The 11th day of What the Juice likes about Christmas

Step right up! Come inside. On day 11 of our countdown, see what the Juice likes about Christmas. Buckle up, cause the coaster’s about to take off! Remember, keep all hands and feet inside. And no flash photography. Por favor, mantenganse allejado de las puertas.

So, the Juice likes Christmas songs. Yea, that’s right. You gotta fuckin' problem with that, sweetheart? I didn't think so. See, there ain’t nothin’ like listenin’ to Christmas music on Christmas Eve into Christmas day. It just sets the mood. Now, the Juice’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know the first thing about music. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about cars, sports, kids, carpentry, masonry, plumbing, photography, etymology, musicology or women(the Juice does know he loves lookin’ at hot naked women, though), for that matter.

The Juice, though, enjoys a good Christmas song. But, ya have to be specific about what song ya like. ‘Cause besides classical music, Christmas songs are the most covered music ever. Some of the Juice’s favorites are:

My Favorite Things by Johnny Mathis.
Mele Kalikimaka by Bing Crosby
Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season by Andy Williams
What are you doing New Year’s Eve – by anyone really
Any Christmas song by Frank Sinatra
Linus and Lucy by Vince Guarldi (yea I know it ain’t necessarily a Christmas song, but it reminds me of Christmas. If you're gonna nitpick, ya can always go fuck yourself)

Yea, those are some great Christmas songs. But, the Juice’s gotta tell ya, there are some seriously shitty ones out there too. Some are so dang bad, the universe is a worse place for their existence.

Here’s a scary thought for ya. Scienticians say that radio waves go out into the universe forever. Don’t believe the Juice? Then check out this quote from bigear.org:

“For over fifty years now, our first television and radio signals have been radiating out into space like a giant shock wave, or like waves radiating out from a pebble dropped into a pond. Another intelligent civilization could intercept them and wonder what they say. Imagine an alien race picking up one of our television signals, decoding it, and then sending what they believe to be an intelligent reply: "Lucy, I'm home!" or "So you want to be a wise guy, eh?"

That’s pretty fuckin’ scary ain’t it? So, in theory, all’s some aliens need is some sort or radio signal booster and Wham-o! They’ll be hearin’ what we’ve been listenin' to all this time. Now, wouldn’t it be embarrassin’ if one of the first things the aliens heard from us was "Grandma got ran over by a reindeer"? Just imagine what the aliens would think of us if they heard that. The Juice figures it 2 ways. We’d either be just a waste of time in there oversized, emotionless black eye and just leave us the hell alone. Or, they’re comin’ to Earth right now to take over the place. They probably figure were like rats and we don’t deserve the planet. I just hope when they get here, they don’t anal probe all of us. Cause the Juice don't enjoy things up his ass.

Know what other Christmas songs the Juice can’t stand? Probably not, so I’m gonna tell ya. "The Little Drummer Boy" by David Bowie and Bing fuckin' Crosby. Don’t even try layin’ that horseshit on me that it’s a classic. My Favorite Things is a classic. There ain’t nothing “classic” about this number. In fact, it down right blows. Who gives fuck one about these two numb nuts, anyway? Maybe 40 years ago it was cool, but really…what the fuck is Bowie singin’?

Then there's "Merry Christmas, Darling" by the Carpenters. What a whiney-ass song. I bet this chick couldn’t get laid if she tried. Dang! It just reeks of desperation. This gal needs to be dicked in the worst way. And normally, the Juice would oblige, however the Juice has two caveats. The missus would never let the Juice do it. She tends to suck that way. And two, the way this gal from the song is whinin’ on, it sounds a bit to the Juice that she ain’t good lookin’. Cause if she was good lookin’, she wouldn’t be whinin’ about some dude. Am I right? Can the Juice get an Amen? No? Okay. But, believe you me, the Juice don’t EVER nail ungood lookin’ chicks (my apologies to my ungood lookin’ female readers. Sorry you had to read it that way, but it’s all truth.)

