It's My Fish in a Box Part 1

Tis the holiday season again, which means Peppermint Joe’s are back, little old Armenian ladies are ploughing you down at Ross, the price of bad Christmas sweaters have sky rocketed, and your friends are taking nude pictures of themselves on a silver platter with an apple in their mouth, for this year’s best Christmas card.

It’s also the time for parties...awkward ones with the co-workers, even more awkward ones with the family, and yet even more awkward ones with your hippy boyfriend, his 3 mothers, 2 fathers, siblings and 12 adoptees, gathered in a naked tub of hippy stew.  If you’re  lucky, you get invited to a few of your friend’s holiday bashes where the inevitable white elephant exchange goes down.

Now for those of you who don’t know how this little exchange goes down, it’s a nasty little game of sly dickery where everyone gets a number, and by numerical order, you can either open up a new gift or steal a gift from someone preceding you.  Seems simple...and it is...the only tricky part is deciding how much you value your friendship and what your tactic is for stealing the VHS of “Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker” from the  guy who showed up with a sequin glove.  Are you gonna play the “Sorry no one told you that I’m a dick?” card, or are you gonna play the “Sorrreeee. I really am....Jeeez....**chuckle** **cough** **burp**  “Whoops! Excuse me” (breathe deep, shake your head, and sloooooowly back away).  But that’s only when it comes to all the  good stuff.  You pray you don’t get the bad stuff...oh no.  Not that creepy sleeping cat figurine that only weirdos buy at gas stations, or a Vons wrapped bag of bananas and condoms, ‘cause that’s not original OR funny, and I swear to god, if I see that damned Santa in a Sailor Suit shmigurine shmokin’ his cob pipe yet AGAIN, I am going to have to destroy that evil son of a Coke.

Well...I’m the kind of asshole that’ll bypass bringing the mundane gift of lingerie, for the chance to totally lose it while watching someone opens up my planted piece of comedy.  One year it was the retard helmet.  A big bright yellow helmet that I pasted stickers of hot wheels and cops on it with slogans like, “Slow Down!” and “#1 Champ”, for that extra special authentic touch.  Another year it was this wretched penis mask with purples veins and a hole that you could stick your tongue out of...becauuuseee penis’s have tongues and that one menacing eye...right?   Which reminds me that another year I brought a fake tongue that you can put in your mouth and have it blow up like a frog goiter married to a piece of bazooka gum. God I should have put those two gifts together.

Well this one year, with only 2 hours until I had to head out to my friend Red’s holiday party, I had nothing. Thankfully I was already at the mall, unthankfully it is probably LA’s most ghetto mall....orrrrr thankfully....hrrmmmmpph.

I put on my hustle game face and I quickly darted through the stores looking for inspiration, but got distracted by the greasy stale aroma of lumpia invading my nose. A quick scan at that Filipino restaurant / bakery/ spaghetti with hot dogs place and wonder if I should get those packaged sweet rolls with whipped butter and shredded cheddar cheese? Yeah, no. I look into the Fashion USA. A lifetime supply of cheap grape flavored lip gloss?  Nah. OOOH!!! Perhaps this flesh toned, butt enhancer!  To squeeze the fat from your thighs and push it into your butt, like a tube of toothpaste. Genius.  Not to mention that it also had butt pads, in case your stallion thighs didn’t have an inch to spare.  God that’s good, but not quite it.

What’s it going to be this year?  As I look down at my phone, I realized that time is running out, and I have to find something genius fast...not to mention that I also have to pick up some booze.  Well in this ghetto mini mall, it also happens to have a full on Asian grocery story, right next to the Radio Shack and Anna’s Linens.  How amazingly convenient. I could just swoop in there and pick up a case of beer in the least.   As I start to parooze the aisles, I begin to feel nostalgic about all of the little candies that I used to eat. The milk crackers, the huge sheets of Norri, and even that pungent fish smell that no one else seems to notice...wait...what was that? A fish smell?

Suddenly a stroke of genius hit me like a sloppy, wet spanking. Smack! That’s it! I’m gonna bring a fish! But not just any old fish, my FAVORITE fish. A pregnant yellow croaker.  Snickering to myself, I grab it by the tail and rush home.

Now, when it comes to comedy, we all know that it’s all about the delivery.  So how am I going to deliver this little morsel of fun?  I figure the best way, would be to throw it in a Christmas bag, stuff the bag with tons of decorative tissue paper, and ribbons and voila! A totally grab worthy looking gift. With that much effort in the wrapping, it must be good right? And who in the WORLD would guess that a big pregnant fish would be on the inside?

With my gift finally in hand, I rush over to the party late, but I know it's worth it. Once I get there, I can hardly wait for the gift exchange. I feel like I have a naughty little secret and it is killing me to not tell anyone about it!

Well an hour goes by and then another hour, and then, I start to sweat. Quite literally. This year has been quite a cold year and the heat in this place is blasting! I start to worry about this poor dead fish and if it is melting into a puddle of pink. As the time ticks by, I casually walk by it several times, for a good ‘ol sniff check.  Another hour goes by, and I am starting to die on the inside with anticipation and anxiety, hoping that my gift doesn't become fish pudding.

FINALLY, it is time for the gift exchange. Oh thank god.  Well in my excitement, I can't help but to express to my friends that I brought something really good. Them, knowing me, knew NOT to pick my gift...there is however, one girl that I did not know.  With 1 gift left, and her as the last, she decides to go for the surprise.

My eyes must have been bugging out of my head, and my face red from holding my breath as she sweetly unties the ribbon and pulls out the paper.  Her face is so cute as her eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth raised in anticipation of what it could be....and then...”AHHH! OMFG! OMFG! What the hell?!?!” as she throws the bag down and holds her hands to her face.

“What is it? What is it?” everyone else cried.
“It’s a...it’s a DEAD FISH!”
“A what?”
“A real DEAD FISH!”

At this point I am battling between hysterics and feeling really bad.  Of course the one person who happens to choose my gift, happens to be the ONLY vegan in the group.  Classic.  Well since I don't really know this girl I quickly scan the room to see if it’s ok to laugh.  After a long dramatic pause, and the dumfounded looks on people’s faces start to dissipate, we suddenly start crying out in hysterics. Whew!  Thank god, because I was just about to lose it right then and there, and would have looked like the only insensitive asshole of the bunch. We sit there, laughing so hard that tears are streaming down our faces.  I sit there and juggled between laughing outrageously and swallowing it down to a mere chuckle so as not to seem too utterly insensitive.

In the end I was glad to know that even in her trembly state, she was able to laugh it off a bit and hide her wild eyes of judgement.  Because it's all about me and now I feel better about myself. Lol. Jesus.