Christmas Day at Oates Manor

After the Christmas morning “family hike,” the gang returned to Oates Manor and proceeded to tear shit out of our kitchen.

Nostrils was in there making more of his horrible assplosion coffee, and Nancy was puttering around as usual, always puttering. My wife, Tammy Oates, walked into the room at one point and Nancy was rubbing Nossy’s ass, getting way up in there and everything. Apparently leftover vegan fare in stank Tupperware gets them hot.

A little later Nancy gasped in apparent shock, during mid-putter, and somebody asked what was wrong. “This bread has Omega 3s in it!” she exclaimed, as if she’d just stumbled onto the scene of a mass suicide. “Omega 3 is code for fish oil, and I almost fed it to my children,“ she wailed. It sounded like she was on the verge of crying.

Once those freaks cleared out, Tammy Oates asked me to help her with the turkey, which she wanted to cook for dinner. Tammy Oates is a recovering vegetarian, and still gets a little queasy around raw meat. So she asked me to plunge my arm into the bird’s “cavity” and retrieve something that looked like a gray meat carrot, and a bag of miscellaneous goodies.

And come to think of it…. I believe that’s exactly what Nancy was doing to Nostrils when Tammy Oates caught them in the kitchen a few minutes earlier.

They do, you might note, have a history of sex in the kitchen. Their third son was reportedly conceived on the kitchen floor, and I lobbied for them to name him Swiffer. But, of course, my ideas are never taken seriously. It’s as if my sincerity is always being questioned.

After we got the turkey in the oven, I went back into the living room and was intending to free-fall into a sofa. But the youngest translucent was in there, wearing nothing but a t-shirt, and rubbing his naked soy ass all over the upholstery of our love seat. He was taking it arm to arm, east to west, against the natural flow of his crack. I just turned on my heel, went out the front door, and “got a little air.”

Apparently Nancy was preparing to give her kids a bath, because that’s what was going on when I returned. And that explained some of what I’d just seen.

I went to the downstairs bathroom to take a leak, and was standing there finding sweet relief, when somebody busted in. The door slammed against me, and I almost went down. The stream was greatly disturbed, and may or may not have striped the basket of wash cloths atop the toilet tank. And the shower curtain, and the mirror.

It was Nancy! She was coming in to retrieve their “family towel,” the one towel all of them use, again and again and again, the entire family. You know, to save Earth’s natural resources. She mumbled an apology, but her tone made it clear I was causing her a delay, and she was not happy about it.

Grrrr…. Nearly knocked to the ground in my own house, while taking a piss, and I’m the bad guy.

After I wiped everything down, and changed pants, I went back upstairs just in time for a dogfight. Our dog Anthony and Eninen’s hammer-headed hound were going at it in the kitchen, and it was no fun and games. There was an abundance of growling and leaping and heads whipping from side to side. Then the hammer-head yelped, began walking with one paw raised, and Anthony slinked away whimpering as well.

Turns out Nostrils had been feeding their retarded sack o’ parasites out of Anthony’s bowl. And this guy has a doctorate! Yeah, everybody’s shocked, simply shocked, that a fight broke out.

But, of course, it was all Anthony’s fault. He’s a male after all, and naturally aggressive.

I believe it was just after the dogfight when Tammy Oates caught Nostrils trying to sneak one of our hairdryers out to their car. She confronted him, and he pled ignorance, claiming he believed it belonged to Nancy. He was overly apologetic, and made repeated jokes through the evening, about how he was caught stealing a hairdryer.

Which is exactly what happened.

As dinner was being prepared, snow started falling outside. Not much, but enough to be kinda pretty for a while. When Nancy saw this, she let loose with a tone that started out incredibly high, and climbed from there. I think she was excited, and emitted an amazing piercing sound. I’d never experienced such a thing. I don’t know how a human makes such a noise. It was like one of those special ringtones that only children can hear.

Then she made some snotty comment about a Christmas visit to our house several years ago, when it snowed about two feet on Christmas day. In her revised version of history, Nostrils shoveled the driveway and I stood by and watched. In reality, Mumbles and I shoveled that day, and Nossy got “overheated” then had to run indoors to put lotion on his windburn. But their version is fact now, and there’s no changing it.

The turkey turned out well, but Nostrils wasn’t happy with the way I carved it. He eats meat when he’s on vacation (ha!), and asked if he could have a crack at it. He said he worked at an expensive restaurant when he was in college, and “knows all the secrets.” I shrugged and handed him the knife and fork, and went to the dining room to have dinner. I don’t like doing that bullshit anyway.

When I was finished with my meal, I returned to the kitchen and there was a shiny bird skeleton sitting on the counter. And Nostrils was stripping every last morsel of flesh from it. There was a platter nearby that was piled high with all manner of nasty-ass turkey meat, including all the junk that most people send down the disposal. His eyes were all bugged out with concentration, and he was flittering around on his tip-toes…. I mean, he was carving.

When he finally finished he loaded his plate, to the point where sideboards were almost needed. Then he went to the table and tucked a napkin into his collar, like something off Hee Haw. “I like the red meat the best,” he said, in a voice tinged with a hint of sexual arousal. Then there was a buzz-saw sound, and turkey and saliva flew all around the room for a full fifteen minutes.

And all I could think was, what in the living fuck is red meat??

That’s everything I can remember about Christmas day, but it’s not the end of the story. Not by a long shot. I’ll tell you more, as soon as I can.

Until then, I am, and always will be, Bill Oates.