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I Can Proudly State That I Have No Idea What’s Going On

I Can Proudly State That I Have No Idea What’s Going On


It’s not that I don’t know where Uzbekistan is. It’s just that I don’t care where Uzbekistan is. It’s over there near Trashcanistan and Beheadistan and Gasflareistan somewhere. Honestly, who gives a crap?

But even though I don’t know what’s going on, and for all I know the unintelligible lyrics in the soundtrack are about microwaving kittens or drinking latex paint or throwing puppies into volcanoes or something, I do know I’m up for a trip to wherever that is. Sign me up. Let’s go. Time’s wastin’. I’m packing right now.

Now You Know Why Santa Only Has To Work One Day A Year

Now You Know Why Santa Only Has To Work One Day A Year


Look at you. Slaving away in your cubicle, day after day, puttin’ cover pages on your TPS reports, trying to put enough pennies in your 401K so you can eat premium catfood when you retire. You’re doing it wrong. Santa just puts on his slippers, made from the fur of endangered animals, so you know it’s warm and comfy, puts his feet up, and has a cadre of helpers like this Christmas tree loader do all the work, 364 days a year. Then Old Saint Nick shows up like an Arctic Donald Trump to cut the ribbon on Christmas Eve and take all the credit. I bet the sleigh’s just for show, too, and Santa subcontracts all his deliveries to this helo pilot. The bastid.

[Thanks to Gerard at American Digest for sending that one along. He forgets to put cover sheets on his TPS reports occasionally, too, but he’s always getting promoted by the consultants anyway]