Oh, wait. How about this annoyin' number? "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas". Who gives a fuck who it’s by. It’s fucking annoyin’. Now, the Juice don’t condone violence against children. No matter how temptin’ it might be. Especially after they’ve been mind fuckin’ ya all day. But, the kid who sings this song really needs a dope slap to the back of the head. And a “You ain’t gettin’ a hippo for Christmas, so shut the fuck up. Would ya? I’ve got one nerve left, and you’re doin’ the Acky Breaky Heart on it.” follow-up

Yea, there’s half a million Christmas songs that seriously bite. Like, "Santa Claus is comin’ to town" by Bruce Springsteen. All of Mariah Carey’s songs. Clay Aiken? C’mon! Ya know, now that the Juice considers it, all contemporary “artist” Christmas songs suck dead monkey balls. So, the Juice’ll just have to stick to the classics, thank you very much.

Well, I ain’t entirely sure how this post de-volved into Christmas songs I can’t stand, but like most things on this site, it’s best not to think about it too long. Cause it’ll only cloud your brain. And make you stupider. It probably causes Athlete’s Foot, too. But, that ain’t never been proven.

The 12th day of What the Juice likes about Christmas

Here we are at day 12 of what the Juice loves about Christmas. Let's just dispense with the pleasantries and get to it, shall we? Today, it’s simple enough. It’s cookies. Yes, the Juice loves all the freshly baked cookies this time of year. Believe you me, the Juice don’t need Christmas to go on about his love of cookies. My love of the cookie is long and deep. We’re talkin’ true love here. Some folkels believe their soul mate to be some mythical person. Some person that supposedly completes them. I hate to tell ya, but there ain’t no such person. The only completion comes from inside. Not from some sexy bitch in a Santa outfit, but...uhhhh, we'll get to that later on in the week. But you keep on searchin’ you’re bound to find that "soul mate" eventually. Why dontcha check match.com? She might be waitin' for ya there. As if...

However, if the Juice were to say that he had a soul mate it would be in the cookie. Nothing has ever has given Juice such satisfaction than a warm cookie. Not even sex with two super hot chicks at the same time. Not that the Juice would know what sex is like with two super hot chicks, but I’m sure it’s no where as good as a dozen or so cookies. What the Juice is sayin’ here is that I could get a hundred hand jobs from a hundred different women, for a hundred different days and still that would not match the satisfaction of eatin’ a batch of homemade cookies.

Yea…you read that right. Cookies over sex. Cookies ain’t so fleetin’ as sex. Well, that’s not entirely true, either. The Juice tends to get that same empty feel after eatin a few dozen cookies as when he’s cranked off for the third time today lookin’ at internet porn. I write all this cause I know none of ya’s can read it. See, the Juice sometimes writed in a secret code. And right now is one of those times. Otherwise, if ya actually knew what the Juice was goin' on about, it might be plenty embarrassin'.

But, I digress...

However, there’s a caveat for my love of cookies. Sure my love is long and deep, but it’s for homemade cookies. I’m not gonna waste your time and mine by dissin’ store boughts here. In a pinch (which is everyday other than christmasfucktaculas), store boughts are ok. But homemade cookies? That’s goodness on a stick. But, without the stick.

And the only time that the Juice gets to indulge in homemade cookies is Christmastime. The missus bakes batch after batch. And the Juice consumes batch after batch. However, the missus is seriously slackin’ this year. Cookie one was not yet been baked or eaten. I don’t know what’s goin' on with that bitch, but it ain’t cookie bakin’. And I call her “bitch”, cause I’m writin’ in that secret code that no one can read besides the Juice again. Otherwise, the Juice would probably be a tad more respectful. For fear of the flyin’ meat tenderizers and no Christmas cookies.

The 13th day of What the Juice likes about Christmas

Here we are back to the Juice’s countdown of the things I like about Christmas. What’s this, day 6? What? What’s that ya say? Day thirteen? Are ya fuckin’ me here? I got 13 more days to come up with crap I like about Christmas? Dang! What the hell did I get myself into here?

Well for day 13, the Juice is here to tell ya I loves Christmas shoppin’. Yea. That’s right. You can stuff your peepers back in your head. I’ll give ya a second to do it.

Not only does the Juice love Christmas shoppin’, but I don’t even mind all the stupid fucking people walkin’ around in the mindless haze they call Christmas shoppin’. Know why I like shoppin’ so much? I like it cause most times the Juice is doin’ the shoppin’ for hisself. Yea, that’s right. Hisself. Why else wait out in front of Target on Black Friday? C’mon! Who don’t shop for themselves at Christmas, you? Right....

