THE LAST PRESENT by Guest

There had been great sorrow in the Milroy family that year. In October, Father had lost his job at the cannery. In November, Momsy had fallen in the supermarket near a huge piled display of canned crab trimmings, which cascaded down on her and knocked her cold. She had not been the same since and had only drifted around the tiny, unheated house with a bottomless glass of vodka in her hand all the long days since. Brother Tom, perenniallly unemployed, had suffered a crushed leg in a motorcycle accident, and Sister Kylee was hugely pregnant from an unidentified black person of low merit and little promise. The dog, Needfull, had been run down in front of the house by a speeding brown delivery truck earlier that day and was therefore dead, though not yet inhumed. Uncle Phizby had recently learned that he was dying of cancer and would not see another Christmas. In fact, Phizby wouldn't see Easter or possibly not even the intrusively racist MLK Holiday in January. Aunt Rosa had experienced a sudden and unexplained weight gain of over 200 pounds, learning only the week before Christmas that it was a massive, inoperable tumor. The twins had gone on a rampage and broken all the lightbulbs and dishes in the house.

The savage twins had also fought violently over the few presents left for them under the scraggly, undecorated evergreen in the living room. Finally they needed to be restrained with masking tape and put into footlockers and pushed under their beds, where they would remain until the morrow or perhaps later.

Only one unopened present still remained under the tree. It was carelessly wrapped in soiled brown paper with a dirty red ribbon tied around its middle section and had, for all the world to see, the shape of a bottle.

Momsy and Father eyed one another. The gift had no tag on it, so no one knew who it was for. Uncle Phizby assumed it was his, as did Brother Tom, hobbling about on a crutch. Kylee felt it was rightfully hers, since her only gifts had been a rosary of latecoming birth control pills and a chipped mug marked "Buzzard's Roost, where dreams come true." Aunt Rosa was sure that the remaining gift was hers, but for reasons she could not easily verbalize, given the size of her tumor.

There wasn't much left to eat or drink. The boiled eggs were all that was left of the scanty meatloaf which had been the centerpiece of Christmas dinner. A few sprigs of wilted celery were also on the floor by the table legs. Uncle Phizby had put the nozzle of the cheese spread can into his mouth and emptied it thusly of its final contents . However, there was some Wonder Bread and Crisco left, so Momsy spread the white excrescence paper thin over slices of the remaining bread and garnished it with salt and flinty sprinkles. In this way, they all would partake of a final snack before retiring for the night.

But the gift remained unopened.

Suddenly in a burst of yuletide generosity, Father exclaimed that the lone present should go to Momsy, who in turn asked meekly that it be given to Brother Tom, who refused and with great magnaminity offered it to the belly-bulging Kylee. Kylee said that it should be given to Uncle Phizby because he was going to die soon, but the latter dithered and said he was too sick for presents and that it should go to Aunt Rosa, who, completing the circuit, announced that it was Father's. And the cycle of unselfish refusal was launched again. And again. And again.

The little impoverished family could not decide on who should get the last present.

Outside in the street was a strolling band of carollers. They stopped under the dim streetlight before the family's house and began to sing O Little Town of Bethlehem. Their mascot, a little boy with a sever sinus blockage, waved a cardboard effigy of the Bleeding Lamb around in front of them.

Father was abruptly overcome by a wave of the purest magnaminity and took the gift, which was now definitely a bottle of something, and offered it, with a great flourish of arm and hand, to the lead caroller.

When the song was finished, the lead caroller held up the poorly wrapped bottle and shouted "Christmas spirits, everyone!"The band of singers all produced either plastic cups or real glasses and gathered around. They were prepared for drinks at each stop. Father, Momsy and the family watched in pride as the lead caroller ripped the paper off the bottle.

It was a bottle Bix Pine Essence Toilet Bowl Cleaner, 16 ounces. The green liquid glowed in the lamplight. Thorough it, albeit distorted, one could see the snarling lips and snot-blocked nose of the little mascot boy with his cardboard Jesus on a stick.

"You dirty sons of bitches!" exclaimed the lead caroller. "You expect us to drink this?" He tossed the bottle onto the snow covering the lawn, and, without further comment, the sullen carollers trudged off down the block, pocketing their drinking vessels and muttering grim epithets to themselves.

Father retrieved the bottle and put it next to the toilet. Where it would stand proudly until used.

It was the best Christmas ever.
______________________

Guest 12/24/08

Oh!! A story!!!

and a story about giving and receiving....

Not the best, but, hell, what can I do alone---yes, alone---at work on Xmas eve.

