“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…”
Mariah Carey’s overplayed Christmas song has me thinking. I really don’t want a bunch of bullshit things for the holidays. I have enough stuff. If I could just make one wish, it would be that this Trumptopian nightmare were over with, already.
I feel that it’s coming soon. I have July 4th, 2026, chosen in our Trump Demise Date office pool. But I’d gladly welcome it sooner.
Last night, I decided that I’d likely pop a bottle of vintage Cabernet and hit the button on my phone to start a Substack Live. Perhaps I’ll stay with y’all and celebrate until I pass out. I haven’t gotten really fershnockered in years. But I can’t think of a more worthy thing to do it over than the end of Traitor Trump.
Give this episode a listen, and I’ll tell you all about our plans for the Blessed Event. Mooch will be there, but no vino for her. Peanut butter bones a plenty, that will be her treat. Mrs. Mouthy and I will be partying hardy, though, as I’m sure you all will be too.
C’mon, Santa/Jesus/God. Make my holiday dream come true. Or the Grim Reaper. Whoever.
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