a very duffy xmas
This holiday season marks the Silver Anniversary since the most dysfunctional Christmas scene I've ever witnessed. Somewhere deep in the dirty-brick Philly row-home jungle lived the Duffy family, which consisted of a whiskey-besotten li'l leprechaun of a dad, a silent mom, and a half-dozen or so spindly, rat-haired sons, each one more fucked-up than the next. And as we were all enjoying a lively Yuletide party, Daddy Duffy began quarreling with one of the Baby Duffys. Within seconds, Dad charged his son and tackled him straight into the Christmas tree, knocking it flat and shattering ornaments onto the floor.
I'll never forget the drunken Irish grimace on Daddy Duffy's face as he plowed his son over and through the pretty sparkly tree. Dad was reality and der Tannenbaum was a sad, hopeless wish waiting to be crushed.
Jesus was born merely to be crucified. Fuck you and yours this holiday season.