Thanks.

Love you.

Have a great Xmas, and we'll talk after the holidays.

Mikey

"quickly written with no forethought or emotion" and it shows....It sucks major ass, Devon. Shoot yourself and make this a better place

Forgot to say have a great holiday season!!!

You're the best, always. Mean that.

Can't even answer friggin' PMs here until after tomorrow. Because I'm alone, everything is monitored.

Back to what I was saying. You're the best!!!!

Loving you,

Mikey

So you didn't like it, and you don't like me. Did I get that right? I extend, however, much love to you this Xmas eve. You need someone to hug you, even another guy if you happen to be a guy.

But of course I am not Devon.

Ok story. I liked the language as usual.

You are not totally alone here. Look around. Cell x-40 S. Africa. Don't they have Christmas there, for Christ's sake. The monitoring will lift on Friday, BTW. You can go back to being whoever in the hell you are, which everyone knows.

Where in the hell did you get <<Mikey>> That sounds like one of your uptown punker friends.

Merry Christmas.

YKW

Christ, how many times I have done the same thing!!

Whatever happened to your vow to become <<uplifting>> ??? It will be Christmas here in less than an hour. Do you always have to write about the dysfunctional? You said your family back over there was very normal. You write like a brat out of an orphanage.

But still good twists of the phrase.

Carry on.

Is there a leg lamp involved in this story?

But it IS uplifting, Guest. I HATE these queues of vagabond carollers who come through here. They sang a song last night outside my place, and then one of them peed in the snowbank. His initial, I think.

Mikey

I want to do an analysis of your style and what makes it good. Lots of adjectives and strong verbs. I have nothing better to do. I'm stuck here too.

Here goes:


THE LAST PRESENT by Guest

There had been great sorrow in the Milroy family that year. In October, Father had lost his job at the cannery. In November, Momsy had fallen in the supermarket near a huge piled display of canned crab trimmings, which cascaded down on her and knocked her cold. She had not been the same since and had only drifted around the tiny, unheated house with a bottomless glass of vodka in her hand all the long days since. Brother Tom, perenniallly unemployed, had suffered a crushed leg in a motorcycle accident, and Sister Kylee was hugely pregnant from an unidentified black person of low merit and little promise. The dog, Needfull, had been run down in front of the house by a speeding brown delivery truck earlier that day and was therefore dead, though not yet inhumed. Uncle Phizby had recently learned that he was dying of cancer and would not see another Christmas. In fact, Phizby wouldn't see Easter or possibly not even the intrusively racist MLK Holiday in January. Aunt Rosa had experienced a sudden and unexplained weight gain of over 200 pounds, learning only the week before Christmas that it was a massive, inoperable tumor. The twins had gone on a rampage and broken all the lightbulbs and dishes in the house.

The savage twins had also fought violently over the few presents left for them under the scraggly, undecorated evergreen in the living room. Finally they needed to be restrained with masking tape and put into footlockers and pushed under their beds, where they would remain until the morrow or perhaps later.

Only one unopened present still remained under the tree. It was carelessly wrapped in soiled brown paper with a dirty red ribbon tied around its middle section and had, for all the world to see, the shape of a bottle.

Momsy and Father eyed one another. The gift had no tag on it, so no one knew who it was for. Uncle Phizby assumed it was his, as did Brother Tom, hobbling about on a crutch. Kylee felt it was rightfully hers, since her only gifts had been a rosary of latecoming birth control pills and a chipped mug marked "Buzzard's Roost, where dreams come true." Aunt Rosa was sure that the remaining gift was hers, but for reasons she could not easily verbalize, given the size of her tumor.

There wasn't much left to eat or drink. The boiled eggs were all that was left of the scanty meatloaf which had been the centerpiece of Christmas dinner. A few sprigs of wilted celery were also on the floor by the table legs. Uncle Phizby had put the nozzle of the cheese spread can into his mouth and emptied it thusly of its final contents . However, there was some Wonder Bread and Crisco left, so Momsy spread the white excrescence paper thin over slices of the remaining bread and garnished it with salt and flinty sprinkles. In this way, they all would partake of a final snack before retiring for the night.

But the gift remained unopened.

Suddenly in a burst of yuletide generosity, Father exclaimed that the lone present should go to Momsy, who in turn asked meekly that it be given to Brother Tom, who refused and with great magnaminity offered it to the belly-bulging Kylee. Kylee said that it should be given to Uncle Phizby because he was going to die soon, but the latter dithered and said he was too sick for presents and that it should go to Aunt Rosa, who, completing the circuit, announced that it was Father's. And the cycle of unselfish refusal was launched again. And again. And again.

