Christmas is coming

I keep wanting to reply with “Io Saturnalia!” every time someone says Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas to me. Because hey, if we’re going to be celebrating some religious junk, we might as well make it one of the interesting religions.

You realize, though, that this can only mean one thing.


I’ve always thought the idea of a fuzzy red posing pouch with white fur trim to be rather delightful, myself, but alas. I don’t think I’ll be getting that for Christmas. My present to myself will probably be something along the lines of a few days uninterrupted sleep.

In the meantime, though, I’m writing about blowjobs and giggling insanely.


There’s only six shopping weeks

…to Christmas now. Are you panicking?

I’d like to say that I am, but being tight on cash does mean you have fewer decisions to make during the holidays. I’ll probably be spending my time working, anyway, so no shopping for me, no sir.

And yet… I still feel the anticipation. I still feel the magic in the air. Something about the cold, sharp taste of winter makes the world seem brighter, more crystalline and mysterious than the grey watercolors of everyday life. I still look forward to Christmas Eve, and something about the ring of midnight makes me hold my breath, just for a moment, as the clock ticks over.

Maybe it’s because Christmas is one of the oldest stories. And I don’t mean the Bible – the story of renewal in the depths of darkness and despair is far more ancient. I think writers are drawn to the places and times where stories live. It’s our natural habitat or something.

I’m tempted to write Christmas porn now.

What? Don’t look so shocked. I just gotta be me, ya know?