"Tell us a story, Uncle Batty!"
"Well there's all kinds of stories- what kind would you like?"
"A Christmas Story!"
"Very well then, children, I will tell you a story of a Christmas Eve dinner, way back around the turn of the century, was it ought 2 or ought 3? We didn't have any snow that year, it might have been ought 4. Anyway, it doesn't really matter."
"It was Christmas Eve, or pretty close to it, and not a creature was stirring. The feral cats were all in their hidey-holes, the house next door was still vacant, but a light shone from the Batty kitchen. It was a big family get-together, with the boys, some of their cousins, and the bother-in-law, with his new girlfriend, the artist. We always welcomed visitors, and we spared no expense, with fine wines, a fancy meal (walleye almondine) all the trimmings (milk rice, lefse, lingonberries and
cloudberries, pies and cookies and of course, the herring cutlets (not necessarily in that order.) We greeted everyone as they came in, and had the beverages flowing and were ready for some pleasant conversation.
"What the f#@* is going on here?"
It was the bother-in-laws girlfriend, maybe a little nervous, (higher than a kite) meeting so many new people. We tried to resume where we left off, but she would have none of it. "@#∞@%√∞$#!!!!" It seems our guest had a little different vocabulary, and like to use it to describe the scene at hand in terms best used in a bordello. "%#!@#!!!" And so on. And on. And on.
She wouldn't shut up. We sat down to eat, maybe the act of eating would quiet her foulsome mouth for a time. She didn't touch her food. NOT ONE BITE! After a while, it became obvious. The bother-in-law's gift to us this year was a Christmas Crack-Whore! Things went downhill from there. The topper was when she returned from the bathroom and gave us her opinion (unfavorable) on the "paper products" that were on the shelf there. Delightful company. The weaver was so revolted she 'retired' for the evening. The boys and I soldiered on, trying to keep her amused (God only knows what would have happened if she got angry!) Finally they left."
"Uncle Batty, can we have a Crack-Whore come to our Christmas dinner someday?"
"Well, my little ones, someday when you are older, you might be that lucky. Don't make a lot of food, though, they don't eat."