Warning: Some “colorful” language within, might not be good for little ones. -Matt
Christmas Eve. A time of peace and caroling. Stockings are hung by the fire in hopes that the patriarchal paradigm will reward us for our submissive behavior. Soon St. Nick will appear. Unless you die first, of course. Police in the metro area are getting reports of a sloppily dressed crooner with a pipe singing for people and then eating them.
“The front door rang” said one survivor.
And I opened the door. Bing Crosby was standing there in the flesh. Well, as much flesh of him that hadn’t fallen off. He started singing. Normally I would have shut the door but who can resist Bing Crosby singing White Christmas on Christmas Eve? So I invited him in.
After being invited in, Crosby, or his zombie equivalent, sat by the fire place and regaled the family with Christmas tunes and stories of Hollywood in its glory days.[…]