Fuck you Santa!
There I was, dreaming of sugar plum fairies and shit, when I hear sleigh bells outside my domicile. Nay, good friends and fellow dung beetle collectors, it is not sleigh bells, but a rather large set of brass anal beads being slowly and seductively rapped against the screen door of my country cottage. Quickly! I hide in my bed and feign sleep as to surprise my suitor and catch him unawares and soon it will be HE who will enjoy the penetration to which no man heretofore can attest!
Now, this sludgy, fifth-dimensional morning after, my last and only thoughts are off the serpentine hiss accompanying a thin mist creeping through the keyhole of my most ancient and irrelevant sole portal. As my memory struggles for purchase, it is now upon me. A sea of burgundy… the smell of last year’s St. Patrick’s Day… the sound of children at play. My very last vision before my unwilling repose: the toothless smile, mouth moving, asking for forgiveness. Then… darkness and pain. Merry Christmas from fucking Burien, WA !
I have a new roof put on my house last year. Santa passed me up last year because believe you me, I was quite the naughty boy. But this year, I have been gracious, kind, forgiving, only a wee bit of an asshole (with great apologies to all concerned), and for the most part incalculable. So, he comes down with his usual drunken crash landing and tears up a part of my not so fucking cheap composite torch-down… AND one of the reindeer puts his cloven foot through my double-paned, argon-infused low-E skylight. Next thing I know… through the NEW hole comes a poorly wrapped box of expired Trojans. I hear a mumbled apology, a dry heave or two and off he goes. Doesn’t leave a number or anything.
So my question is this: does this void my warranty on the roof?