Tis’ Christmas time on Mystical Isle and just like the fat man in red, I’ve made a list and now I shall check it . . . twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I’m not an arse.
Battle the human women in sweatpants and snow boots for electronics on Black Friday. Check.
Cover each palm tree in lights even though the Mermaids insist they look phallic. Check. By the way, what does phallic mean? Never mind. Check.
Weave a Christmas tale during family story time on the beach, have a family portrait made in the special sweaters I pilfered, and write a letter to Santa. I mean, fat bastard . . . Check.
Planning activities that may end in bloodshed. Check. That’s what I call a yuletide win, so check-check.
The Mermaids have baked lovely Christmas cookies that will go wonderfully with the rum in my diaper. And everyone has voted to veto caroling since Pirate Doug has a singing voice that can kill . . . literally. The present exchange would be ruined if everyone was dead. Could my days be merrier or brighter? Uh, no. Check.
It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I’m not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.
And I am. Check.