Christ it's Christmas.

It's Christmas Eve here in Omaha, Nebraska. As it seems however, not only will this be a white Christmas, but it will be an absolutely white world. We are supposed to be getting 12+ inches of snow, and reportably historic numbers of snowfall. Now, this causes many inconveniences: people flying to be with their family will have trouble, roads will be awful, and people get stuck and eventually go stir crazy. Me and Mikey Bonestown have come up with an easy solution however.

Big helicoptors will come and cover the entirity of the storms location in clear tarp. These tarps must be tied tight to large posts so as to prevent sagging. Once the snow is done a' comin' the helicoptors come back and pick up the tarp full of snow and dump it in the ocean. This in turn will help put water back in our depleting oceans. I know what you are thinking, "Mcbones, there is one problem, how will the sun get through?" Well I'll tell you, the tarp is heated and immedietly turns the snow to water, allowing the passage of the sun.

It's just another perfect idea from the Bones Team.

I missed Thanksgiving, and got drunk instead.

It's true. I didn't follow any of my rules. I ate a moose, I forgot Ol' Ambrose, and I certainly did not use any straws. I'm a joke. Instead of buttering up my bones, I simply soaked them in hard alcohol, namely whiskey. I got so drunk I forgot to post for readers, and I feel awful. So for your reading pleasure I would like to write to you about this night of malarkey and bad choices.


First.
We sat anxiously around the table, believing the night was to be just post turkey depression and the feeling of anticipation that seemed to loom but we were never quite able to grasp, until the whisky greased our slimy fingers, allowing the fun to slide easily into our lives.

Second.
"We have whiskey and fun times" We slowly began to feel the affects as the alcohol drowned our brains. Fellow Bones Schmones writer, who would normally shy away from de-masculizing himself, enthusiactically obliged to having make-up put on his face.

Third.
Pardyin' continues. The weight of the good times found themselves falling through our coffee table. And the wooden peices of the broken table are the only visible remnant that exists from the balderdash night.

Fourth.
We over-obeyed one rule, and one rule only. Down, down, down, was played over 14 times.

Fifth.
This Christmas I hope to find myself in a similar state.

Jizz' the season!