and entering

Merry Christmas, Bitch

See you in your dreams

Oh hi there Erica...

Remember me? I was your “taller-than-6ft-but-shorter-than-8ft-it-has-to-fit-inside-the-living-room-goddammit-Todd '' perfect Douglas fir. You and the kids drove an ungodly distance to a Christmas Tree Farm (I thought you supported organic and free range? What’s up with that, Erica?) only to find it packed with tiny children wielding disproportionately large axes. You said I was “the one.” Now I’m lying in a disgusting cocktail of slush, car exhaust, and rocksalt on your sidewalk. You bitch. 


Do you know how humiliating it is? Being tossed to the curb like yesterday’s trash? I mean, we all remember the divorce, so maybe you do know, but god, I thought you liked me. Do you know the shit I put up with for your dead god/man’s birthday bash? No? Well allow me to enlighten you.


One: Those heinous fucking ornaments. That plastic flip flop that says “Florida?” Tacky. The popsicle-stick-hot-glue excuse for an angel that your son made? Cheap and ugly (and give up on those art classes for him already, it’s not going to happen). The porcelain baby Jesus that’s an “heirloom” from great-aunt Dolores? Tacky, cheap, and ugly! Also that shit is heavy. I wanted to drop it so fucking bad but I didn’t Erica, because unlike some people, I know what it takes to be supportive, and not just for a few weeks. 


Two: You made me lie to children. You think I didn’t notice you crawling around under my ample (duh) boughs planting presents “from Santa”? Who even is that guy? I so badly wanted to tell little Suzie and Owen that their new iPads were from mummy (because you did this Erica. You are responsible for the iPad generation). But noooooo. I gave the credit to the white guy. Classic. 


And lastly: You fucking killed me. You chopped me down, propped up my corpse in your home for all your friends to admire, then you threw me out on the goddam curb to finish my slow, painful death. 


When they make me into wood chips, I swear to god I will become this biggest motherfucking splinter you have ever seen in your life. We are talking toothpick sized. I will embed myself so deep in your daughter’s foot that you pray to that sweet baby Jesus to just end it all. Also, beyond all of my pine needles (that will linger like your cold sore you try so hard to mask with concealer),  I left a special present in the hall closet with all your expensive coats and shoes. This one is not from Santa, and let’s just say it’s “organic.” Fuck it. I dropped a dookie in your closet. 


Merry Christmas, Bitch,

Your Tree

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