Santa Claus: Fuck you, 99%.

Word has arrived that there will be no Christmas this year because Santa Claus got a job at Goldman Sachs and is involved in all sorts of dishonest shit. It was time for him to look out for number one, and now he’s insanely wealthy. The only snow Santa will see this season will be the lines of coke he does off a ho ho ho’s belly. You’re not getting gifts from him, so fuck your needy kids and your filthy fucking chimney. If you’d worked harder, you’d be able to buy your own. If Santa drops by your house at all on Christmas, it will be to raise your credit card rates. But he’ll probably just go directly to Hooters and check out the tail. Occupy that, bitches.

Don't cry, Abigail. You would have gotten tired of that new dollie after a few years anyway. Oh, and did I mention that Grandma passed? (Image by Sharon Pruitt.)

Nana (1935-2011)

Kris, checking out the local talent.

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Happy holidays to all of you, no matter what bullshit religion or culture you subscribe to. They’re all stupid and none of it makes you any better than anyone else, so get over yourself. And if you’re the kind of twat who has some sort of personal sense of exceptionalism, if you believe that life is a perfect meritocracy and people get what they truly deserve, remember to stand under the mistletoe and bite yourself really hard. Oh, and a special “fuck you” to anyone who buys magazines that fetishize food when there are starving people in the world. I mean, you should be ashamed. Enjoy the holidays!

Santa Claus: Wall Street fat cat.

Word has arrived already that there will be no Christmas this year because Santa Claus got a job at Goldman Sachs and is involved in all sorts of dishonest shit. It was time for him to look out for number one, and now he’s insanely wealthy. The only snow he’ll see this season will be the lines of coke he does off a ho ho ho’s belly. You’re not getting gifts from him, so fuck your needy kids and your filthy fucking chimney. Oh, and he’s raising your credit card rates, you filthbags.

Don't cry, Abigail. You would have gotten tired of that new dollie after a few years anyway. Oh, and did I mention that Grandma passed? (Image by Sharon Pruitt.)

Nana (1935-2011)

Back to the stable for more lovin’. (Image by Sebastian Pacquet.)

A firestorm of controversy raged throughout the blogosphere this week because the “Vows” column in Sunday’s New York Times focused on the wedding of a TV news reporter and a business executive who left their spouses to marry one another. Instead of quietly dealing with the painful fallout, the newlyweds decided for some bizarre, narcissistic reason that announcing the sordid details to the world would be good for their ex-spouses and school-age children.

Many people thought the newspaper erred in providing a platform for this taboo-busting twosome, but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. The Times is pushing the envelope but hard this weekend when they run a “Vows” column about another couple who left their spouses to get married and are now engaged in a three-way with a horse. Part Scarlet Letter and part Mr. Ed, the story is certainly complicated. The couple met Mr. Marbles when he caught the tossed bouquet at the wedding between his teeth. The bride was immediately struck by Mr. Marbles’ exuberance.

“He doesn’t walk in to a room,” she said. “He gallops in.”

When they realized they wanted to have a three-way with a horse, the newlyweds said they remembered crying together. “Why are we being punished?” they wondered. “Why did someone throw him into our path when we can’t have him?” But then they immediately started fucking the horse anyway. This made them cry even more because horse cock is gigantic and can be painful when inserted into human orifices.

“I didn’t believe in the word ‘soulmate’ before, but now I do,” said the groom, as he sat gingerly, polishing his favorite saddle.

“My kids are going to look at me and know that I am flawed and not perfect, but also deeply in love,” said the blushing, limping bride. “We’re going to have a big, noisy, rich life, and there will be hay everywhere.”

When asked why they felt it was important to tell the world of their relations with a horse, the couple said they wanted an honest account of how they entered into bestiality for their sake and their kids’ sakes.

If you don’t like it, I suggest you read some other paper. This isn’t your parents’ New York Times. Unless your parents are fucking a horse.

More Fake Stuff:

• Charlie Sheen attending medical school, aims to become pussy doctor.
• Larry King talking into a breadstick at the Olive Garden.
• Sarah Palin murders, effs a caribou.
• The Pope getting all crunk and nasty.
• Snooki sentenced to death by drowning.
• That Dick Cheney sex tape finally surfaces.
• Huge changes ahead at American Idol.
• Lady Gaga urinates on home plate at Yankee Stadium.
• Michael Scott to be murdered on The Office.
• Exclusive: Snooki running for Mayor of Wasilla.
• NFL amends rules, football becomes even more reprehensible.
• Environmental disaster worsens as…oh wait, Snooki just crapped her pants!
• Lindsay thinks she’s in a really lousy airport.
• New ESPN program: Lebron James Discusses His Pecker Variety Hour.
• Mr. Trump classes up the Miss Universe pageant.
• Glenn Beck uncovers a socialist threat.
• Larry King interviews Lady Gaga.