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Oh, what a frightening Christmas present I've received Paul Ryan We have a . . . well, unique sense of humor in my family. When I wrap a gift for my dad, I use crazy glue to stick 14 pink bows on the wrapping, because I know that's what he hates. When I wrap a gift for my brother, I use nearly an entire roll of clear tape, making the unwrapping of his gift a 15-minute process. I do this because I know he hates it. But the members of my family are keen on revenge. When someone gets the better of them with such a prank, they work diligently to come up with an even worse annoyance in return. We are more dedicated to revenge than we are to our jobs, our spouses, and God himself. A member of the Ryan family may only spend 17 minutes a day doing actual work, but spend two hours of that same day inserting a whoopie cushion into the folds of a present's wrapping, so it will fart when opened. This dedication we bring to childish hijinks is unending. Even if one of us just gave a great gag gift, the need to do more doesn't subside. If anything, the need increases, because we know the others are now plotting retaliation. It's really not healthy at all. One year at Christmas, my dad wrapped a tiny present in six boxes, each larger than the last. The tremendous look of disappointment and depression on my face nearly brought him to tears with laughter. The following year, I wrapped his gift in 12 boxes, and actually took the time to wrap each individual box. The last few boxes were so heavily covered with clear tape that they nearly required a Swiss army knife to open. I thought this year would be different, though. I figured, "Hey, we're all adults now. We can have a little fun - like putting six bows on one of dad's gifts to get a grumble out of him - but we won't get absurd. We're a very civilized and mature family these days." Boy was I wrong. Would you like to see what my dad got me for Christmas? Here it is in all its glory. A dog shit calendar:
 Oh, how far we've fallen. "Monthly Doos: the 2005 dog poop calendar". Every month there is another high-resolution photo of a milky dog turd. Why anyone would be sick enough to not only get that close to turds, but also arrange them in "cute" little poses, is mind-boggling.
 Here's January's picture. Didn't I tell you they were high-resolution pictures? If you think this is gross, try looking at the calendar-size photo. It's just not right, people. Why would anyone actually take a picture of a freaking turd?
 Hey, look at February's picture! It's Valentine's Day with Anna Nicole Smith. Seriously, think about this for a minute. Someone actually picked up that turd, placed it on a flower, smooshed little eyeballs and a mouth into it, and then photographed it. Just try and finish your breakfast, reader. I dare you.
 Finally, here's November's picture. I don't think there's much I could say that would enhance the hilarity of an elf walking through a forest with a wheelbarrow full of dog shit.
And so is my dad, the bastard. Just wait until next Christmas, dad. Revenge is coming, and you've brought things down to my dirty level. After this present, there are no more rules, and I shall bring sweet, horrifically disgusting and immature vengeance.
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Who would put together a calendar like this? Who is the sick bastard behind it? Scott Brunton, the man in the picture who appears to be ready to lick a stuffed dog's anus. Just look at him, reader. He's ready to do it. As soon as the photographer puts on the lens cap, that sick weirdo is going to lick that stuffed dog's anus. He looks like the type of guy who would do it, doesn't he? Just look at his face. Scott Brunton is a rimjobber.
