Well, our white Christmas finally showed up around 4 p.m. yesterday.
Better than never, I suppose. But 0.04 inch is hardly for the dashing through in a one-horse open sleigh.
Ours was a modest celebration at El Rancho Pendejo. We broke fast with coffee, toast, oatmeal, and tea, went out for a short trail run, and lunched on leftover pasta with a mildly lively sauce of tomatoes, sausage, rosemary and olives.
Afterward, while I made the tee-hees here at the blog, Herself whipped up a giant cookie using a shortbread pan she scored from Goodwill. Background music was from The Chieftains, The Pogues, Mozart, Robert Earl Keen, Hozier, Tom Waits … you know, the usual holiday suspects.
Dinner was jambalaya with a green salad. Beverages included Guinness 0.0 and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.
Gift-giving was restrained. I have this fine new MacBook Pro, and Herself has the green light for a getaway with a friend.
Gotta save our pennies for those tariffs, $50 cartons of eggs, and $20-per-gallon gas. Also, moreover, furthermore, and too, bribes for the guards at the camp. A fella can’t eat rat tartare three meals a day, y’know.
Mad Blog Media 
And I suspect the camps will not have mock rat tartare, made with tofu.
Fear the cholla.
O, them chollas is the worstest. I tuck in my elbows when I run through the forest of ’em just a minute or so north of that one.
Fear the Paypal, who ain’t your pal, mafia who done took over the fed exec.
Camps will start for the undocumented and, if the assholes are left unchecked, will expand to include all “enemies of the state.” If they fail to retain power, they will become tele-evangelists. Once a parasite…