MM&J: No bonus this year.
Gonzo: Fucking A, Beav! You suck.
MM&J: 2 new servers and a spam attack pissed it away. You’re our onsite I.T. Department. YOU suck.
Gonzo: Touche. Fuck you anyway.
Moe, of MM&J: As a gay man, I may take you up on that, G.
Gonzo: Uh, thanks, but being a tight ass is not just a metaphor for me. *flies to Brazil (alone) to look for, uh, “Brazilians“, ass cheeks clenched the entire trip*
MM&J: As a consolation, we have a firm party (clients and guests) that is a complete clone of last year’s, down to the food tasting exactly like last year’s.
Gonzo: Thank god for “all you can drink.”

Sheriff Joe: Yes, thank god. Tent city always welcomes holiday visitors. Drink up.

MM&J: Also, we have an office party (just us) at Z’Tejas, where you can get stupid drunk at our expense. Just like last year.
Gonzo: Thank god for that, since the secretaries will take you bosses up on that, and give away Chick team secrets (which I always suspected or knew) like :

• it’s always faked.
• when we (chicks) say we’re not faking, we’re lying. [Ed.: to you, Dr, G.]
• when we say we’re not lying about not faking, we are lying.
• keep giving us shit, in order to get opportunities to get faked out and lied to.

(As a man, you can live with a chick pretending to hit her mark (in the absence of not pretending), as long as you don’t have to pretend too.)

• stop wasting my time, this does nothing for me, and you look stupid
• battery power > anything else

Gonzo: So, I didn’t miss anything living in Antarctica the past few years unspecified time intervals? Fuck – wait, I mean whatever is the opposite.

Sheriff Joe: C’mon, G. Drink up. One tequila ain’t gonna hurt nothin’. Or maybe some Southern Comfort.
Gonzo: Sorry. I just barfed a little in my mouth right there.

MM&J: In lieu of $ or loot, we have a lame ass white elephant gift exchange.
Curly, MM&J Staff: Here is your (used) talking bass, G. And some fresh batteries.
Dr. G’s newlywed secretary: I’ll be having those batteries.
Dr. G: *biggest surprised look*

Gonzo: Fuck off, fish giver. This bitch is going in the trash to the ex’s when I bring the kids back.
Manny, of MM&J (to our paralegal Methuselah Winston Smith): Here is a dead rat on ice that I saved from a rat incursion last July. I am one sick bastard, but I have los cojones grandes.
Winston Smith: Damn you, O’Brien. Do it to Julia. *succumbs to deathly fear of rats*
MM&J: Sorry about that. Have some CPR.
Winston Smith: Fuck you. I hate you all.
Winston Smith: *contemplates quitting and being forced to live in a box and eating Alpo, unless the rats get to it first.*
Winston Smith: I mean, I love MM&J.
Winston Smith: *drinks oily Victory gin*

* * *

Fast forward to Christmas morning.
Gonzo: Santa is dead. No bonus, kiddoes. Sorry. Bikes have to wait. Electric guitars have to wait. Assorted other shit has to wait. I have to buy essentials like porn, hookers and weed gas, food, etc. instead.
Rugrats: Fuck, Dad! Sorry, pop. We meant “dammit Dad!!”
Gonzo: My new camera has to wait, too. Sorry internet.
The entire readership of the puppet (all 3): Fuck, you asshole! Sorry. Dr. dickhead. We meant “dammit, you asshole!”
Gonzo: At least I have booze on hand.

Sheriff Joe: Yes, you do. And I have some rats I would love to introduce you to. Just go straight to the merlot. Unless you have scotch around here somewhere… *laughs maniacally*