The little impoverished family could not decide on who should get the last present.

Outside in the street was a strolling band of carollers. They stopped under the dim streetlight before the family's house and began to sing O Little Town of Bethlehem. Their mascot, a little boy with a sever sinus blockage, waved a cardboard effigy of the Bleeding Lamb around in front of them.

Father was abruptly overcome by a wave of the purest magnaminity and took the gift, which was now definitely a bottle of something, and offered it, with a great flourish of arm and hand, to the lead caroller.

When the song was finished, the lead caroller held up the poorly wrapped bottle and shouted "Christmas spirits, everyone!"The band of singers all produced either plastic cups or real glasses and gathered around. They were prepared for drinks at each stop. Father, Momsy and the family watched in pride as the lead caroller ripped the paper off the bottle.

It was a bottle Bix Pine Essence Toilet Bowl Cleaner, 16 ounces. The green liquid glowed in the lamplight. Thorough it, albeit distorted, one could see the snarling lips and snot-blocked nose of the little mascot boy with his cardboard Jesus on a stick.

"You dirty sons of bitches!" exclaimed the lead caroller. "You expect us to drink this?" He tossed the bottle onto the snow covering the lawn, and, without further comment, the sullen carollers trudged off down the block, pocketing their drinking vessels and muttering grim epithets to themselves.

Father retrieved the bottle and put it next to the toilet. Where it would stand proudly until used.

It was the best Christmas ever.
______________________

Guest 12/24/08


THE LAST PRESENT by Guest

There had been great sorrow in the Milroy family that year. In October, Father had lost his job at the cannery. In November, Momsy had fallen in the supermarket near a huge piled display of canned crab trimmings, which cascaded down on her and knocked her cold. She had not been the same since and had only drifted around the tiny, unheated house with a bottomless glass of vodka in her hand all the long days since. Brother Tom, perenniallly unemployed, had suffered a crushed leg in a motorcycle accident, and Sister Kylee was hugely pregnant from an unidentified black person of low merit and little promise. The dog, Needfull, had been run down in front of the house by a speeding brown delivery truck earlier that day and was therefore dead, though not yet inhumed. Uncle Phizby had recently learned that he was dying of cancer and would not see another Christmas. In fact, Phizby wouldn't see Easter or possibly not even the intrusively racist MLK Holiday in January. Aunt Rosa had experienced a sudden and unexplained weight gain of over 200 pounds, learning only the week before Christmas that it was a massive, inoperable tumor. The twins had gone on a rampage and broken all the lightbulbs and dishes in the house.

The savage twins had also fought violently over the few presents left for them under the scraggly, undecorated evergreen in the living room. Finally they needed to be restrained with masking tape and put into footlockers and pushed under their beds, where they would remain until the morrow or perhaps later.

Only one unopened present still remained under the tree. It was carelessly wrapped in soiled brown paper with a dirty red ribbon tied around its middle section and had, for all the world to see, the shape of a bottle.

Momsy and Father eyed one another. The gift had no tag on it, so no one knew who it was for. Uncle Phizby assumed it was his, as did Brother Tom, hobbling about on a crutch. Kylee felt it was rightfully hers, since her only gifts had been a rosary of latecoming birth control pills and a chipped mug marked "Buzzard's Roost, where dreams come true." Aunt Rosa was sure that the remaining gift was hers, but for reasons she could not easily verbalize, given the size of her tumor.

There wasn't much left to eat or drink. The boiled eggs were all that was left of the scanty meatloaf which had been the centerpiece of Christmas dinner. A few sprigs of wilted celery were also on the floor by the table legs. Uncle Phizby had put the nozzle of the cheese spread can into his mouth and emptied it thusly of its final contents . However, there was some Wonder Bread and Crisco left, so Momsy spread the white excrescence paper thin over slices of the remaining bread and garnished it with salt and flinty sprinkles. In this way, they all would partake of a final snack before retiring for the night.

But the gift remained unopened.

Suddenly in a burst of yuletide generosity, Father exclaimed that the lone present should go to Momsy, who in turn asked meekly that it be given to Brother Tom, who refused and with great magnaminity offered it to the belly-bulging Kylee. Kylee said that it should be given to Uncle Phizby because he was going to die soon, but the latter dithered and said he was too sick for presents and that it should go to Aunt Rosa, who, completing the circuit, announced that it was Father's. And the cycle of unselfish refusal was launched again. And again. And again.

The little impoverished family could not decide on who should get the last present.

