It's Not Cocksucking Christmas Time Until. . . .

Your ass has to chase a FED-EX driver down the street in your socks in the cocksucking snow to try to give him the package back that you signed for that you noticed after he left and was starting to drive off was actually for the cocksucker who formally occupied your dwelling place. [Note: This is the same cocksucker that you already have a package on your porch for that the motherfuckers from UPS dropped off while you were at work one day and you have started to contemplate opening and consuming because it's addressed from The fucking Popcorn Factory. This, despite the fact that popcorn is far from your favorite snack treat. You have just decided you will eat the festive corn out of fucking spite because you've had to deal with so much of the cocksucking former occupant's mail. THIS IS THE TOLL, you irresponsible no-forwarding-address motherfucker. You will not get to enjoy your popcorn.] Oh and this was after your rabid Diarrhetic not-right-in-the-head-half-blind watch dog kept lunging for the startled but relatively calm FED-EX guy at the door, but FED-EX guy was on his damn toes and averted tragedy by producing dog treats for said not-right-in-the-head dog and threw them into your foyer so that you could sign for the sonofabitching cocksucking package that wasn't in actuality yours and then proceed to run out into the snowy street in your stocking feet in order to try to flag the compassionate dog-treat-throwing motherfucking driver down and hand him back his cocksucking package that in actuality was for the no-forwarding-address former occupant motherfucker.