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“Adult” Christmas Sucks

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Like most of you, every year since I developed the ability to wield a pen and paper I have been required to create a list of things I want for Christmas. For the first six years of my life I believed that list was for a generous obese man named Santa Claus. That is up until some GDI ginger who I can only assume is now a repeat offender drug addict told me that good ole Santa was as real as a porn star’s rack (I’m not just saying he was a GDI ginger. He was a demented 6-year-old who really had red hair and definitely never made it to college.) I quickly recovered from the confusion when I learned I would still be receiving presents. Since then I have gone on to make many an illustrious list, usually about a month before December 25. Well, at the ripe age of 19 years old, when my dad demanded a Christmas list for him and my grandparents to use in the purchasing of presents, I finally experienced my first “I have no fucking idea what I want for Christmas” moment.

When you’re a kid, and you literally want every fucking toy that ever existed, making a Christmas list is pretty damn easy. But when you’re a kid in college who is supposed to act like an adult but lives like a functioning alcoholic, things like the Super Soaker CPS 2000 are no longer appropriate. You can’t fill the fucking CPS 2000 with whiskey and playfully squirt it into girls’ mouths like you can with some regular swimming pool pistol. They’d end up in the hospital crying tears of Kentucky Deluxe. Still, my main desires in life revolve around alcohol and slipping my candy cane into sorority girls’ stockings, and my parents would never agree to box up sluts and place them under our tree. So when I got that text from dad that said, “still need Christmas list” while I was blacking out instead of studying for finals, I didn’t have a fucking clue what to tell him. He made it clear that I couldn’t take the easy way out and just ask for cash. I needed presents worthy of wrapping paper to take part in the traditional Christmas morning.

A lot of people just list off clothes they’re too lazy to get themselves, like button-downs and blazers, but to me that’s the equivalent of asking your girlfriend for a blowjob. You should be getting that shit anyway. I thought about putting a nice bottle of scotch on the list, but just because my parents know I drink doesn’t mean they’re cool with openly supplying my underage ass with high-end booze in front of my younger siblings. My Tahoe isn’t more than 3 years old, and I’m not a dickhead, so I’m not going to go ask for a car. I thought about asking for another watch, but that seemed so boring.

I never really came up with any good ideas, so I ended up asking for a new set of Titleist blades and a trip to the Atlantis for New Years. My mom punished me by wrapping each iron individually. Happy fucking New Year.

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