Drunken Santa’s Christmas Party

I was at a par­ty this past week­end and at this par­ty I con­sumed enough alco­hol to become intox­i­cat­ed. I have not been intox­i­cat­ed for quite some time. There was tur­tle cheese­cake, Dutch spice cake with tasty Dutch spread, Christ­mas cook­ies of sev­er­al vari­eties, Dou­ble Peanut But­ter Choco­late Chip cook­ies [made by me] and danc­ing mon­keys.

We watched this utter­ly crap­py movie called Christ­mas Toys, a half hour length com­pi­la­tion that Bur­bank Video obvi­ous­ly cob­bled togeth­er from 1950s pre­reel or tele­vi­sion. The first flick had noth­ing to do with Christ­mas, and was basi­cal­ly a cat­a­log of dolls from dif­fer­ent eth­nic groups. It was­n’t aggres­sive­ly racist, but the dolls from Africa were def­i­nite­ly paint­ed black instead of brown and the Asians had slan­ty eyes.

The sec­ond flick had mar­i­onettes, crap­py ones. Melt­ed-look­ing ones with evil eyes and falling-off beards and hands the size of plat­ters and necks the length of your mom. At this point no one was real­ly pay­ing any atten­tion to the sto­ry­line, which I think had to do with some elf mak­ing toys. At the end the elf does this weirdo dance that appar­ent­ly Drunk­en San­ta’s sis­ter can imi­tate per­fect­ly.

The third flick was about The Mon­key’s Christ­mas. A child-molestor look­ing San­ta Claus is caught com­ing down the chim­ney by a cou­ple of kids, he sits them on his lap and tells them about the Mon­key’s Christ­mas. They were all trained mon­keys, mon­keys build hous­es, appar­ent­ly, for Christ­mas, and wear clothes and do oth­er things that mon­keys don’t do, because mon­keys know that they are mon­keys. It made no sense and was scary and San­ta was scary. Com­plete gra­tu­ity.

We also watched a hor­ror movie called Jack Frost that has an awe­some show­er scene involv­ing a mur­der­ous snow­man [and his, ahem, car­rot] and Shan­non Elis­a­beth. Unfor­tu­nate­ly it was all very PG, but still awe­some.

Then we played Truth or Dare Jen­ga. The truths were all tak­en from some book that Drunk­en San­ta owned and we wrote our own dares. I had to moon the out­side. And some­one else had was dared to drink wine from my bel­ly but­ton. Its hairi­ness scared them appar­ent­ly, but yes­ter­day I found out that it is “cute” or some­thing. Drunk­en San­ta knocked over the Jen­ga game and had to do five dares includ­ing, show­ing of boobs, mak­ing out with some­one, drink­ing wine, hot choco­late and sushi mixed togeth­er and two oth­ers that no one remem­bers. Then some peo­ple left and I went to sleep on the couch.

I blacked out briefly hours lat­er after I went to the bath­room. Not because I was still drunk but because I was both dehy­drat­ed and had low blood sug­ar. When I awoke an hour and a half after that inci­dent, I looked out­side and real­ized that I was in mor­tal dan­ger of being snowed in with two girls. So I packed up what lit­tle dig­ni­ty and hon­or I had left, drove home very slow­ly and safe­ly, went to church and helped dec­o­rate for Christ­mas.