Guest writer: Uncle Earl!

I'm going to be away from the computer for the Holidays. Since I'm a very devout Christian--I'm going to be visiting Bethlehem--so I am going to have guest writers for the coming weeks. I may take a moment to introduce who they are, but aside from that, I'm going to devote all my time to thanking my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for being born in an easter basket in the back of a Denny's.

Today's writer is my Great Uncle Earl, an 83-year-old former steel mill worker, now doing odd jobs around town.

Goddamn gooks. God Damn gooks. I swear to Christ, if they would just let me get in a plane one more goddamn time I'd strap one of them A-bombs to it and drop that sonofabitch right in the heart of Japan just to remind those bastards that we ain't forgetting shit. Sixty-three years ago today those motherfuckers went all air-ninja-style on us shooting ninja stars and shit at us while we was keeping Hawaii safe.

I wish that fantastic film--cinematic masterpiece I call it--Pearl Harbor starring Ben Affleck and that black boy from that Tom Cruise movie who jumps around a lot like black people like to do, was on every year. Hell, every goddamn week. It shows exactly what happened to us.

I watch it a lot--every morning when I wake up and look through the paper for people selling military surplus--I watch it. But they say it affects my job. I refill candy machines at the local college. Well, sometimes, when I'm refilling, one of them Japs comes around a corner a little too fast and maybe I get a little fidgety. So, I may have, once or twice, hammerlocked one of them kids and shoved some Good 'N Plenty underneath his fingernails. It's not my fault, the sneaky little fucker wouldn't talk. And no matter what they say, it's not because he couldn't speak English. He understood everything I was saying and he was trying to boobytrap the Mr. Goodbars. I know he was. If there's one thing that those people hate more 'bout us Americans than our freedom (Thanks, George W. Bush for that one--best president ever), it's our goddamn candy. And I'll fight to the death making sure that my fellow Americans that aren't Japanese or remotely slant-eyed in any sense can have their Famous Amos cookie or Milky Way--even for black people.

Now, I hope this thing works, I'm writing it at the Kinkos and there's this older lady who works here who I'm pretty sure wants to do it to me. Maybe I'll get lucky.

Well, turns out I had some mayonnaise on my face. I found that out when I tried to talk to her and she threw up. Well, looks like another night of thrashing around my flaccid penis crying to myself about my wasted youth.