HOLIDAY GREETINGS, DRUNKEN BASTARDS!

Thanksgiving is over, thank God. That’s the shittiest holiday. It shouldn’t even count as one.

It’s just a very long day. No drunken pre-Thanksgiving parties, celebrations, get-togethers… 

Worse, you were probably cooped up in a house surrounded by family, in-laws and friends you don’t even like. Only to suffer through yet another mandatory sobriety day.

Your Mother-in-law still won’t let you forget five years ago, when you fell (passed out) face-first into the cranberry relish. Geesh. Give it up, old lady!

All that’s behind you, because the Holiday Season is upon us! You now have a decision to make:

1. Please everybody else and agree to stay sober for the Holidays. (This will make your family happy, but you’ll be miserable. It’s time your family enjoyed the Holidays!)

OR,

2. Please yourself and decide to get plastered. (This will absolutely fuck up everyone’s holidays, but not yours! To hell with anybody who doesn’t want you to enjoy yourself.)

I learned to opt for number two. Don’t judge me; number two happens to be the logical, least hurtful and more rational of the two decisions. In fact, you have a moral obligation to your family to get drunk, right up front.

Don’t believe me?

WHAT YOU MUST KNOW BEFORE YOU MAKE THIS DECISION: The Drunkard’s Paradox

Drawing from my years of experience, let’s see how the choices play out:

Let’s say you choose option number one, agreeing to stay sober for the holidays. You, Madame or Sir, are a noble person, full of honor and virtue.

You’re also an imbecile.

You’re an alcoholic, or did you forget? You have lost the Power of Choice, where alcohol is concerned.

The day after New Year’s is a long time away. 30+ days of parties, celebrations, and cheers, replete with a bombardment of countless pleas for you to imbibe. Plus, torturous trigger points galore, along with unlimited opportunities to drink covertly.

Oh, and your dry-drunk ass is restless, irritable and discontent the entire time.

Using current data, statistically, the chances of you staying sober are approximately 9, 883 to 1. Against. You knew that going in, didn’t you? But you just had to be the hero of Christmas this year. Santa Claus Junior, in the flesh.

News flash, fat-headed Santa, here’s how that decision is going to bite you right in the ass.

It always starts with one little drink, just to be sociable. Or maybe you snuck in a few nips alone, in the garage. No one will notice… Besides, you’ve been good, you deserve it!

You still don’t understand. You gave The Stranger the green light to activate your alcoholic launch sequence. All systems are go. Your rocket is fueled and loaded, you’re going to the moon.

You’re an alcoholic. Remember now, dumbass?

YOU HAVE LOST THE POWER OF CHOICE

When you informed your family of this noble, self-sacrificing commitment, they all replied, “I’m so proud of you!” They all seemed particularly jolly this season with a little more bounce in their steps. That made you feel good, didn’t it St. Nick?

Sadly, you’ve relapsed and now you’re a disappointment once more. Here’s the bitch of it: you’re in worse shape than if you had started out drinking to your heart’s content!

Welcome to The Drunkard’s Paradox.

With your ego inflating promise shattered, you’ve broken your loved one’s hearts and let everybody down. Your kids are all crying. You’ve humiliated and disappointed them once again,  just when they had their hopes up, too. “Yay! Mommy/Daddy is going to be different this year!”

Nice job, boy wonder!

Now, after a million pathetic attempts, you finally realize that all of your “I’m sorry’s” aren‘t worth a damn anymore. You’re cornered. Broken, you have to fall on your sword, to eke out one scrap of mercy. To have a roof over your head tonight and a family in the morning.

You blurt out, “I didn’t mean to, honey. I couldn’t help myself.”

There! You said the magic words. You confessed, after denying it for years, you’re a full-blown alcoholic.

“I couldn’t help myself.” = “I have no control over my drinking.”

Next up: “Of course I’ll get help, honey.”

YOU’RE GOING AWAY FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Pack your bags, you noble bastard. You’re going to rehab!

No matter how many times you play that Amy Winehouse song, you’re still going. God knows where exactly, but my guess is Minnesota or Maine. You didn’t make the arrangements.

You admitted you needed help. You’re an alcoholic, remember?

A GENEROUS HOLIDAY SERVING OF HELP UP THE ASS

And NO you can’t have a little wine with that!

Bend over and grab your knees partner, help is on its way.

Help deciding what to wear, what to do every minute of every day, and when and what to eat. Help through a 1,000 “small group” meetings (which is – from experience – a bunch of pathetic drama queens who haven’t washed their hair for a month), telling you to get honest with yourself. Take a bath, dirtbag.

Don’t worry about what to pack; you’ll get help there too. You’re given a precise list of what to bring and what items are strictly prohibited. Like nail clippers, in case you decide to kill yourself (the stupidest, least effective way in the world).

Helpful suggestion: Don’t try shoving an emergency beer can up your ass. They look there, too. The complete humiliation and degradation of your soul is necessary to make sure you’ve hit bottom, therefore they must shine a flashlight up your bottom.

Now, your family is feeling better, knowing you’re getting the help you need, and you are dry as a fucking chicken bone. Just counting the days to your upcoming patronizing and degrading “Family Visit and Drunk Orientation” weekend. Enjoying Rehab’s version of, “Holiday Festivities?”

How did that Santa Hero thing working out?

All because your festering, egocentric inferiority complex made you boldly proclaim, “I’m going to quit drinking on my own. I need no help. My power alone is sufficient!”

Don’t blame me, genius. You’re the idiot who made the whimsical, seat-of-your-ass decision in the first place.

For those of you wise enough to have gone straight to decision number two, I congratulate you! You’ve been enjoying your drunkenness all along. And, your rectum didn’t suffer the trauma of a desperate beer can insertion!

Part Two is coming soon so try to keep your pants on. In the meantime, perhaps you need to learn how you can manage your two lovers or find out how screwed you are when meeting the Four Horsemen of Alcoholism.