Another holiday season has past. It was my 57th. I know this sounds cliché, but over at least the past decade, the holiday season has more and more become a string of simply regular days that do little more than remind me of how long I’ve been on this earth.
I haven’t gotten or given any gifts over the last few Christmases. The last Christmas gift I received was a few years ago. It was a pair of Perry Ellis pajama pants. They were navy blue, with green and white plaid. They had two hip pockets and a single button opening in front where a man needs it most – for at least two reasons. You know what I mean.
Those comfy-assed PJ pants lasted me for a few years, and then I discovered a nine-inch tear at the left buttock this past summer. I wore those suckers until the rip was so long you could see my pasty left leg from space. I gave gifts the year I received those pants, I just don’t remember what they were and to whom they went.
I decided that I’d give myself a gift – something useful. Gloves, maybe. I lost my left leather glove, and I refuse to discard the right one just in case his prodigal brother decides to return home. How about house shoes? The ones I’m wearing at this very moment leave crumb trails everywhere. If I had free-flying birds for pets, they would’ve choked to death by now.
Suddenly, on Christmas Day, it came to me. I knew exactly what I needed. I decided to buy myself some good old-fashioned pornography. I didn’t want the free, soft-core stuff. I wanted the porn where the participants painfully contort themselves to ensure that the viewer sees every second of penis, vagina contact.
I went to my trusty AT&T U-verse Adults Only menu, and trolled for some serious visual sexual stimulation. Suddenly, however, I found myself blindsided by a stunning development that left my blood as cold as a snake, frozen in ice, at the North Pole.
I had, apparently, been away from cable porn longer than I’d thought because the fees had skyrocketed from $6.00 for a two-day rental, to $11.00 to $18.00 for a two to four hour rental. Two to four HOURS, it is! Isn’t that what crack whores charge? I trolled, and trolled, and trolled, until I found more suitably priced porn, at $7.00, with some two-day rentals.
I investigated. That menu offered what seemed to be mostly girl-on-girl action. I like it, but I’d never pay for it. I picked a movie. It was titled: “10 Dirty Students”. You know what I thought I’d see. What I got was 10 girls with hairless vaginas performing poses that wouldn’t stimulate an ex-con paroled after having served 50-years in Satan’s personal hell prison. Merry Christmas to me.
Having wasted seven bucks, I decided to do something I’d procrastinated against for many months for no good reason other than being selfish and stupid. I called a very good friend I’d made during my 12 years in LA. I won’t use his name, but I will say that he’s been heavily afflicted with various maladies, the main one being bone marrow cancer. He’s confined to a wheelchair, and takes chemotherapy almost daily. I hadn’t spoken with him in well over five years. He was so excited to hear from me, he forgot who I was halfway through our conversation. I’d forgotten how important of a friend he was to me. Merry Christmas to me. I had a great Christmas.