Not Unless You Pry My Gun From My Cold, Dead Clam

You shivering weasels should know that Das Coot has not been a lazy blogger, but that you have all been over-anxious mongeese with cobra venom blinding your eyes. Yes, you heard me. Just like Bill O'Reilly, I have declared war on those who have declared war on those who have declared war upon Christmas. Recursive? No more than one of Roger's lesbian double-header videos, or a hitchhiker-inside-a-hitchhiker-inside-a-hitchhiker (Türdfücken).

My mother, Mrs. Refried Bean, and my Stepfather, Mr. Monsterdick, will be celebrating the pagan holiday of Poodsmas in just a few hours, lubricating themselves and me in a mixture of pig-grease, Mezcal, and the new Chipotle K-Y Jelly. Smokey! I'm inviting the Hatmaker over to play the role of the Wicker Man, and Roger is going to play Dustin Hoffman in 'Straw Dogs'. Skippy shall perform as Christopher Robin and Zornig shall be Tigger. And Das Pood shall be the Poop-Bear.

Jeff will make a special guest appearance as "the Gimp".