Just like I did when I was five years old, waking with a hypothermic shiver in motherfucking Alberta, I have woke well before dawn on Christmas morning. I let the Hammer out into the yard to sniff for reindeer, turned on all the Christmas lights, made some coffee, let the Hammer back in and sat down with you to chat and listen to WDVX-FM. The Hammer is now back in her bed dreaming of snow, seals and Christmas turkey bits in her food bowl.
Sonja thinks I am quite mad to be up at this hour; the sober hours of Christmas.
Used to be I would sit myself down by the Christmas tree with my big bag of spicy Christmas dope, roll up one that always tasted so good with my coffee and then roll up a few numbers for the road. The Hockey family always get together for breakfast and one of my sisters always cooks up a buffet to fill us up before we open our gifts. Now that I am dopeless I will only be able to eat one plate of the good food, not the two or three a man of appetite can manage.
I feel so good this morning I do not miss getting all doped up anyway. A Christmas Eve party that ruined my Christmas Day many years ago taught me to keep my leadfoot off the drinking accelerator on Christmas Eve. I had a few whiskies and a couple organic ales. Sonja sipped a South African merlot. We watched a black and white movie as the Hammer warmed and dried herself from a walk in the heavy rain in front of the fire.
I asked Sonja, "Do you remember our first Christmas?"
She looked up into her head for the answer. "Wasn't that the year you almost fell off the balcony of our apartment when you were heaving?"
Never underestimate the power of your partner to recall the time you almost fell off a balcony.
"They should have seatbelts on balconies."
"Maybe you should wear a parachute on Christmas Day."
There is much to look forward to today and next year as the last days of 2006 dribble out of the bottle. I wish I had some profound Christmas wisdom to share with you, perhaps I will come across some today. Since I am wisdomless this morning, how about a few words from the Jesus of the 20th Century, Hunter S. Thompson?
The gift that every high school girl in America will be demanding this year is a top-of-the-line Boob Job, and millions will get their wish. It is no longer considered lewd or sleazy to give your 12-year-old daughter a hot looking set of torpedo tits for Christmas.