Hey Secret Santa. Fuck You!

Enough about the shit I found in the toilet. I've had so many goddamn e-mails about this, it's starting to make me regret sharing the story. Yes, I should've saved it. One reader suggested I extract the thing and bronze the fucking turd.

Admittedly, it would've made a hell of a doorstop.

Who knows, maybe Faji (Arab clean-up fellow) took it home and ate it. Judging by the stink of the food some of those people eat, I wouldn't put it past him.

Anyway, I've got to tell you, I'm not much for the holidays. I know. Big surprise. But fucking Shirley, one of the barmaids at the bar decided it would be fun for us to exchange gifts and do the secret Santa thing. At first I didn't know what the fuck she was talking about, but I guess you 'secretly' buy some shitty gifts throughout the last week of Xmas and give them to one person.

There are six of us working at the bar and I was the only one who said: 'Bullshit.'

After much whining and people giving me the stink-eye, I gave in.

"It doesn't have to be anything big or fancy, Bill," Shirley promised. "Just something nice."

I couldn't help but notice how fucked up her eye was from when she got it poked thanks to the horrible fake tree she set up weeks ago. I must've nodded and then next thing I know, we're pulling names out of a goddamn hat.

Guess who's name I got? Shirley's.

I have no idea who go mine, but when I find the cocksucker, it's going to be war. And believe me, Bill-o-maniacs, I know war. I was in the Korean War for crissakes.

So, I had to buy gifts for Shirley.

Now, while I'm sure I don't need to remind you, but I'm not exactly a ladies man. I'm especially not a ladies man when said lady happens to look like a poor man's quasimodo, complete with a fucked up eye. I've been divorced three times. What do I know about getting gifts for people?

I came into work a few days later and found the first gift from my 'secret Santa.' It said: Ho ho ho, Bill. I hope you like apples.

I unwrapped the package and sure enough, there was a goddamn apple in there. Bruised and just awful looking.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I said aloud. I don't care if my Secret Santa (whoever the cunt was) could hear me. I gave a suspicious look at Jack the barback, but he was busy giving his ass a good, deep itch, which reminded me to never shake hands with that young prick.

It then dawned on me who it probably was. It was Shirley! She was trying to tell me something like she always did with the rest of the guys in the bar. We should eat healthier and get some exercise, all that shit.

I'd show her.

Since I hadn't bought her a gift yet, I had a plan. When no one was looking, I slipped into the women's can and found some change. I bought two maxi pads and two tampons from machine and wrapped them in toilet paper.

With a marker we kept behind the bar, I wrote: Shirley. Merry Christmas! These are gifts for your snatch. Secret Santa on the makeshift package.

I discreetly slipped the works into the pocket of her coat in the backroom. She'd have a nice surpise when she reached for her gloves.

While I don't mean to drag this fucking story out, I'll give you a rundown of the presents I got and what I got for Shirley in return.

From my Secret Santa (Shirley):
- An expired bus transfer
- A box of rusty paper clips
- A naked autographed picture of Kathy Bates

What I bought Shirley (in return):
- A Weight Watchers frozen grilled chicken meal
- A douchebag
- A picture of an elephant taking a piss.

Fuck it. All is fair in war. And like I said, I know war.

Just yesterday, we were supposed to bring our last gift in and give it to your person personally. While I waited to see what I got from Shirley before I went and bought her something (to match the insult) I went all out. I went to the park with a small cardboard box and I found all sorts of frozen dog shit and put it in. I wasn't about to be outdone.

Fuck Shirley and her Christmas spirit. Try and fuck with Bill Tabernacle, will you?

Before we opened all six of us (we usually don't staff ourselves that heavily, but the holidays, you know) got together with our gifts. I had even gone so far as to wrap the box in nice paper and slapped of fucking bow on the box of shit.

"Okay," Shirley said with a smile. "Exchange!"

I didn't know why she was smiling. Did she have the ultimate insult gift for me? I zeroed in on her and watched in horror as she took her gift and brought it over to Randy, the daytime bartender.

Fuck me. Shirley wasn't my Secret Santa.

"Hey, Bill," Jack said. "Here you go."

I looked down and saw a nice, flat wrapped package in the kids grubby hand. I took it and opened it, feeling like a complete asshole. There, in my hands was a nicely engraved plaque that said: In Honor of Korean War Vet: Bill Tabernacle. It said some other shit on it too, but I'm not going to lie. The thing was/is fucking beautiful.

"I just wanted to fuck with you with those other gifts," Jack said. "Merry Christmas, buddy."

I just nodded and looked at the thing as Jack got his gift from Faji. It was the special edition DVD of some movie the kid was always jawing about. He was happy. Everyone was happy, but in the corner of my eye I could see Shirley looking around. Everyone had gotten their gift but her.

There I stood with a wrapped box of frozen (probably thawed by now) dog shit.

Fuck me.

I don't think I have to tell you what happened, but I will anyway. She saw that I was the only one with a wrapped package in one hand and my opened gift in the other. She came over, said: "So, it's you. You're my Secret Santa. I should've known."

"I...," I stammered, like a stuttering jackass trying to recite 'Peter Piper' in front of the class.

She grabbed the gift before I could do anything and tore it open. She sighed before opening the box. She took a look at the nicely arranged dog shit and then mashed the box (melted turds and all) into my chest.

"I hope you go to hell, Bill Tabernacle," she said and a tear leaked out of that messed up eye. "I don't even have to hope. You're going there, mister."

With that, she walked out and that was the last any of us had ever seen of her.

There I stood, with a Korean War plaque in my hand, dog shit mashed into my shirt looking like the complete asshole I've become. I'd been swindled and forced to participate in some fucking holiday ritual and ended up getting the shit end of the stick. Literally.

So, fuck Christmas. I'm going to sit home, ignore the phone calls from my family, drink until I pass out and count the hours until the horrible fucking holiday is done.