Drunken Pumpkin

“But she told me she was sixteen, officer!”

Sorry it took so long to get it up here.

Handle every stressful situation like a dog. If you can’t eat it or hump it.
Piss on it and walk away.

Submitted by Cathy

Thanksgiving approaches with all of it’s dread. What would be an interesting Sociological survey would be to look at suicide rates around holidays in the U.S. versus those in, say, Australia. Not that I think the Australians are better than us, far from it. You can’t trust people that hunt with sticks, no sir. But Christmas is in December. December is middle of winter here and middle of summer there. A definite correlation exists between amount of daylight one receives and depression. Plus, Australians spend most of their off time drunk, so family shouldn’t be as much of a burden.

Have you noticed that most people don’t really like their families? At least, they don’t like them all at once. For the most part I like all of my family members. Some piss me off, but hey, that’s life. But when we’re all together I just want to stab most of them in the eye. A couple of times.

Maybe it has something to do with the forced nature of holidays. Normally when I go visit my family it’s on purpose, and by my choosing. Holidays, not so much. Someone else decided that I get time off work, and I should spend it with people that share my genetics. What if I want to use that time to paint my house or learn to play banjo? No, that makes me a bastard. Thus begins the familial tension, and I haven’t even put on my shoes, yet.

Then there is the return to one’s ancestral home. Or, rather, where your parents live now, since they moved into a smaller place as soon as all of the little demons were out of their hair. A byproduct of this move is that there is no longer anywhere for a large quantity of people to sit, let alone be separated from the herd. Ahh, togetherness.

So, now you’re hot, crowded, doing something against your will, and you already have a little seasonal depression going on. What’s not to love about that scenario? Add screaming kids and stir.

To be honest I’m surprised the homicide rate doesn’t go up instead.

Tune in next time when Scratch attacks another segment of society and we all laugh at their misfortune.

I don’t mean to make a gross generalizations (yes I do), but stereotypes exist because there is truth in them. I am willing to say with 90% certainty that any deer urine dealer would look like this.

While I disagree with Scratch about Anime, he does bring up something interesting with the deer pee photo. Just where do you get deer urine?

Okay, I know the obvious answer to that one, it’s even in the pic where deer urine comes from, but how does one collect it? Do you just ask?

Just think about this for a minute, you’re out in the woods stalking deer. There up ahead is a young doe. Your approach is stealthy and calm moving silently from tree to tree. You’re so close now you can smell her sweat.
*ahem* “Would you mind peeing in this cup for me?”

She pees on your leg and runs like hell across the neighboring corn field.

Ahh well, another day of wringing your pants over a funnel.

Maybe they keep special incontinent deer in cages for just such a product. Man that job would be interesting. Kind of like milking a cow, but different. Going out to the barn on a crisp fall morning, attaching the bucket, and then scaring a deer.

Of course, I also kind of wonder what deer urine goes for on the open market. Is it a hot commodity? I’m almost tempted to go talk to the guy about expenses versus income in the deer pee trade. Is there hot deer pee? (pun totally intended). How about deer pee turf wars? I mean, we can already assume these people are armed. At least, I hope this is a deer hunting thing. Otherwise, we are talking about some rather serious fetishists.

On that note I’ll call it a day. Tune in tomorrow for more holiday fun. Or something like it.

John Calvin and Thomas Hobbes by *spacecoyote on deviantART