Christmas is killing me. Drinking, eating, steadily augmenting. I’ve even taken up cigarette smoking as a way to punctuate the long hours spent in my mother’s backyard. Horrible. At least I’m getting a tan.
I can’t wait to get home and be done with this overlong furlough. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed convalescing like Gilbert Grape’s mum. But now it’s high-time to rub some ointment on my burgundy, dinner plate sized bed sores and get on with it.
Here’s a video that cleverly merges my yearnings for a smaller waistline, my home in the snow, and a certain skinny blonde girl.

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