone. I haven’t had sex since the Obama administration. Look, not all CEOs can be silver foxes like that Coldplay guy. He’s the exception to the rule. Most of us are assigned to be Weezer fans at birth and don’t have enough charisma to attract women, let alone commit adultery. We’re cursed.”

Other concertgoers seemed less shocked about the CEO’s relationship status.

“I can’t say I’m really surprised,” said Weezer super-fan Darrell Hill, while fascistically  moderating a redpill subreddit. “Everybody here showed up to this concert alone. Nobody even carpooled. I’m pretty sure I saw that guy at an incel benefit concert last month, American Football was playing. They were great! Honestly, one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen sub-6 beta males put together!”

Members of Weezer almost felt bad for the CEO for his lack of cheating skills.

“Our thoughts go out to the guy,” remarked Rivers Cuomo, as he put down the Warhammer figurines he was painting. “I feel extra responsible because we weren’t even supposed to cut to the jumbotron, but we were running low on material after playing through the Blue Album twice, so we had to fill time somehow. Call it wrong place, wrong time, I guess. Hey, do you guys want some free copies of ‘Van Weezer’? We haven’t been able to get rid of them and they’re just taking up space now. I’ve been using stacks of them as makeshift squatty-potties, and I swear my movements have never been better.”

At press time, the tech CEO was seen listening to “Pinkerton” in his car alone in the parking lot of the venue. 

How I Plan To Avoid Awkward Political Tension This Christmas by Just Telling My Cousin Who His Real Dad Is

Posted on by Livy Berry

It’s always been difficult to spend the holidays with a racist aunt or uncle, a homophobic parent, or a racist and homophobic grandfather, and these days it just keeps getting harder to avoid things getting tense around the holidays. That’s why this year I’ve decided to crush that tension before it begins. I’m going full nuclear this year and just telling my cousin who his real father is. 

The fact that anybody ever trusted me with this major family secret is beyond me, but I can say for sure that they’ll never be making that mistake again. I plan on wasting no time throwing a grenade right into this already shattered family. With all the focus on my aunt and uncle’s “complicated dating habits,” I doubt even the Trumpiest of relatives can bring me down this holiday season.

Psychologists agree that stress is bad for the body, and I’ve decided it’s about time I start taking action to minimize stress and enjoy my Christmases again. Gone are the days that I would wait and hope nobody mentions immigration, or skip the music in a panic every time Chappell Roan comes on. Before Uncle Marcus even has the opportunity to think about the queers, I’ll be telling his son that sixteen years ago, his mother met a very nice car salesman named John. If all goes well, people will be yelling in the kitchen so loud, they won’t even notice how expensive the groceries were.

Nothing brings a family together like a secret, and it’s about time that effort gets recognized. Poor Johnny Junior is in for a rough holiday, but I know that as soon as I mention that handsome car salesman, I may not have to worry about hearing the term “illegals” ever again. I fully expect any and all pent-up political anger to fly right out the front door and stay out until the New Year, just like Marcus did the day he discovered a striking resemblance between his newborn son and the man who sold him his car.

Sure, I’ll take my fair share of blame for spilling the beans, but what is an hour of yelling when the alternative is two full weeks of pure, unmanageable rage? With any luck, next year, my family members will avoid speaking to me entirely.

Flea Hoping More People Attend His Ugly Christmas Sock Party This Year

Posted on by Steve Packosky

LOS ANGELES — Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Michael Peter “Flea” Balzary found himself hoping more people would attend his annual Ugly Christmas Sock party this year, sources report.

“Turnout has been pretty lackluster over the past few years,” Flea lamented as he adjusted the “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” sock covering his penis. “I don’t get it. I make delicious Christmas tree sugar cookies and holiday punch, so this place should be packed with half naked people. I’m also having a Secret Santa gift exchange. I got John Frusciante this year, but he’s never come to one. In fact, I’m seeing fewer and fewer people show up every December. Christmas is my favorite holiday, so it’s a real bummer that my party is always such a washout. I’m going to have to start doing something drastic, like giving each person a thousand dollars for coming.”

