Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party

Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party

Can confirm. I worked with a postal inspector who busted up an Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party. It was a rural area where mailboxes are all on one side of the road, to make it easier for the mail carrier to deliver. The owner of a “compound” didn’t like that his neighbor’s mailbox was on “his property,” and repeatedly destroyed it. Neighbor complained to the postmaster, who started an investigation, which started as an interview where the guy was really dodgy, which led to increased scrutiny of the guy’s mail, which contained (surprise!) illegal weapons components. His compound was raided by the FBI and ATF, and he and several others went to prison for basically the rest of eternity. They do not fuck around. On a side note, this postal inspector was a 60 year old retired infantryman who honestly had to be the hardest person I’ve ever met. He had lost 2/3 of his pinky on his right hand “in the war” (no war made sense for his age… desert storm, maybe??) and wore a gold ring on the stub. Im certain he was hired because he scared the shit out of whoever interviewed him. The only think I ever saw him drink was black coffee, and it was usually room temperature. He wore 20-year-old army dress shoes every day, the lunatic.

()

Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party,

Best Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party

The Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party jumpier and crankier during the day. On New Years Eve, we were in full-on geriatric party mode, reading by the fire and drinking wine, when it sounded (to me) like a fuckin linebacker crashed into the front door, and (to Sash) like someone slapped a big open palm into it. Sasha jumped and put her hand on her chest, Dash went into a frenzy, snapping and snarling at the door, I leapt to my feet. “What was that!?” Sasha shouted. I was exhausted and pissed. I slammed my feet into my boots and looked out the livingroom window. Creeps and Pete were standing on the porch, fiendishly staring into the door. The other three were obscured in the dark snow-blanketed yard. I threw the door open, and made a grand, ridiculous gesture with my arm, waving it across the porch as I let Dash tear outside, raging into the night, “the dickheads want to play, Dash!” Both ghosts took a quick step back. Pete looked down in angry frustration at Dash’s target-less storm of snapping teeth and snarls, backing up to the porch railing as Dash got closer to him. He looked at me with an icy hatred, then jumped over the railing down into the dark yard. Creeps held his ground. I gestured at Dash as I took a step toward him and raised my eyebrows. He looked down at the dog with disgust and fury, but you could see fear start a melee with the malice on Creeps’ face. Dash sensed Creeps then. He got quiet, pulled his lips back, barring his teeth as he slowly shifted his weight to his back legs, betraying an intent to strike. Creeps leaned down toward Dash and screamed at the dog, face shaking, booming out an ear-splitting exultation of half rage half terror. Dash exploded toward the screaming ghost in a leash-snapping burst, letting out a deep, bearish growl of his own. Creeps launched off the porch and Dash went screaming after him into the yard as all the ghosts scattered. We got Dash back inside and calmed him down, and hoped that’d keep em at bay for the night.

()

One thing I don’t understand about high-waisted pants: Are they really supposed to fit at a Ho Ho Hold My Beer Christmas Ugly Sweater Party? I have a long torso and naturally prefer a higher rise. All my skinnies always have been “high rise”. Which means fitting just under my belly button.