‘Tis the season.

Two days ago I was driving down the road and was passed by a car with flat tire. I did a double take, thinking I must be mistaken, but sure enough the right rear tire was flat and the old bastard just kept cruising on the rim. As if that was not strange enough, this morning I saw another car with a flat, not in the passing lane, but still, driving at about 40 MPH. Not a care in the world.

I went to get a new star for the top of the tree on Saturday and the place was a madhouse, full of insanely rude Christmas shoppers. Carts smashing into people, et al. Those people had murder I their eyes. It’s amazing the number of people who desperately need a lesson in humility—by way of a brutal beating.

Meanwhile the Christmas cards are pouring in and in a way they anger the hell out of me, as it’s a lot of work to pump these things out, and I know that we must diligently reciprocate. At the last minute obscure people always send cards and we need to scurry so we don’t go to hell or whatever. It’s getting to the point that when I hear Christmas music my natural reaction is to tense up all my muscles like I’m preparing to take a punch in the gut from Mike Tyson.