“Nothing has greater potential
to annoy a reader than a writer recounting what fun he’s had.” – P.J. O’Rourke |
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A Holiday Roundup |
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Austin
Dispatches |
No.
149 |
Feb. 11, 2012 |
I was about five or six and wondering how Santa Claus was going to get in the house because we didn’t have a chimney. True to form, my father put me straight. He told me right then that there wasn’t a Santa and that he had ate the mince pies we put out.My Dad mailed a card explaining why he didn’t buy me a gift certificate to Mosaic Records.4 He ranted about being charged $10 shipping for the company to mail a thin piece of plastic. “Fuck them,” he concluded, and signed the card “George Costanza.”5
“I’m sick of a white man getting credit,” he said. “I went out there to break my ass working and get you those damn toys. There ain’t no one coming down no damn chimney. You know I practically went out and stole to get you that BB gun.”3
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