the nightcap

Ava (fifth most popular girls name in 2011) woke up with a gasp next to her hubby Dario (didn't make the list). Her pulse was racing like an Ethiopian runner. The room was pitch black like an Ethiopian runner; sitting up in bed she still was at a loss as to where her dream ended and reality began.

Some dreams are rated G, for general audiences. These dreams are generally free of profanity, sex, drugs, and animals that don't understand English.

Some dreams receive PG ratings due to mild profanity, usually from the English-speaking animal antagonist, or from the guy who just got kicked in the groin again.

Dreams that mimic real life usually receive an R-rating because of mature adult situations, curb stomping, meth use or tits.

The dream Ava awoke from would have likely garnered an R-rating due to some choice love-making and a handful of candid f-bombs. Not a nightmare mind you, nevertheless, Ava woke up mortified.

This would have been the condensed movie trailer for her dream:

[Snow falling gently outside a 19th century colonial home. Evening time. Christmas lights on the bushes outside the house. Christmas time]

[Scene switches to inside home, fireside]

Ava: Ooh baby, you're so thoughtful... [lifting up her candy-striped nightshirt from the tissue paper in the gift bag, she giggles when she sees the matching nightcap fall out and land on the floor. Who the hell even wears those anymore?]

Dario: Mmm baby I can't wait to see you in thisss.

Narrator (James Earl Jones please): It was their first Christmas together. They had both been good this year. There was still time however, to be a little naughty.

Ava: How about.. you wait right here. This fire is getting kind of cold, how about I go slip into something.. hott..

[In her bedroom, Ava stands in front of full length mirror wearing her nighty, adjusting breasts, puckering lips]

Dario: [playfully] Baby, hurry up, I'm sh-sh-shivering!

[Ava saunters back into the living room. Dario surprises her and jumps out and puts the nightcap on her head. Little does she know he covered the bottom in superglue. Smells like a Christmas comedy!]

[Love-making between the two ensues, obviously before Ava realizes that her candy cane cap is sticking to her head better than a half-eaten candy cane stuck in a shag rug. It works out nicely that Dario has already gift-wrapped and placed Ava's Liberator under the tree. *Product placement*]

Ava: Mmm, so glad we still have 12 nights of Christmas leftttt.

Dario: [kissing Ava] Christmas isn't over until you get that nightcap off your head, my little sugarplum fairy.

Ava: What.. [reaching for nightcap].. THE HELL? ITS STUCK! HELP HELP GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME IT'S FUCKING STUCK! DID YOU FUCKING SUPERGLUE THIS THING ON MY HEAD!?

Narrator: Love can be found in the coldest of months. This December, so can tomfoolery. The Nightcap. In theaters December 15th. 

28 degrees of separation

Becky's teeth chattered uncontrollably as she reached into her purse for a tic-tac. The frosty wind whipped at her face with its unforgiving, spearminty breath. All she could smell was the cold. The only thing she could feel was numb. She looked across the frozen Canadian tundra and thought about how badly she wished she could tap her foot impatiently while she waited. But alas, she couldn't feel anything below her waist. For all she knew, her toes were already frostbitten off.

Her first date with Akiak had been perfect. Becky admitted that she had had her hesitations about going out on a date with an Eskimo at first, but by the end of the night, he had made her feel like an ice queen. Together they had harpooned for seals, made candles out of whale blubber, and she had even helpd Akiak polish his war club. Those were just fleeting memories now as she waited for him to show up for their second date. The whale blubber candle that once burned with passion and infinite potential on her nightstand now seemed to be nothing more than a ugly flaming stick of lard.

Standing there in the snow, Becky heard wolves howling in the distance. She made a mental note to herself that she would never again agree to go on a date with a man she met in the frozen food section of the supermarket. As she popped another tic-tac into her mouth she felt her phone vibrate in her bra strap. She struggled to read the text message. It was from Akiak. To her dismay it read:

"Out fighting the neighboring tribe, I'll text you after we kick their asses. Eskimos before hoes. Lolz."

Becky spat in disgust. No sooner had the saliva left her lips before it froze in midair. Out of her purse Becky took the freeze pops she had planned to give as a gift and angrily threw them on the ground. 

Canada was really, really cold.

pokéman

Prior to The Facebook, the "poke" was reserved for getting a message across. Examples:

"You need to up the cardio, buddy, or at least go out and buy a pair of Mandate!- they're like Spankx, but for men!" (Informative poke to the gut.)

"You need to get the hell out of my kitchen, Dough Boy." (Assertive poke to the Pillsbury Dough Boy's gut,) "Seriously, stop giggling and get the fuck out my kitchen!"

Then Facebook came around, diminishing the value of the poke as we know it. An action that was once reserved for forthright conversation, has been degraded into a sheepish virtual verb, reserved for socially inept boys who want to get a girl's attention. And then what?

A poke used to say a thousand words. These days, a "poke" tops out at just about three. 

Long story short, you poke me, I will come over to your house, barge through your front door, march up to your room, hoof stomp your computer monitor, and poke you so hard that your ancestors feel it. If that doesn't get my message across, I will proceed to cut off each of your fingers, rendering you pokeless and unable to eat a buttery and delicious Pillsbury Crescent roll without assistance, for the rest of your life.

Without fingers, they only extremity you will be able to poke someone with is your... yeah... but before you do that, make sure they reciprocate your Facebook poke first.

gear shift happens

If the stickshift scares your wife then you must not be Ron Jeremy. If baseballs don't have American flags dancing proudly behind them, then you must not be in America.

So get to America, and get to your local VW dealer, get a VW, and start growing one of these. And while you're at it, pick your wife up one of these or have her download it on the Kindle for $4.91, upon which she'll gladly ride shotty.

let me quickly be brief-

The last time I bought underwear for $1.50 I was at my local Salvation Army, all hopped up on mothballs.