Soylent Green Acres

[Lownumba]

Distressing reports have reached my desk that you did not like A Christmas Story. (My next sentence was going to be, "Enjoy hell" but that now seems a bit strong.)

Instead, I'll invite you to look at just a few of the great lines from that rather odd holiday classic:

My little brother had not eaten voluntarily in over three years.

They looked at me as if I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.

We plunged into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.

Aunt Clara had for years not only perpetually labored under the delusion that I was 4 years old, but also a girl.

In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.

Getting ready to go to school was like getting ready for extended deep-sea diving.

The line waiting to see Santa Claus stretched all the way back to Terre Haute. And I was at the end of it.

My kid brother looked like a tick about to pop!

My father worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium, a master.

Repent now!! Say it! Say "I love A Christmas Story!"