Yea, we’ve all been fed that line, "it’s better to give than receive". Whoever the douche that thought of that was never on the recievin’ end of a blowjob, that’s for dang sure. However, I guess in the spirit of the holiday the Juice feels a bit obligated to say that it’s “nice” to buy stuff for other people. But, it’s even nicer to buy stuff for yourself.

Besides, who’s gonna buy ya what ya really want? Your significant other? As if. You’ve been tryin’ to get her to suck your balls for years now, has she done it? Noooooo! You’re kiddin’ yourself if ya think she’s got a clue. You expect her to know to buy ya that super limited edition what-the-fuck (that’s also true for you female readers out there. Just replace “vagina lickin’” with “suck your balls” and the “she’s” with “he’s” and you’re right where ya need to be…not gettin' what ya really want for Christmas. But, for the sake of my stupid readers, we’ll keep it from the "male perspective" here on out. I don’t wanna confuse anybody any further. Okay, ladies?)?

It don’t matter how many hints ya drop, either. She ain’t gonna get it for ya. You can even straight up and tell ‘er, Pretend if ya will:

It’s November 29th. You and your lovely bride are sitting around the his and her matching TV trays when she pops the question:

“Oh, sweetheart. What do you want for Christmas?

You gaze lovingly into her cow brown eyes and think: Well, what I really want is for you to leave. Or, if that’s not convienent enough…how about a three way? With anyone but you. But you say: “Dear, I want a super limited edition Baby Seal Hunter II: Baby Seal’s Revenge with real beating action for Playstation 5.2.”


She stares at you blankly. She replies, “Okay, dear.” But what she’s really thinking is: When is this man child I married ever going to grow up?

Now you know that she hasn’t grasped the significance of getting Baby Seal Hunter II: Baby Seal’s Revenge as soon as possible. Why would she? She never gets the significance of anything you care about. “If you’re really gonna get it for me, ya got to get it now. Because the stores are gonna sell out. It just came out, and it’s gonna be a hot seller. Let me get you a list of stores that sell it.”

You proceed to make a list of said stores. You smile at her as you hand her the list. It took you what? Half hour to do the research? As she takes the list from you, you realize you ain’t gonna get the game.

Fast forward to December 25. Guess what you didn’t get? Baby Seal Hunter II: Baby Seal’s Revenge. Guess what you did get. Who gives a fuck! It certainly wasn’t what ya wanted.

Has any of this happened to you? Of course it has. That’s why ya just save yourself the aggravation and buy whatever ya want for Christmas yourself. Done and done. If you’re in the holiday spirit, ya can give it to your wife to give back to you on that magical day. Seems a bit redundant, but what about Christmas ain't?

Or, ya can just do what the Juice does. Walk in from spendin’ a couple of hundred dollars at Best Buy and say to the missus…”Merry Christmas, honey. Thanks for all the gifts. You're the greatest!”

What the Juice likes about Christmas – Day 14 or Day 1. Whichever...

Welcome to the Juice's countdown to Christmas! Over the next fourteen days the Juice will yak on about what I actually like about Christmas. It’s kinda like that stupid song the 12 days of Christmas, only it’s 14 days. And the Juice don’t sing on about stupid shit life 5 Cornish hens.

So, we begin with Day 1 of our countdown. Or in this case, Day 14, dependin' how you look at it. And you better look at it the right way. But, before ya hurt yourself thinkin’ about it, why don’t the Juice just cut through the shit and get to the point? That’d be a first for the Juice, right?

But, I digress…

So, what the Juice likes about Christmas this day is…(if the Juice had some webspace, ya be hearin’ a drum roll right about now. but webspace ain't free, and you folks don't never buck up for the Juice to get any) When Christmas is over.

Oh, here they come. Here come the “Humbug’s” and the “Scrooge’s” and the “You have absolutely no soul’s”. But, c’mon! The Juice is just sayin’ what you’re thinkin’ every last second until the glorious day of Christmas is over. It’s so much fucking work for one day, right? Can the Juice get an Amen? No? Fuck you then.

