Snake? I heard he was dead…
Happy Holidays, all. I came down with the flu a couple days before Christmas, turned me into a pile of lumber, then on Christmas Eve the plumbing backed up, first in the bathroom, then in the kitchen, then in both, meaning, I belatedly realized, in the sewer line, reminding me of the wash-drain in the ‘mudroom’ floor, which was spouting raw sewage like the White Whale, so I grabbed a potato and dove upon the spout the way a braver soldier than I might dive upon a grenade, then jammed the potato into the spout, ripping my thumbnail half off as I did so, then cleaned shivering for fever, before going out to the garage to grab my thirty foot snake, which I dragged into the basement, where I popped the sewer line access, and proceeded to snake, hauling out human feces, which of course whisked across me because the fucking thing was a minion of the Unholy Consult, after which I went upstairs, had a second mudroom holocaust realizing my snaking had been in vain, then discussed the possibility of having to cancel the big family dinner on Christmas Day with my wife, after which I resumed snaking, hauling more mire, even a washcloth, but to no avail, again and again into the wee of night, until finally, damp with effluent, I went to bed, carefully for some retarded reason, as if that would save the linens indignity or something, and I breathed, and I closed my eyes, and I heard my daughter scream, “Santa was here! Santa was here!” at which point, I got up and did not simply make joyous, but was joyous, glazed in my family’s excrement and overwhelmed with fucking gratitude, and my wife texted everyone asking who could host dinner in our stead, and my brother-in-law called back saying he just happened to have (it’s a complicated story) a hundred foot power snake in his basement, a miracle (because let’s face it) that I loaded into the back of my van mere minutes later, and used with his help to pierce the cocksucking Clog of Doom, and my wife drove him home, and I went upstairs and had a long hot shower, crawled into bed, felt like something clasped between palms held in prayer… my every surface thankful, and woke up to a glowing house booming with laughter.
Now that’s a fucking Christmas story, I think. Of course, the flu just hammered me the next morning. Viruses eat happy endings the same as everything else.