This Christmas, I'm Going To Give My Kids The Best Present Ever: Their Fucking Lives

Pictured: Pete Dunson

It's Christmas again, the time of year when everyone -- even me – buys things for others...just to be nice, you know? But guess what, assholes? This year is going to be different. I'm filled with the magical spirit of Shitmas, and now I realize that buying things for people -- especially my CHRISTSICKLE kids -- is acting shallow.

The best gift is something you can't get at a store, no matter how hard you look (don't even try it, especially at Best Buy, THANKS FOR THAT FUCKING TV THAT BROKE JUST BECAUSE I THREW A FUCKING CHRISTMAS HAMMER AT IT). If you're wondering what that special thing might be, it's...

...wait, I don't want to blow the surprise yet. Let me tell you what the OLD BALL AND SPERM BANK CHAIN had the nerve to ask me last night, because I can't even get it out of my fucking SANTEE CLAUS HEAD.

"What have you bought for the children this year?" she asked, and before any one of you shits even thinks about interrupting me, yes, I immediately thought of the obvious answer, which is "I BOUGHT YOU A SHIT HOUSE, A FUCK CAR, EVERY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT IN THIS COCK HOUSE, AND THREE OR FUCK FOUR LITTLE SHITS OF JOY THAT FUCKING RUN THE PLACE." Holy SHIT, who asks a question when the answer is AS PLAIN AS THE SHIT ON YOUR NOSE'S ASS?

The point is, I was all ready to say that, but suddenly, Shitmas Spirit came over me, like the feeling you get when you drink a case of eggnog, as I had done a few minutes prior. I looked past the old WIFEY-RUNS-MY-LIFEY, and suddenly, I saw none other than KRIS FUCKING KRINGLE, in some kind of merry fucking rocking chair, looking like my father with a giant white beard, and saying "DON'T LET ME DOWN, PETEY, OR IT'S COAL IN THE MOUTH AGAIN." That's when it hit me: maybe there was something I could give that I hadn't already given, even though I'd already worked my SHITTING fingers to the bone.

"I'M GETTING THE CHILDREN A FUCKING JOB," I announced with merriment, throwing a glass of eggnog across the room to show MY MATRIMONIAL SHIT how much I appreciated her making me a traditional ChristASSmas drink, even though at that point I was tired of stupid FUCKNOG, and I wanted regular FUCKING milk, or Coke, or beer, or whatever I was in the mood for, but deFUCKINGfinitely not EGGSHIT.

Anyway, I thought that if I could give the little shits jobs, it would be a "teach a man to fish, and he'll GET OUT OF YOUR FUCKING LIFE for a lifetime" kind of thing. In other words, a great Assmas present. Of course, I couldn't actually get the kids a job, because the stupid economy wouldn't let me, thank you very much President BLACK SANTA. Luckily, though, another thought occurred to me, at just the same time the children came into the room, because they must think that the sound of presents is the same sound as me ripping the GOATFUCKING oven out of the wall and smashing it to the FUCKFLOOR because there wasn't a pumpkin PISSING pie in it.

"I've been thinking a lot," I said with infinite patience. "I never wanted any of you little bundles of FUCK, and you each have made my life a real SCREWASS!" I told them that the only reason they exist is because I allowed them to be, even if I want them to MOVE THE HOLY FUCK OUT BEFORE THEY MAKE ME AS STUPID AS THEY ARE OR KILL ME WITH THE COMMUNISM THEY ARE TAUGHT IN SCHOOL. So, this year, their special gift for Christmas was their lives.

Before you think that I'm too cheap to buy anything -- which is almost true, because the Plant pays me a whole bundle of PISSSHITFUCKINGNOTHING for my hard work -- keep in mind the Christmas of last year, when I bought my buddy Jim at the plant a gun, so that maybe he would man up and SHOOT HIMSELF IN THE FUCKING FACE WITH IT, but ended up giving it to my youngest son to teach him some STOOLFUCKING SAFETY LESSONS.

I went on to explain why presents and things like SHITSTATION 3 (god DAMN IT HOW MANY SHITSTATIONS ARE THEY GOING TO MAKE), and Wii CON-COCKING-SOLES, and other store-bought FUCK would have no place in our home this year. It was a wonderful scene.

"A gift is something you don't want to give, but ARE FUCKING FORCED TO, BECAUSE THE FUCK SAYS SO," I calmly taught them, even though I could see in their unthankful eyes they were still hoping I would pull an iPOD OUT OF MY ASS. "I don't want you CRAPS running around MY GODDAMN HOUSE, but I still let you. Instead of dolls or toys or bikes or other BITCH that comes from stores, which I SUCKING HATE to buy, you can have your SHITTING LIVES, which I hate most of all."

Then, as everyone cried in happiness and bitchery, I rammed my head through our SHITASS front window, and shouted to the neighborhood for all the assholes to hear, "MERRY SHITMASS TO ALL, AND TO ALL SHUT OFF YOU IDIOT LIGHTS BEFORE I KILL YOU." Christmas was saved!

Pete Dunson lives in rural Pennsylvania, and is an active member of his community. He recently continued giving his children the gift of life.

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