#10 – 25 Days of Christmas: What Do the Lonely Do With The Misletoe?

The obvious answer would be to find another lonely person and have at it. Unfortunately, lonely people ar e ashy bunch. And more often than not, they find comfort in their lonliness. It’s a club that no one else is invited into. Kind of like that writer or painter who is so immersered in the drink that they could never possibly realize that there are others just like them looking for a friend. Or at least someone to drink with.

So what are we to do? Wait under the plant for relatives to give us awkward half opened mouthed kisses? Hope that that one uncle everyone has always suspected as being gay  come by and and plant one on you the good old fashiopned gay family way?

These ideas kind of seem like they would just lead to more sadness and less feelings of self worth. I guess you could always simply burn down every plant that you come in contact with. Fuck it if it;s the Christmas tree or your aunts prized rose bush. Burn the fucker down. Seeing things burning into nothing must feel better than standing under a most likely artificial plant waiting for someopne who you want to kiss you to kiss you.

I say you leave the fire at ho0me. As much fun as it seems like it could be, it could go terribly wrong. And really, you don’t want to be the dickhead who burnt down the house on Christmas because you couldn’t find somneone to take pity on you and give you a soft pointless kiss under an even more pointless piece of shrubbery.

So I say spend your time carving a puppet. It doesn’t have to be good. It just has to be something that you’re comfortable with. Who cares if it looks like Vladamir Putin or the Lucky Charm guy. All that matters is that you’ll be getting a kiss underneath that God damn missletoe.

And hey, if you play your cards right maybe that puppet will spend the night. I mean, afterall, puppets are the whores of the world. So you got that going for you.

Remember to wear protection though. Or at least sand them down. Splinters are a bitch.

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