When life hands you shit, make shitrus.

So, around this time every year for the past 12 years my employer has bestowed upon me lavish gifts of gold, frankencense and myrrh.  And every year, I've pawned that shit for badass Christmas presents and shoes and handbags and panties and booze.  I was even able to squirrel some of it away for a rainy day in June when all the junk I bought in December got old and I needed new shit to make me feel adequate and refreshed again.  But this year, the economy has forced said employer to rape us and beat us upside our heads and whip us into submission and only reward us with copper pennies and half-assed pats on the back.  And we bow our heads in thanks while we take whatever we can get, lest we shalt be unemployed on the streets begging for change.

So, now Hubber and I are scrounging, lying, cheating and stealing to celebrate the spirit of the season.  My kids could give a rat's ass about baby Jesus and the three wise men and all that shit.  Christmas is about the PRESENTS.  Period. And they just don't want trinkets and whatnot, they want ponies and bulldogs and tiaras and mink stoles and cashmere sweaters and prada handbags!  Oh, wait. Wrong list.  They want Juicy Couture necklaces and James Avery rings and Abercrombie and Fitch hoodies and Wii games and iPhones! Mama's not made out of money, you upity wenches!!

I need to find ways to make more money.  I would try loaning my kids out as maids, but they can't clean to save their damn lives.  I think the most profitable way would be to auction Hubber off to the highest bidder.  Need an escort?  A pool man? A bartender? A foot massager?  A fire starter?  A jar opener?  I roach stomper?  Hubber's your man!