I always hated Christmas time around my house.          I don't know why.          Maybe it is because every year the day after Thanksgiving my father and I, bellies aching from too many Thanksgiving treats, would wake up early in the morning and pile into the family truck and drive and drive for miles and miles until we came upon the spot where we could find that perfect Christmas tree.          There the tall evergreens would stand, pretty in a row, begging my father and I, bellies aching from too many Thanksgiving treats, who had just driven and driven for miles and miles, to select only them to stand so tall and proud in our living room basking in the Christmas spirit.          I would say with vigour and smiles abound, scanning over every tree of the lot, "Hey father there's the one--standing pretty in that row," knowing on sight that this tree was begging to be the only one selected to stand so tall and proud in our living room basking in the Christmas spirit.          My father stood tall, and would gaze upon me so proud. To my wild and excited eyes, he would reply with vigour and smiles abound:

         "My son, once again a perfect Cristmas find,
in th'image of God a tree made so divine.
Where once stood a soldier we'll take quite a hack,
bring down years of glory in one cold, fatal whack.
And rupturing skulls, blood stains Santa's cloak red
With poor headless reindeer now lain in your bed.
Like Satan's young misfits, the children asleep
I give you all blessings of death and defeat,
and pray on my gravestone you never shall live
a life drenched in pain and monotonous sin--
like your father, your mother and the ****ing
housewrecker your ****ing slutty, ***** mother
sleeps with while I am away overseas. Santa,
kill me now you insufferable ****ard
before I take my life myself with this ax."

I always hated Christmas time around my house.          I don't know why.

---

Michael Aaron Pomranz blames his severe drug abuse, criminal insanity, and homicidal tendencies on his childhood, although he has trouble putting his finger on any specific events that might have caused his maladjustment. To the best of his knowledge, most of the trauma stemmed from his favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Pookums, who was a vampire teddy bear that would viciously suck Michael's blood from time to time.

One More Chance

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