She is on the pill. My sperm have built
a monastery inside of her.
They illuminate manuscripts all day.

Consider the asshole. Now I’m not talking about that pesky micromanager at work or your impossible-to-please mother, I’m talking about that indispensable void between your nether regions that so often goes underappreciated. Much like myself these days I’m afraid. But as a proctologist, rated number one in Palm Beach County according to a 1998 edition of the Jewish Senior Advocate, assholes, particularly the unhealthy ones, is what I butter my bread with. For I am in the business of maintaining the state of your rectum. No, not your anus, Princess, my fine-feathered Budgie. Believe me when I say it, what a joy it is to seldom see your asshole. Even if I pried apart your tidy green feathers, I doubt I’d come across it so easily. There’s only one woman for me these days, Princess and at least your squawking won’t bring on another migraine.

I’m contractually obligated to give Ben at least one punchline every year, and the easiest way to do that is by taking Winslow out of the picture entirely and letting Ben soak up the spotlight.

Day 1: My Brother is Pelting Me with Hershey’s Kisses

Each festive chocolate pulled from the candy dish is swung over the living room planter en route for my head, trunk, or at least a limb. With the older sibling advantage, his aim is precise. For years he has practiced his technique, has mastered the maneuver of recon, sweeping up each fallen missile to prevent a return attack. One eye on the target, one eye scanning the carpet. His arms and legs, a unified machine with one purpose: to annoy.

Just in time for The Hobbit… here’s a comic strip that mentions a character from that novel. HA!

We’re getting close to the end of the year (and maybe the end of the world), and what better way to wrap thing up than with a wedding that’s never going to happen!