Page 149 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Okay... if you were a misfit toy inRudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which toy would you be?”
“A water pistol that squirts jelly,” we say together, making us laugh.
“Because squirting jelly is way more fun than water,” she says.
“Fuck yeah. Honestly, Pistol has it easy. Charlie-in-the-Box, on the other hand, what a major disappointment.” I stab my finger into the table playfully. “I don’t know one single child whowould play with a Charlie-in-the-Box. It’s either Jack or get it away from my face.”
“Whoever thought of a Charlie-in-the-Box is deranged. An absolute menace to society.”
“Lock them up,” I say.
“Throw away the key,” she adds, making me like her that much more.
And it must be obvious, because I have a smile stretching from ear to ear as I look back at her.
“Okay, here’s a question for you.” She wets her lips. “If eggnog was the liquid, what would you dip in it? On the count of three. One... two... three.”
“A dick,” we say at the same time, only to bust out in laughter so loud that the entire bar turns to look at us.
But we don’t care.
We continue to laugh until we both have tears in our eyes.
After a few seconds, I take a deep breath and say, “You don’t even have a dick.”
“True, but I’d find one and dip it,” she answers. “I’d dip it until it was fully coated.”
I wipe at my eyes. “Fuck, you were made for me. Any other normal person would say a cookie or a cinnamon stick or something food related, but no, not you. You’re dipping a dick.”
“Or a dong, some might say. A new Christmas tradition, dipping the dong.”
I snort. “It’s not really Christmas until Granddad dips his dong in the eggnog.”
She winces. “Did we have to get Granddad involved?”
“He’s people too.”
“True,” she says with a nod. “Just because they’re old doesn’t mean that they’re dead.”
“That’s right. Granddad deserves the dip.”
“And Grandma deserves to dip too.”
I raise a brow. “Are you talking... maybe a nip dip?”
Her eyes light up. “Oh my God, what if... the key to Christmas magic is a dong dip and a nip dip in eggnog, only for the tip of the nip and the tip of the dong to connect, coated in eggnog, and that’s what sparks a Christmas miracle.”
I sit back and start to slowly clap. “Holy shit, Betty. I think we just cracked the code.” I lean forward again and whisper, “We know the secret to Christmas.”
She smirks. “I dare you to ask Bob Krampus.”
“Ha!” I guffaw loud enough for the sound to echo through the bar. “If I asked Bob Krampus if he and Sylvia dip their nip and tip in eggnog to form Christmas magic, you can bet your cute fucking ass that I’d be exiled from town, never to be seen again.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Bob Krampus doesn’t take kindly to tomfoolery when it comes to his?—”
“What doesn’t my father like?” A large figure presents himself at the end of our table.
