Merry Christmas from the family

It’s time for our annual parody of a family holiday newsletter:

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the Percy Keats Shelleys!

It has been such an eventful year Polly Ann is writing the family newsletter this time, as Bill wagered a lot of money on the presidential election, and he was a Trump fan to start with, so….

He since 3 a.m. Nov. 9 has been out at the hay barn drinking bourbon and lighting discount fireworks in a state of euphoria so profound we had to explain to him what “euphoria” means, after the first few hours, and then the neighbors called the police.

Lucky for Bill, Cooter and Squirrel were the only deputies on duty, and they had their sawed-off shotgun in the trunk and a case of 12-gauge birdshot they seized from methhead Jimmy Greenteeth’s trailer last summer when he was stocking up for July 4.

So now they’re up there with Bill blasting off on the barn roof, toasting the electoral college and trying to hit the pigeons nesting in the rafters.

Meanwhile our daughter Kay Sara-Sara has sunk into a despair so deep she can’t finish her thesis on climate change, which she last year titled “The Crisis ClintonCrossed Off.”

It was to be published online by Night Moves Press, the hard drive for which was gunned down last week during a routine traffic stop.

Kay Sara-Sara, or “Kiss” as we call her as she screams at us not to call her that, is holding up remarkably well, like a fist in a protest meme with some rehashed hippie slogan her bitter disillusioned lesbian aunt taught her.

The very special news this year, as you probably saw in my Facebook photo gallery, was a new addition to our family.

By now you know I mean our….

Wait, Bill and them ran out of ice. He just dropped a tray in the kitchen and now he’s squinting over my shoulder and burping in my ear.

OK, before Bill turned and walked through a sliding screen door he didn’t notice was closed, he read back over that last part and said y’all might think by family addition I mean Billy’s alleged baby’s mama Nikki Thinn, the so called “Statue” artist.

Whether Nikki’s freezing still as a statue in everyday situations one day will entitle her to millions in royalties for the trending “Mannequin Challenge,” as she claims, we don’t know.

We have been to New Orleans and other tourist destinations where street performers freeze like statues for money, and we’ve noticed they wear costumes. They’re not in tank tops and cut offs, and Target doesn’t call 911 because they’re in kitchenwares with a butcher knife raised over their heads.

Our son Billy is 27 now, with a degree in language arts, and he no longer is dependent on our income, or covered under our health insurance. Nor is his progeny, if he has any, so we have decided to make Billy and Nikki move out of the basement and get their own place.

The new addition to our family I referred to was Hamlet, our pet pot-bellied pig. Such a cutie! I filled Facebook with smart phone photos of Hamlet, as a big fat pig, he grew to be.

Or not to be, thanks to Bill’s inviting two old hunting buddies to a “whole hog” barbecue, to which Hound Dog and Skunk arrived early and took him at his word.

We understand that knowledgeable butchering is crucial for a safe and clean farm-to-table barbecue, but we still wish Kiss hadn’t popped in with some of her group therapy friends and seen her pet pig roasting on a spit.

Bill and I decided we loved Hamlet even more, with Backfire sauce from Country’s Barbecue, but for some reason Kiss simply cannot snap out of it. She still screams at us, and so does the voice inside her head.

Well, that about wraps this year’s newsletter up like colored paper and a bow, so we wish you a merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. As the Irish say, may the road rise up to meat you and smile behind your back.

Polly Anne Bill Billy Kiss Nikki.

This story was originally published December 25, 2016 at 2:00 PM with the headline "Merry Christmas from the family."