National Greatkingfrank's Christmas Vacation. When you picture Christmas, you picture a log cabin, with a great shot of some little kid, preferably in blue pajamas with the little flap on his rear end with little buttons on the top corners, while a strong, middle aged man, presumably his father, lifts him up so he can put the star on the tree, all seen from an orange window from the outside. Then you might imagine mom pulling a pig with an apple in its mouth out the oven. Then the kids go to sleep, dreaming of dancing sugar plums. That's how all family Christmases should go, right? Even my nutcase of a family. Yeah, how about no. Let me explain. It all started on the day before Christmas Eve, or Christmas Eve Eve. We had gotten the tree, and Mom calls everyone down to trim the tree. Every electronic device stops. Years of practice would culminate into this, the most beautiful tree in the history of the human race. Little brother no. 1 is watching History Channel (we don git dem gators!), in a scene of Swamp People involving a very fat man shirtless. We ignore this for awhile, and the tree goes off without a hitch. Except we get a ginger bread man with no arms, a possible fire hazard near the bottom, and the star is bent at the top. Good enough. Except that the picture for the adoring crowds of Facebook my mom claims views her page, contain a fat, shirtless man in the background. So there's the card. Then we go to bed. Christmas Eve is ok, until around midnight. Little brothers (2) and sister are staking out Santa. Brother no. 1 makes small bombs in his free time, like every well rounded child should. A little dust drops down the chimney, so they think it's Santa. Brother no. 1 uses one of Dad's lighters to ignite the bomb, and he throws it into the fireplace. Parents smell fire upstairs, and we rush downstairs. Then a series of events lead to we see a phenomenal Christmas card. Fireplace burning, then we make a sound. No. 2 jumps up, thinking its a reindeer, and he throws a bomb. The tree falls over, and one of my shoes catches on fire. Now I only have a left shoe. Dad gets a fire hydrant spray my shoe, a red and white Reebok. Then the fireplace burns down. Sister is crying, Dad accidentally sprays no. 1 with the hydrant. No. 1 has this epilepsy disorder, petite mild, which is how I'm pretty sure it's spelled. I've never seen it in print. All this sudden motion gives him a seizure. No. 1 is on the floor, not convulsing, because he doesn't have it that bad, no. 2 and dad are pretty much playing Duck Hunt with bombs and a fire extinguisher, and sister is crying. Mom is trying to wake up no. 1, and I am trying to look at my shoe. Finally, no. 2 runs out of bombs, and we all focus on no. 1. I give up. I slink upstairs, and crawl into bed, snuggling my right shoe next to me. Christmas morning, I get a nice few presents, nothing major, brothers get bomb making materials, and sister gets an RC puppy. I get back in bed. I have been trying to steel my nerves to tell the story, and this is the result. Five days, five days is what it took to get myself ready to post this. You better appreciate it.
I can't tell if you're serious or not, but I have a feeling you didn't like how it looked. You had a good point, and I appreciate all feedback, good or bad. So, I tried to make it look better. Don't have Photobucket, so I can't do anything with pictures.