Outside in the street was a strolling band of carollers. They stopped under the dim streetlight before the family's house and began to sing O Little Town of Bethlehem. Their mascot, a little boy with a sever sinus blockage, waved a cardboard effigy of the Bleeding Lamb around in front of them.

Father was abruptly overcome by a wave of the purest magnaminity and took the gift, which was now definitely a bottle of something, and offered it, with a great flourish of arm and hand, to the lead caroller.

When the song was finished, the lead caroller held up the poorly wrapped bottle and shouted "Christmas spirits, everyone!"The band of singers all produced either plastic cups or real glasses and gathered around. They were prepared for drinks at each stop. Father, Momsy and the family watched in pride as the lead caroller ripped the paper off the bottle.

It was a bottle Bix Pine Essence Toilet Bowl Cleaner, 16 ounces. The green liquid glowed in the lamplight. Thorough it, albeit distorted, one could see the snarling lips and snot-blocked nose of the little mascot boy with his cardboard Jesus on a stick.

"You dirty sons of bitches!" exclaimed the lead caroller. "You expect us to drink this?" He tossed the bottle onto the snow covering the lawn, and, without further comment, the sullen carollers trudged off down the block, pocketing their drinking vessels and muttering grim epithets to themselves.

Father retrieved the bottle and put it next to the toilet. Where it would stand proudly until used.

It was the best Christmas ever.
______________________

Guest 12/24/08

So, "Mikey," what are you doing after work?

Good little Christmas story. But you are leaving soon, nein?

Trains are all late to Bklyn. We could hang out. Huh?

How I wish somebody would give me a present as fine as Bix Pine Essence Toilet Bowl Cleaner.

Thorough it, albeit distorted, one could see the snarling lips and snot-blocked nose of the little mascot boy with his cardboard Jesus on a stick.

Consider active tense: One could see snarled lips. . . .

I think I can tell who wrote this Christmas story.

Mendicant. It's a little used word but it can bring up some interesting results via Google.

I loved the story. Gave me a good laugh and that is always a great gift.

I loved that story so much I touched myself.

Now I'm going to go close the deal.

The author has a familiar ring of h/h voice.

Good story Devon, I liked it. I don't celebrate christmas, but I used to and this was a good story with a humorous ending. Keep em coming, I'm one of your fans no matter what anyone thinks about it.


Your friend Robert (my real name)

Goddess, Robin, Robert, Guests Known to Me, Guests Unknown to Me, anybody else I missed.

Thanks for reading and commenting on my brief Christmas tale. Working almost alone tonight and today. They have the monitors set to record personal dildo-ing, but that will change soon.

So on behalf of D*v*n, my appreciation and a great holiday week to all!!

Temporarily Non-Devon but not for long.

Love.

D----

LAUGHING !!!

Good Morning My Love!!!



Your story, as usual, brings up many thoughts...

Devon can't disguise his style. Good story as usual. Thanks. Made my day for Christmas.

Devoonie, just got in and saw this. LLOOLL!!! Your usual dry humour and acid detail. Good tale all around.

Merry Christmas Devon.

Same shit you said back in the lawn mulcher and federal tuna days, that the rinky dink ad agency you were working at was monitoring you over the portal shit.

Damn, D-GK, can we hope for a much needed shtick change in 09 and perhaps some new material? If not, you may as well hang it up for good, buy you that shack in MontCo and disappear forever.

Here's to more stale and regurgitated shit from you.

Devon writing Christmas stories???

WTF??

Notice no response from good ole Devvy...???

No, even he could not muster enough slimebagness to take credit for it.

The style of op reminds me a lot of SHR.

-and I'm the toilet bowl cleaner.

Yes it's all about me.

The highly patheic little family is you people in the forum world.
You are sickly sick, cancerous and putrifying.
Yet you still get together and celebrate Christmas
The God concept is the bottle, which you think is valuable,
and you pass around, patting each other on the back,
blessing each other with 'the bottle'
but NO ONE takes it for what it really is.
No one opens it!
THe carollers are the Christians, who are
just as sick as all of you, and when they
get the God bottle, they think they will
rejoice in 'the Lord', but see it's just toilet boel Stevie
and toss it away.
So, the 'Father' (SHR) of the forum world, puts it back next to the toilet.

SHR
Forum Administrator
12/25/2008 12:56 AM

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One of my Favorite Christmas Movies. All about being a kid in another place in time...even before MY time...so you know it's like the olden days...rofl....if you never saw this one...it's worth watching...even in 10 parts....enjoy it...:)