Frozen corpse in the basement notwithstanding

Merry Non-Denominational Statutory Holiday.

That's all you're getting from me, at least until the coffee kicks in.

Harry (the private dick I had hired to dig into my sister, albeit only metaphorically since I was unable to also afford the commission of third-party male prostitution as a holiday gift) called in with the required pantry report yesterday afternoon, easing my fears and keeping me from cancelling my appearance at her turkey dinner. Oh sure, the dead body in the freezer created a moment of indecision, but it was only Uncle Vic, after all, and the dinner included free booze.

Now that I'm safely returned and relatively sober, I can say this of my sister's family:

1. You can buy 97 of gasoline to make it home, and no one will look at you oddly.

2. I'm sure I saw an altar to Chatchke the knick knack goddess in the hallway closet.

3. I have 2 teenage nieces. They are tall. Each one of their legs reaches my armpits.

4. Said tallness means we must speak seated at all times, otherwise I will end up chatting with my nieces' utera.

5. Said tallness also means that if we crash a small plane together in the Arctic woods, I can successfully gnaw off one of their legs and use it not only as a snack, but a crutch as well.

6. Said teenage nieces enjoy eating brussel sprouts. This is wrong in so many ways.

7. It is not legal to nail the head of a 5-year-old boy to a coffee table. During all visits, it will be necessary to repeat the above-noted mantra until one's departure from the home, rapid aging of the nephew, or the distribution of benzodiazapine.

8. Holy shit are they tall.

The only memory I have of my nieces is from a decade ago, and it's not particularly reliable. After all, it comes from a time when I still had 60 staples and a squishy asymmetrical hump on the top of my head. I've now rebooted my right hemisphere, reformatted, and loaded Familial Recognition Software version 2.0.

Oh, and before I go, I almost forgot --

9. I've had final confirmation and may now cease conducting an ongoing scientific investigation: all children under the age of 8 are genetically programmed to remove as much clothing as possible during holiday dinners and run around yodelling in their Spider Man underpants for the rest of the evening.

10. Having family is bizarre, not only because of mutated tallness and Spider Man yodelling -- but because they know more about me than I do.

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Last 5 entries:
01.14.2007:Finally, a support group we can all get behind
01.09.2007:The City That Ever Reeks
01.08.2007:Waiter, there's a uterus in my soup
01.03.2007:Long Lost Mummy of Nefertiti Found in Smoog's Apartment
12.30.2006:New Year's resolutions we can actually keep

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