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I don’t send Christmas Cards.

It’s a big source of guilt for me – I mean, I HAVE the cards (I’ve thoughtfully purchased them at 75% off throughout the years) in a big stash in the basement. I have stamps, which means I’m not just being post-office-phobic. I wonder if there’s a term for that. I mean, I’m TERRIFIED of the post office. I’ll explain sometime.

Anyway.

Since I don’t give Christmas Cards and, frankly, you Pranksters are the only people I’d send cards to, anyway, I’ll just give them to you now.

Enjoy!

This is actually what I’d send on my Christmas cards.

So pretend that’s what I sent you and you opened it today. Fair? Okay.

Merry Christmas, Pranksters. You’re mah family and I love you all.

————–

Also: could you visit this and comment if you haz time?

In an effort to outdo my tooth surgery, The Daver’s appendix decided that it was tired of living inside his body, on a constant stream of Doritos and Funyuns.

It rebelled.

So I’m sitting in the hospital, mullet-watching and hoping to score some morphine.

I brought my nursing badges and am planning to go scrub in and assist in some surgical cases.

You guys’ll bail me out, right?

(for the record, I can think of at least two of these that fit me. Prolly more. So don’t be TOO offended, Pranksters)

Your last name is Winlkevoss.

You write a blog called “Mommy Wants Vodka.”

You actually LIKE the taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

You believe that your i(can’t fucking)Phone screen says something about you:

You still own a beeper.

“Hey, watch this” makes up 75% of your vocabulary.

You actually think energy drinks are good for “energy.”

You UN-ironically call yourself a “hipster.”

You wear your collar popped up.

You back in to parking spaces.

You require at least two spaces to park your car.

You bought Snooki’s book.

You use more product than your wife.

If you claim you can tell the difference between Hardee’s burgers and Carl Jr’s.

You say, “Happy Friday.”

You wear Ed Hardy – non-ironically.

You still use the phrase “Girrrrrlllllllllll” or “Wasssssupppp!”

You leave an open book of poetry on the coffee table all the time, just in case someone drops by, even though you haven’t looked in it since 2004.

You have a liberal arts degree, work in a coffee shop and hate all of your customers for constantly ordering in Starbucks terminology.

You like the band Nickelback.

You drive any car that you’ve put more money into upgrading than you did into buying it.

You have any apparel on that gives out the name of a restaurant, band, comedy troupe, radio station or manufacturer (besides FCUK, because that stuff is awesome).

You every dated someone from Craigslist.

You are a guy and you like to drink Appletini’s. (sorry, iHubby)

You’ve ever used the phrase “kernel panic” in conversation.

You’ve ever been to a Miley Cyrus ANYTHING.

You own anything that says Kardashian on it.

You’ve ever been to tryouts for American Idol and NOT gotten on camera.

You’ve ever been to tryouts for American Idol and GOTTEN on camera.

You’ve ever been to tryouts for The X Factor, at all.

You subscribe to “Walking” magazine.

Your Facebook wall is littered with semi-meaningless quotes, random snippets of unattributed conversation and song lyrics that make you seem “deep”. Don’t worry, Friday’s post about “CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU GUYS DOWN AT THE CLUB TONIGHT!!!1! WOO!!” removed THAT illusion for us.

You’re unemployed, but refer to yourself as “looking for the next step.”

You try to take photos or movies with an iPad or Galaxy tab.

You still use the terms “Winning” or “Tiger Blood.”

Then again….maybe not.

—————–

Tell me, Pranksters, what other douchebaggy traits can you think of? I’ll add ‘em to the Master List.

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