By Dusty Shelf–Guest Columnist
Christmas 2020 is almost here. It brings back memories of my Uncle Clint rolling around the front yard after a half dozen beers and a few shots. Oh and his wife’s boyfriend of the minute showed up for his Christmas present. All after his wife at the time (they changed every three or four years) told him what a junk gift he got her even when was diamonds and gold.
Honestly, Uncle Clint is the kind of guy you could put in a room with a 100 women… 99 winners and one loser. He will always pick the loser. It is a mathematical absolute. He’s been married at least five times. I just give him a blender now when he sends an invitation. Clint is 63 years old and should know better by now.
But back to Christmas with Uncle Clint.
Last Christmas was one of the most memorable in recent years as it ended with the police being called after a neighbor saw Clint sitting naked on the front porch swing wrapped in silver tinsel with a red Christmas tree bulb hanging from each ear, and a beer in each hand. Apparently the tinsel didn’t cover his “naughty business,” according to the compliant to 911.
So the cops came. They cuffed Clint. He was still as naked as the day he was born. He was cooperative with law enforcement, but clearly agitated by whatever neighbor called the police. He was quite verbally abusive in his comments. Actually, they were quite humorous though I doubt they should be repeated in proper company. I will share that he informed one neighbor who’d come out to her porch in a coffee stained flannel robe to rubberneck at the scene that it looked she could use what he was showing off, and that might make her loosen up. Clint is a sexist obviously, and caught in a time long gone.
The deputies seemed to barely be able to control their own laughter as they took naked, barefoot Clint to to the squad car. He was slip sliding across the yard. They were attempting to hold him up without making any contact with his naked parts. The only demand he made to the cops was to take his beer with him since it would be a couple of days before he have the chance for another. They politely declined as they slid him into the squad car.
Alas the Christmas celebration with law enforcement wouldn’t end there. Or that easy. Like I said earlier, Clint’s wives had the habit of showing with boyfriends to family events. His now ex-wife showed up with a guy who demanded to be called Big Stud. He was neither big nor a stud. He was mouthy and smelled of cheap cologne. And apparently thought the cops were there to arrest him. He had a few warrants out for his arrest.
My cousin Maxine had just pulled into the driveway with our 98 year-old grandmother who seemed as frail as an autumn leaf most of the time. Big Stud took off across the yard in what seemed like an attempt to commandeer Max’s car when grandma looked up and saw Clint in the back of the squad car. She looked back to see Big Stud closing in on her. She pulled a taser out of her oversized bag (her purse is a story for another time) and delivered a 50,000 volt taser strike to Big Stud’s private area. He dropped on the snow covered driveway like a sack of wet cement. She walked over to him as he lay there moaning in pain.
“Clint isn’t the sharpest tack in the box but he’s my boy,” she said as she put the taser between his eyes and pulled the trigger again.
At this point the officers took Clint out of the vehicle, uncuffed him and pointed at the porch. He started his long, naked walk across the yard as grandma said “he’s been getting made and taking all of his clothes off since he was eight years-old. First time he got mad at church and stripped down to what Almighty God gave him. I knew that boy wasn’t right then.”
The ex-wife came out throwing a fit only to be maced by the police to everyone’s enjoyment. They rolled Big Stud over on his stomach and proceeded to pick him up by his underwear much to his obvious discomfort.
The thing is that’s not even close to the craziest holiday the family has ever had. We reserve those crazy times for my cousin Tanya’s above ground pool parties at the Fourth of July. Of course that’s a story for another time.
Merry Christmas to you and yours.
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