Flea’s bandmate Anthony Kiedis shared his frustration.

“I always have a great time at Flea’s annual Ugly Christmas Sock Party, so I’m not sure why it’s been so empty lately,” said Kiedis. “Honestly, I feel bad for Flea that it’s become so unpopular. This year I got an ugly Christmas sock with a picture of Tweety Bird that says ‘Santa’s Little Angel.’ It’s hilarious, so I’m really excited to show it off, but it really doesn’t mean anything if there’s not very many other people there. I told Flea that he should just start giving people copies of ‘Blood Sugar Sex Magik’ to show up, so I hope he takes my advice.” 

Invitee Merril Henderson indicated that he did not plan on attending.

“This party was a really crazy and cool event back in the ‘90s, but it’s gotten a little stale over the past three decades,” Henderson said. “Honestly, I’m just not that interested in hanging out with nude sexagenarians with socks covering their dicks while Flea plays ‘Wonderwall’ on the bass. That’s not really my idea of a festive Christmas, you know? I’d be happy to attend if everyone was fully clothed, because Flea’s my friend and his holiday punch is absolutely delicious, but I think he’s pretty dead-set on not wearing any clothes for whatever reason. I’m going to have to come up with an excuse for why I can’t make it. I told him I had COVID last year, but it’s been long enough that I can say that again, right?”

At press time, Kiedis expressed hope that he’d win the Ugly Christmas Sock contest for the 31st year in a row.

Punk House’s Only Working Light Is Tip of Vape Pen

Posted on by Courtney Hill

EASTON, Pa. — Residents of a local punk house are officially down to the glowing tip of a vape pen as their only working light, according to sources blindly banging their shins into the coffee table.

“The few light bulbs that came with the place didn’t last long so we all started sharing a single lava lamp on an extension cord,” frontman Dave “Flaky Rash” Mullens said of the band’s literal and figurative descent into darkness. “One night our bass player drunkenly opened the lava lamp thinking it was a beer and drank the neon blue liquid inside. Since then the vape light has been more than enough; it’s not like we’re trying to read or something. The only thing we need to see is where to endorse the checks our parents send us every month. Of course the one drawback is when we lose the vape and someone has to wake up during the day to find it.”

Neighbor Lorreen Case described her experience living next to the punk outfit.

“The house may appear empty but the smell is a constant reminder of who’s living there,” Case said referring to the stench of resin hits and Cheeto farts wafting over the hedge. “Every night I see through the window a small bright orb floating around the living room followed by the worst music I’ve ever heard. It’s like a plane crashing into an active train wreck while a crow chokes on a paper clip. I’ve wondered if they might sound better if they could see but I’m pretty sure we’re talking about a lack of talent so pure that nothing could make a difference.”

The property’s landlord who goes by Black Mold shared a surprising reason for renting to such degenerates.

“Are you kidding? Punks make the best tenants because they never ask for anything to be fixed or replaced,” Mold said while raising the rent on a newly unemployed single mom. “The more squalid the place the more I can charge because they think it gives their band authenticity. From gas leaks to disease-carrying infestations it’s all part of the creative environment for these idiots. One house didn’t have running water so they only flushed the toilet as often as they could fill the upper tank with piss. Ironically that band broke up and they all ended up working for SERVPRO.”

At press time, Mullens and his bandmates were being treated for injuries sustained while attempting to heat the house with a microwave.

Dave Portnoy Gives Perfect Score to Slice of Pizza That Comes With Little Vial of Cocaine

Posted on by Collin Preciado

BOSTON — Barstool Sports founder and One Bite Pizza reviewer Dave Portnoy reportedly gave a rare perfect 10.0 score to a slice of cheese pizza that came with a little vial of cocaine, multiple sources have confirmed.

