Mable: Well, here we are… Neo, before we go in and you meet them, there is something you should know about my family…
Neo: Nothing would surprise me anymore, or any more (than I’ve been surprised before). What, your family doesn’t know that we’re “together”? They don’t know that I’m of an ethnic, gender, or species persuasion to which they are not partial?
Mable: No, it’s not that at all. It’s not always about you, Neo. You’re not always the one. The family… We’re… You know… We’re all…
Neo: What? Russian spies? Aliens? Aliens without proper documentation? Cannibals? Does this have anything to do with that gigantic stone foot in the front yard?
Mable: Well, it’s…
Michelle, opening the front door from inside: Hey, Sis, you’re here! Is this the new guy? Hi, new guy!… Hey, Mom! Mable is home! Don’t mind us, new guy. We’re decorating for the holidays, and… Hey, Mom! Why does the tree smell like the sewer?
Mabel: Everybody, this is Neo…
Mom: Hi, Mabel! Hi, Neo! Michelle, Honey, the tree doesn’t smell. I mean, it does smell. It smells like a tree. The sewer thing, that’s just your condition. Sinus infection can cause it. Or impacted, fungus-riddled boogers. An infected tooth could do it. Or various medications. Brain tumor. Cranial radiation therapy. Or that Oliver Sachs disease with the long name I forget.
Dad: Hi, Mabel! Hi, Neo! Sachs makes that stuff up. He’s on the New Yorker payroll.
Cousin Francis: Hi, Mable. Hi, Neo. Geez, you’re here just in time. I’ve got to go find a plastic Jesus, but it’s nuts out there. These holidays are so screwed up, I’ll be glad when they’re over.
Mom: I got groped by an elf at the mall this morning.
Michelle: I got fondled by a drunk Santa. Accomplished exactly nothing.
Mom: I thought you got the gift for dad. You promised. You’re usually the only one I can trust around here.
Uncle Joe: Hi, Mable. Hi, Neo. Mazie, relax. I got the gift for him.
Mable: Why is Michelle the only one you can trust? You always preferred Michelle over me, Mother! I’m home two minutes…
Mom: Don’t start. I can trust you, too, but like you say, you’ve been home two minutes. In fact, come over here. Quick! Help me… with…(ugh)… this…(grunt)… turkey… Hold on, dammit! Pull it down! Neo, grab it by the wattles!
Michelle: What about gifts for the rest of us? For under the tree? The mall is closing in an hour!
Mom: The mall is always closing in an hour. And it’s always dark out.
Michelle: And Cousin Francis is a lot younger than on her last visit.
Dad: And I think the dog just ate Mable’s head.
Mom: Oh, no. Are we all dead again and don’t know it?
Dad: I hate that trope.
Michelle: Nah, this is the one where we’re not dead. We’re all just waiting to be born again.
Francis: Eww! I hate that one worse! I hate getting born.
Mable: You hate it! What about me? My last three I had narrow-hipped women.
Uncle Joe: I was a month late and breech. No picnic. Not to mention the circumcision.
Mable: It’s the caul I hate.
Michelle: At least you’ll have your head back.
Dad: Well, the good news is, we won’t have to worry about turkey and the tree next Christmas. We’ll all be on the tit.
Filed under: Pitch the LAMB |