Season's Greetings....

My dog actually took that picture as I was passed out in Christmas delight. As can be seen, a party took place with me, Dio, some silver and blue bows, and a bottle of cheap whiskey. The Dio album was for you, but not anymore; not after those smartass remarks you made. The night started out with normalcy, but soon the Chipmunks Christmas album played on high speed over and over again led me to the bottle. It couldn't simply be shut down, as you suggest, as someone was pumping the tune through each and every opening leading into my tiny bounded apartment. I have enemies. At some point I started to wrap up various items around the house for Christmas presents to be given at a later date (yes, it's my own Dio album... that little man can belt out a powerful scream "...I see a rainbow in the da-a-ark (synth solo)"). I wrapped up some mashed potatoes from Thanksgiving, some AV cables, and two D-cell batteries, and then some records. I proceeded with my Christmas giving idea right up to the point of falling over some decorative rocks I was planning on giving you (in addition to the record). Again, you will receive none of it. My head took a decent crushing, and I was stamped out momentarily in Christmas delight. Now that's putting the Christ back in Christmas. Thank god my dog had the presence of mind to set up a good documenting shot. She will also be deprived of any gifts due to the smug look on her face and her "what the fuck is going on here" attitude seen in the photo. I mean, what, she couldn't just draw a penis on my face or shave my eyebrows? Now I will pet her velvety head and tell her how good she could be.

Ahhh, nothing like a good Christmas story. Actually, that bottle, which you can clearly see is nearly empty, was consumed solely by a good anonymous friend of mine as a "Halloween prank" played on his own liver. It's been in my freezer ever since. His liver always says stop, but his spirit cries never! Just like Survivor said. And that will conclude my song references for this essay.

I was recently asked by one of my students via email, "where do I get all of those random shirts?" I wonder what else they say of my styles. Probably that they are revolutionary. I'm not telling where I get my shirts, so don't even ask. They also ask me what my kids' names are and what my address is. I tell them Bernie, Benson, and Liniro (that's Greek) and then I give them Jake S.'s address. Mayhem will be served to the unsuspecting. He usually acts like a sophomore in high school anyway. Sometimes he still asks, "What do I need on the final to get a C?" I refer him to my shirt that says, "You might as well quit now asshole, because asking questions like that naturally makes you a failure." Also, in a related note, I had the "I'm foreign" card played on me again. More on that by request.

Now, as promised, here's your assigned mission, with hopes of eventually achieving our final objective:

To solve the time system, you will obliterate one technology organization. Humble me with insulting phrases.

Good day.