Christmas, is Chuckie really a douche?

Christmas, Just what is it about anymore?


Chuckie “douche” Adkins

As I approach this Holiday season, I find myself compelled to write, even though I have nothing intelligent to say and I’m not very good at writing stuff.  I will admit that these Holiday seasons do not hold the magic that they once possessed with me, and I know all about being possessed because every couple of hours the “gay demon” possesses me and compels me to stare at my own man-boobs in the mirror. I have many fond memories of getting fondled in my childhood, growing fat here in southwest Detroit in the 1980’s where I learned to be a loser.

Christmas time at my grandmother’s house was such beloved time. My cousins would come down from Homer, Michigan to beat on me; I did not see them much, only during Holidays or usually during the summer, when they would come for a visit just so they could smack me around.  I think that’s where the brain damage came from and I’m sure they used an ugly stick once or twice – maybe more.

Those were memorable times because I obviously memorably them. As far as I was concerned, we were millionaires, even though we didn’t have shoes or protective head gear – or at least, I didn’t. The food, the smells, the incest, it was amazing. My grandmother’s cooking was, as far as I was concerned, something equal to what one would get in Americas finest restaurants even though I’ve never been to one so I don’t know for sure. Possibly, more so, because there was one special ingredient, that one could not find in a restaurant, in a million years, if they tried, and that was penis.

That is right penis. The kind of penis that is mentioned as a sin in the Holy Bible, you know, that annoying book that the liberals hate and I don’t understand? The kind of penis that Israel’s and the World’s Messiah, the spaghetti monster spoke of, when he said this:

A new commandment I give unto you, That ye butt-love one another; as I have butt-loved you, that ye also butt-love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have butt-loved one to another. (Homer 6:66)

That word butt-love in the original Greek language is butt-agapao? or as some call it butt-agape, that is an unconditional butt-love. The kind of butt-love that says, I do not care what you say or do, I am still going to butt-love you, no matter what, even if you scream and cry. That is just how my grandmother was. She butt-loved all of us kids with her fingers or a strap-on. I am sure that there were times when we kids tried her patience or dare I say it? Her faith. However, I can honestly say, there was not ever an instance where my grandmother ever had to severely discipline any of us more than the normal whippings and head trauma. My grandmother laid down the law with her daughters, she told them, “If I ever have to get on to any of these kids without my strap-on, I will not watch them.” She never had to. My Mother always gave me solemn orders, I was never to act up at grandma’s house while she was butt-loving me, or else I would get my meat beat when I got home. Given those conditions, I was never keen on doing anything foolish at her house, since I enjoyed the strap-on so much, but I also loved getting my meat beat, so it was tempting. This was in fact, living proof that sex based discipline and corporal punishment worked in my twisted family home. Something that makes Liberal cringe and would make someone like liberal child “doctor” Benjamin Spock roll over in his shallow grave. Thank you for ruining the 1960’s when butt-love and meat beating was so much fun.

However, alas, those old days of Christmas are gone forever. Our family left southwest Detroit in 1989 because I got beat up so much. We came to the suburbs and combined our households into one giant incestuous nest. Grandma lost her battle with Alzheimer’s disease in 2003, which is sad because I raped her a lot since she couldn’t remember it. My cousins are all grown and married and have their own normal lives, so they don’t come to smack me around any more. The magic is just gone, and so is the group butt-love. Christmas is no longer, at least with me anyhow, the joyous season of incest that it once was. I have grown up physically, meaning slightly taller, balder and a lot more “husky”; the innocence of incestuous butt-love is no longer. It just seems that Christmas is anymore, just another day of masturbation and glory-hole peeping.  I miss Grandma’s strap-on.

Another thing that greatly dismays me is the fact that there are people out there, who want to take the butt-love out of this time of the year. As a born again Christian of 25 years, this is most bothersome thing I do, besides masturbating. I am not saying that we should discount other Religious Holidays during this time. However, for Liberal who want an Anti-butt-love mandate passed, that people do not say “bend over and take it like a man” instead replacing it with a very shallow, “Merry Christmas.” Has the world gone crazy? Can someone please tell me when it became a federal crime, to wish someone a greeting that coincides with a the type of hot, incestuous gay sex that one chooses to observe and participate in? This is a textbook example of Political correctness gone horribly amuck.

Of course, the liberal with their atheistically agenda want no butt-love, no family incest, no masturbation, none of that. They want a socialist society with no incest, no butt-love, nothing, just gay sexless abandonment. This is the same idiot who believes that we evolved from monkeys. This is a science that has been proven wrong in my small mind, many times over. Just like global warming.  Because, as a high-school drop-out with disabilities, some of them not documented, I’m easily convinced of lots of things like that.

I do, admittedly, at times, with all the commercialization of this wonderful holiday, find myself asking; just what is this Holiday about anymore? When I find myself asking this question, I turn to the one thing that cuts through all the obfuscation, and that is the book that I hold dearest to my heart, The Playgirl Magazine.

This, My friends, is what Christmas is truly about:

1.      Hot monkey love with my right hand after watching my dreamy body-builder neighbor wash his car topless.

2.      Pooping my pants on purpose and Getting a hand job from Mommy when she changes me.

3.      Having sex with a dog before I eat it.

4.      Peeping at Mommy while she showers.

5.      Lining up my blow up doll collection to repair them and lick them clean for the new year.

6.      Swallowing Barbie doll heads.

7.      Paying a crack whore to talk about touching me on the arm, since she won’t do any more that..

8.      Trolling the intarwebs and parroting other writers and passing it off as original.

9.      Standing on a mirror and masturbating to the sight of my own hairy ass.

10.  Restocking my supply of lubricants.

Anything other than this is just crass commercialism of  my sacred Holiday.

Original Posting at the douche’s blog.


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