Santa's Little Helper

Martha here. Holiday greetings, pa rum pa pum pum.  Quick note to say that Aunti M is back home now. The Mall cops, after a bit of persuading, and a little softened up with Christmas cheer, agreed to release her to our custody, without charges.  But I’ll let Aunti M tell the story, even though she is still mad.

I am dadgummit, I am mad but you would be too.  Who knew Santa didn’t have a sense of humor.  And it was all in fun, honestly, but what is the world coming to if a girl can’t get her jollies at Christmas?

It all started Christmas Eve.  Toddies for breakfast, Fa La La La La, and there was a little extra so I put it in my flask.  It seemed the perfect day to go sit in Santa’s Lap for awhile, and to dress for the occasion.  It had been a long time since Aunti M had had on a garter belt and it took her awhile to find the candy cane stockings, the ones that go with the red elf miniskirt and the little fur top, but a few little nips later, and your Aunti M was a thing to behold.  It took a little while to get the TaTas and the black patent leather belt to coexist peacefully, but finally, twas done.

Martha took one look at me and said, “Oh no you don’t” and it was then I realized I was going to have to take this thing into my own hands.  Since she wouldn’t drive me (sometimes she is such a drag), I called Clarence, my friend who makes special deliveries for  "Likkers", his uncles's liquor store and doggy day care franchise.  Seeing as how it was Christmas Eve, and about all his customers were captive one way or the other, he came right on over.

“To the Mall!” I said and away we flew.   We got there at about the tail end of the Santa display.  There were only a few children left in line and Santa was looking a little ragged. The elves were checking their watches and leaving for long smoke breaks.  According to one of them Santa had already been peed on twice, but a quick mopping up had left only a slight dampness and the faintest aroma.  Finally, finally, it was my turn.

“Oh Holy Night” said Santa when he saw me, well it might have been something else, but that’s what I heard. “Santa Baby” I said, crawling right on up onto those massive thighs, just as he was trying to get up to welcome me.  Wiggled myself on down in there, and pulled out the flask.  “Little nip?” I asked him.  “Well, why not”, Santa said,” it’s been a long day.”

They were already starting to take down the candy cane fence and pull up the cotton batting with the spray snow, so Santa and I just sat for a minute, resigned to it all, and enjoying the moment, me wiggling into his lap, he with the flask. His eyes - how they twinkled!  His dimples - how merry! His nose, his nose!  More and more like a cherry!

I was just refilling the flask for the third time from the bottle in my toysack when the Mall Cop lumbered by.  He did a double-take - those stockings on these legs the with the garters slightly showing have always been an eye-catcher - “Wait a minute. . .” and over he came. . .”well here’s a ho ho ho,” he said.

Well, that’s when things kind of got out of control.  I won’t go into detail because you don’t need to know everything but Clarence had been called in for an emergency delivery to Morton’s Rest Home and Tanning Salon (Motto: turn em and tan em), so that left me without a ride.  Santa sure wasn’t in any condition to drive.  Well, truth be told, I wasn’t either, so that’s where Martha had to get re-involved.

Well anyway.  It is Christmas, the season forgiving, so I’m sure everybody has taken a lighter view of all this by now.  Come on over anytime.  We have plenty of fruitcake.  My elf outfit just about doesn’t smell of urine anymore, its been washed three times, and we are all looking forward to New Year’s.

Aunti M's List. . .

Hey everybody, Martha here.  Aunti M has shown up again after several months of travel elsewhere.  She isn't in a very good mood but she insisted on posting anyway.  My apologies in advance. . .


Oh, for Pete's sake. Like she said, I'm back to her house and I have something to say.  Lordy, it has been awhile.  But then I'm not a believer in opening your trap just because you have one, and I've been busy.  First there was that Harley convention at the VFW.  Modeling the Latest in Leather for the Senior Fashion Show was a real hoot although honey at my age, I don't recommend the thong.  Although I thought it looked great with the thigh-high cowboy boots, at this age there is enough Southern drift that the thong kinda disappeared under the folds and it caused rather a stir. Well, some of those old coots needed a little excitement so I don't mind. It's the least a girl can do to provide a little entertainment from time to time.

From there I went to Alaska where it is too cold for thongs for sure.  And although I liked it well enough and would go back if begged, I do have a bone to pick.  I am sick and tired of hearing about the damn Bucket List. In the months working up to the trip, as people would ask and I would tell them I was going to Alaska, over and over they would tell me it was on their goldarned Bucket List. Bleah, bleah, bleah.  I got so tired of it, I decided to make my own list just to break up the monotony.

So here it is, the Fuckit List and right on top A Number One:

1.  The Bucket List.  Anybody's.  This includes yours. Being where you are right now, doing what you are doing right now, is a helluva lot more important to pay attention to.  Manchu Picchu just sounds more romantic than the checkout line at Wal-Mart. Pay attention anyway.

Number 2.  Most Churches. For Pete's sake wake up and smell the bullshit.  If somebody up front is telling you you need to go inside their building and believe in only what they've got to say, wake the hell up.  This is just shorthand for "you got it, they don't" which only causes separation anxiety which leads to war.  And watch out, there's an offering plate coming your way so you can fully express your gratitude to the Church for helping you realize how right you are and how fortunate not to be those other people who don't get it. Go to the woods, any woods - and this is important:  without any electronic device.  Sit still. Stay with the restlessness long enough to begin to hear. God speaks on your channel too.  You just have to tune in.

3.  People walking around talking out loud into the air.  I swear I want to slap these people. And you if you are one of them.  How did their business get so important it needed to be broadcast. I didn't tune into that channel.  Air pollution.

4.  Big corporations pretending to be your friend.  Where the hell does the Giant-Ass power company get off asking me to contribute to them so supposedly they can give poor people a break on their over-inflated electric bill when the whole company is geared toward generating extra money for people who already have extra money to gamble in the stock market?   Supposedly, this ruse is so I'll feel all warm and fuzzy toward this company trying to help the poor - with my money not theirs that with the sanction of the government, they extracted from me and all the others like me in the first place?

5.  Monsanto.  What planet are these people on?  One without children and grandchildren evidently.  The Kool-Aid must be mighty strong.  Maybe it has Roundup in it, that kills off any logical thinking. We already have proof it causes brain damage in children.  Maybe this is another side effect.

6.  Having anybody else tell you what is or isn't good for you.  Especially corporations.  Except Aunti M.  You know what is good for you and what isn't, way down deep, and if you don't, test it, but just a little bit for crying out loud.  Burying the gas pedal on something you are trying for the first time is for idiots, whether that's tattoos or magnesium for constipation.  Start Little. Start Slow. Trust your own instincts, unless Aunti M tells you different.

7.  Constipation.

8. People I love who are in pain and I can't help, even by doing what I do best which is being a distraction.

9.  People I don't love who are in pain and I can't or won't help because they've pissed me off so bad.  But I'm tryin'.

10. Whatever it is, whomever it is that makes children afraid.

11. Flat stomachs.  Where did this come from.  You are born with round, not flat get a grip.  The only people with flat stomachs are either twelve-year-old boys or people who spend so much time at the gym they don't have a life.  You can't laugh very deeply with everything all tight down there.

Well, that's enough for now, and here come's Martha with my toddy. It is about time.  Well, if you have something to say about all this, come on over, there's two rockers on the porch.  I don't need to talk to Martha, she's here all the time, so I would (sort of) welcome the company. Just don't stay too long. . .