For the Juice the whole holiday is maddenin’. Between the shoppin’, the wrappin’, the gettin’ of the trees (yes, that is more than one tree. As in plural. Cause it’s a known fact that you don’t love Jesus unless you have 2 trees in your house.), the decoratin’ of said trees, the sendin’ out of the Christmas cards, and the all around bein’ nice to everyone. It’s all craziness. It just ain’t natural.

And in all this, I haven’t even mentioned the dealin’ with the kids. ‘Cause on top of all that other madness, if ya got kids, they are seriously hopped on Santa’s special brand of goofballs. Dealin’ with children at Christmas is like takin’ your kids to Disney. If you were of sound mind, you would never participate in either. Oh, don’t give me that horseshit. I hear ya sayin’ it. “What about tradition? My mommy and daddy did this for me and that for me…” Fucketh thateth, the Juice sayeth!

The whole holiday is enough to make any one have a melt down. Which, now that I mention it, is exactly what the Juice had the other day.

See, when ya got four kids, ya learn not to get hung up on stuff. Or, ya should learn at least not to get hung up on stuff. Like, when someone dumps nail polish remover on your sacred Sega Genesis system. Or throws your Atari Lynx in the turlet. Or draws with permanent marker all over your walls. Ya’know, the shit that would break the soul of a non-four kid responsible man. Ya just learn to ignore it all, or ya’ll never live to see the next day. Which you pray will be better than the one you’re currently sufferin’ in. But, it never is.

the Juice, whose family ain’t “known” for their patience, has his limits. Not only did the Juice pass those limits this pass weekend, but I headed into territory that would make the heart of a mortal man explode from the stress. The Juice is just one man, with four kids. What’s a dude gonna do? It’s a constant barrage of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” Day in day out. Every last waken second. Picture, if you will, four faces talkin’ at ya all day. And they ain’t listenin’ back. Whether ya scream your fuck head off, or ya cry your peepers out, kids don’t listen.

And with Christmastime upon us, kids get this horrifyin’ disease called the Christmas Jimmies. Every kid gets it. They’re outta control with excitement. They ain’t in their heads, at all. They don’t give fuck one what you think, do or say. If they normally don’t listen, kids take it to the next level of unlistenin’.

Take, for example, my oldest, Sara. Seriously, take her, cause she’s really gettin’ on the Juice’s nerves. ‘Cause not only is she mind fuckin’ the Juice, but now she’s taken to torturin’ everyone else younger than her. It’s a horrifyin’ symphony of screams, a cacophony of “DADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’s” that, believe you me, ain’t music to my ears.

And no matter how many times the Juice told Sara to stop torturin’ whoever she was torturin’, no matter how many times I threatened her bodily harm, no matter how many times the Juice pleaded or yelled, Sara just kept on mind fuckin’ everyone.

Kinda like:

“Sara, knock it off…”

“Sara, if ya don’t stop it, the Juice is gonna beat your ass”

“Sara, I swear to all that’s holy, I’m gonna put a serious hurtin’ on ya.”

“Sara, please stop. Please. Please. Please. I’m beggin’ ya! For your dad sanity”

“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Sweet mother of all that’s holy, Sara, knock it the frig off!”

And so on and so on. Normally, at some point, Sara would stop. More than likely out of boredom. But, with the Christmas Jimmies coursin’ through ‘er, she wasn’t hearin’ a word her ol’ man was sayin’. So what does the Juice do when, he realizes that she ain’t listenin’ to me? Try somethin' different? Walk away? Meditate? Count to ten? Nope! The Juice kept on screamin’. Up until the missus came eventually came back from whatever kid-free place she holed herself in. Then the Juice got the hell outta dodge.

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’: “Wait, the Juice. Where was your wife the whole time?” I’d like to say that she was doin’ somethin’ important. Like findin’ a cure for leprosy. Or feedin’ the rich. No. She weren’t doin’ no such thing. She claims she was out Christmas shoppin’. The Juice figures she was parked three streets over hidin’ out in the car with her smokes and a 40. Much like the Juice does whenever he can.

So…to wrap this fucker up, one of the things the Juice likes most about Christmas is when it’s over!