“Look, I’m not a cocaine guy. I acutally don’t even really like pizza all that much,” said Portnoy while fidgeting with his nose. “Everyone thinks I’m a coke guy because everything about my aura screams ‘I start and end my day with a little bump.’ But I’m not, I don’t do it. Just because I talk really fast and am emotionally volatile and loud and tweet everything that comes to my head and paranoid almost all of the time doesn’t mean I do coke. It’s just a coincidence, okay? If that pizza came with a little vial and that vial is now empty, I wouldn’t know anything about that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some local pizzas to rate while blocking sidewalk traffic.”

The pizza in question came from the Munch-n-Pump gas station. 

“It was completely unexpected,” said Robert Henson, owner of the gas station/pizzeria. “We were a little worried because the slice we gave him had been under the heat lamp for four or five days, but I put that coke in the box to try to sweeten the deal and I just saw him light up like a little kid who loves cocaine. However, I was a little surprised that he didn’t eat the crust. Thought only children did that.”

The Munch-n-Pump has over 300 one-star reviews on Yelp with many users specifically pointing to the pizza as “the worst pizza on the face of the planet,” but witnesses claim Portnoy only had good things to say.

“The dude was bouncing off the walls saying it was the greatest thing he’s ever put into his face,” said witness Sandra Doerr, a Boston University student who happened to be in the store at the same time as Portnoy. “I’m not even sure he even took a bite of the pizza. He was just doing cartwheels down the aisles before running outside into the middle of traffic and diving headfirst into that storm drain there. I’m pretty sure that guy is only into pizza for the drugs. I mean, c’mon, it’s a gas station, you’re not supposed to eat anything in here.”

At press time, Portnoy was eventually spotted several weeks later at the White House, where he accepted a position in the Trump administration as the head of the DEA.

Why My Frank Zappa Fandom Had Nothing to Do with Me Naming My Son Dweezil

Posted on by Steve Packosky

OK, let me make one thing perfectly clear: Frank Zappa is one of the most influential artists in music history. He seamlessly blended an unheard of variety of influences into his one, singular approach that still resonates over three decades after his death. Without a doubt, he’s my favorite musician of all time. I celebrate his entire catalog and even have a tattoo of his signature moustache on my right forearm. With all that being said, I want to be clear: my fandom had absolutely nothing to do with me naming my son Dweezil.

When my wife Mallory and I found out we were pregnant, we were ecstatic. I couldn’t wait to have a son or daughter to raise and impart my wisdom to, and I thought nothing of my favorite singer/songwriter while combing through baby books for potential names. To be completely honest, I knew nothing of Zappa’s personal life when I suggested the name “Dweezil” to Mallory. I had thought of it on my own, completely irrespective of my taste in music, and you can’t prove me wrong. 

Also, do you know what we were going to name our baby if it was a girl? No, not Moon or Diva. We were going to name her Emily, after my dearly departed aunt, which further proves that my basement shrine to rock music’s wittiest and most prolific mind was certainly no indicator of my baby-naming preferences, and honestly, I’m a little insulted that you think there’s a correlation. Also, my wife insisted on “Emily,” and wouldn’t countenance either of the aforementioned names that may or may not have been suggested during her pregnancy.

Look, I just think “Dweezil” is a great name, and that opinion is mutually exclusive from my musical tastes, OK? Why is that so difficult for you to believe? I’m a huge Bob Dylan fan, too, but you don’t see me considering “Jakob” as a name for any potential second son, do you?

OK, I actually am considering that, but it’s honestly just a coincidence.

You know what? You can go ahead and believe whatever you want. I’m confident that my son’s name is the result of a completely independent and original choice that’s completely unrelated to the oversized backdrop of the “Hot Rats” album cover currently papering his bedroom wall. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for Dweezil’s nightly listening of “Muffin Man” before his feeding. He gets cranky if I keep him waiting.