>>> Primal Urges
By staff writer Nathan DeGraaf
November 29, 2007
Mom: What do you want for Christmas?
Nathan: I still get stuff for Christmas?
Mom: It's also your birthday.
Nathan: Oh yeah.
In case you're more ignorant than a tub of snot, you should know that Christmas is coming in a few weeks. Ahh, Christmas. That time of year when we all take a few days off work, give each other useless shit, and get drunk and accidentally insult old Uncle Elmer, who really can't help the fact that he lost his thumbs in the Korean War.
(And by the way, the “flip you for it” joke with Uncle Elmer is dead. He can't even bring himself to hate you for it anymore, it's so played. Let it go.)
This Christmas, I decided that I will play Santa Claus and hand out a few gifts to the people, places and things that make up a part of my pathetic life. So without anymore of that further ado that sticks to your shoes, let's hand out some gifts.
To PIC owner and fearless editor, Court Sullivan: a lifetime supply of allergy and bronchial medications. Sickly fuck.
“To all the dumb crack-whores: a sense of responsibility, and a lifetime supply of crack.”
To the USF Bulls football team: an adequate kicking game. To borrow a phrase from some kid I met at a party a few weeks ago, “If I see that Delbert Alvarado fuck on campus, I'm driving my elbow into his sternum over and over again until he pukes up all that suckitude.” Hey, at least it's a plan.
To the St. Louis Cardinals: two starting pitchers, a shortstop with range and a personal bodyguard for Rick Ankiel.
To the internet: PIC version 2.0 and more porn.
To baseball commissioner Bud Selig: a soul.
To football commissioner Roger Goodell: some fucking compassion for the players and respect for the fans.
To sports fans everywhere: a pair of tongs to remove the giant, spiked dildo that ownership has been ramming up our asses for the last few decades.
To 80% of the New England fans I know: a muzzle. We get it, already. The teams are all good. All of them. We're aware. Now shut up.
To all the girls: tighter bodies, bigger breasts and smaller outfits. Remember, hating your body is the only way you'll ever achieve total hotness.
To all the douchebags: natural hair color, arm and leg hair, and dropped collars.
To all the drunks: a ride home.
To all the designated drivers: money for the ride.
To all the dumb crack-whores: a sense of responsibility, accountability and of course, a lifetime supply of crack.
To all my readers: more columns with lists, less columns with references to sports you could give two shits about.
To all my crack-whore readers: more crack.
To Nick Gaudio and TH McWhiskey: a couple ounces of dank.
To every United States Citizen: more freedom, more money and of course, more crack.
And finally, to all my friends and family: probably just a card. It's been a rough year financially, and I hate shopping.
This Christmas, I hope every one of you gets every thing you desire.
But you won't.
And instead of dwelling on missed opportunities and gifts not received, I hope that this year you can all take a few moments out of your life to count your blessings and at least be happy that you have working thumbs.
Unless you're Uncle Elmer, in which case…well, I mean the other eight digits function fine, dude. Plus, you've had like 80 years to get used to it. Shit man, you should just be thankful you lived long enough to get my empty card.
Fucking sourpuss.