Aaah, the Christmas morning hangover. Starting at age sixteen Christmas morn would find me clutching my hands to my head. Being raised on a Quarterhorse ranch close to the Colorado Mountains and being rural ranchers there really wasn’t much to do but ride horses and drink. Now, I find it easier just to drink. Fa-la-la-la-la.
Fuzzy and I are off to eat way to much over at Frank’s and have the annual gift exchange. This might get ugly.
Let’s have a YouTube flick about the London Blitzkrieg. It’s kinda like my head.
Have yourself one fucking dude's xmas, man!
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