Santa Baby

Gavin liked everything about Santa. His proportions, his smile, the fact that he clearly loved kids—everything about Santa seemed perfect. Even the fact that after sitting on Santa’s lap, Gavin found his pants unzipped and didn’t notice until he’d posed for this picture with his new favorite hero could not dissuade Gavin’s ardor. “I’m gonna be just like that when I grow up!” he thought, excitedly.
















And he wasn’t far off at all! Here’s Gavin late last night. If he can make it through today and tomorrow, he gets a bonus and one of the elves, but he’d better make it to the mall pretty soon.

Got Milk?

Dev always went to the store with Dad, but wouldn’t let Dad stand in line beside him. It was bad enough listening to the totally uncool stream of racist bullshit that Dad was always spouting. Dev tried to stare at the elaborate linoleum floor pattern at the A&P and pretend he had a free-thinking, open-minded parent who fit in with the times. What had Mom ever seen in this oily gas bag?




















But after Mom died, everything changed. Dad started using rogaine, wearing wifebeaters, and then there was the Hitler moustache. You’d think he would have been more embarrassing than ever, but by this time not only had Dev gotten used to it, he’d halfway started believing Dad’s spewings, and even sharing his wifebeaters. Dev…you oughta be ashamed of yourself. Hope you become as intolerant of lactose as you are of everything else. And lose the mullet!

Gimme an F

Felicia was the most popular cheerleader in the tri-county area. Policemen, cowboys and Indians were lining up to watch her perform her sassy moves. One year at Homecoming she didn’t wear panties, and was gossiped out of town soon after...but you should have heard the crowd roar that night.

Time's done nothing to diminish Felicia’s fiery fierceness. She’s still cheering for her favorite team, has her own fan club, and is still giving the crowd a free show at least once a year, despite the fact that they boo and beg her to stop.

Marshall Artz

Marshall was never a popular boy, but he had enthusiasm and did an honest job, always giving his all. When he got his first gun at boot camp he was absolutely beside himself with giddy joy. He felt empowered, went out and kicked some ass, and the transformation from nervous boy to confident man was instantaneous. He fought bravely until a bullet completely penetrated his gluteus maximus and he was sent home in a wheelchair, lucky to be alive.

But Marshall also came home with an undiagnosed case of PTSD. His short fuse, intensely pungent body odor, and habit of yelling, “Git the hell off my property!” even when he was at the grocery store earned him few friends. Now he lives alone with his sore ass, fiercely defending himself against a world he's sure is out to get him.

The Thrill Is Gone

Back in the day, Darlene was always excited at every gift-giving occasion. She hadn’t even wanted Pong, and look at, and admire, the degree of false enthusiasm she managed to muster.














These days Darlene’s not easily excited, even when she’s receiving a gift such as this one, which she’s actually really stoked to have. It’s sad when the innocence wears off, isn’t it?

Manbashing

Celeste will never forget that perfect summer when all the good things in her life coincided. Rocco was making decent money, and most of the time he wore long sleeves to hide his bruises. Better yet, his mother, Amadora, who was visiting from the old country, broke her leg and had to stay out of the kitchen. And her little bambino, Giuseppe, was at the perfect age to find it vaguely amusing when Celeste “pretended” to give Rocco a little kick in the pants.




















Now widowed and abandoned by her son, Celeste spends most of her time imagining the day when she finally meets up with Rocco again in heaven. Mamma mia!, she is gonna give him such a whacking for leaving her alone all these years.