A Quotable Christmas
Once again it's the holiday season and I will be traveling home to the Wuebben compound on the snowy plains of Illinois for what is sure to be another colorful Christmas. Here are a few quotes from past holidays that for one reason or another have stuck in my head.
"Mike, your Great Aunt Patsy will be here soon. Be a dear and lock up the liquor cabinet for me."
— Mom
"How cute. He's the tall, skinny brother and you're the short, fat brother. It's good to be tall."
— Unknown guest
"I was hornier than a three-peckered billy goat and this girl had a tail you could set a drink on. Speaking of drinks, Phyllis, this eggnog is delicious."
— Uncle Steve
"I just became a florist. It's mostly hardwood floors, but I do some tile work."
— Cousin Wally
"Phyllis, your vodka tastes curiously like water."
— Aunt Patsy
"That's a nearly flawless four-karat princess-cut amethyst in the middle. And those are single-karat teardrop sapphires around the outside. I got a great deal. They're conflict stones.
— Aunt Shirley
"A lot of my friends smoke, but they don't smoke cigarettes, if you know what I mean. They smoke a special type of tobacco and I don't mean the kind grown by Phillip Morris. It's more of the indoor variety — a wacky tobacky, if you will. You could almost call it a weed. It's not the stuff you'd put in a pipe, unless it's a 'water pipe.' Man, I'm so high right now."
— Cousin Todd
"Can someone please pass a very large, very sharp knife? I need to cut through the tension in the room."
— Voice inside my head
"What happened to all the vanilla extract? I brought a big bottle ... Aunt Patsy!?!"
— Aunt Bonnie
"When I got my first two they were called DWI's. Now they're calling it a DUI, so I'm arguing this is a first offense."
— Uncle Joe
"Jesus, Todd, you smell like you lost a wrestling match with a flaming skunk."
— Dad
"Dude, you're sleeping on the couch tonight. Aunt Patsy is sick and has chosen your room for recovery."
— Brother Joe
"Who the hell puked on me?"
— Aunt Patsy
Mike Wuebben has written several non-published works, including angry e-mails to former girlfriends and at least three book reports on the Judy Blume classic, "Tales of a Fourth-Grade Nothing." Prior to that, he couldn't read or write.
If you really want to talk, send Mike an e-mail. If it's urgent, buy an industrial-size spotlight with a W stencil and shine it into the night sky. Mike looks up regularly to check his messages.