On the first of December, my younger brother turned 26. I drew this picture to commemorate the moment in the style of his new favorite book/TV series.
(To continue the Game of Thrones line of conversation: “When you play the Game of Birthdays, you win or you die.” True enough. Usually the end of birthdays indicates that one’s ceased to live.)
My brother’s birthday is the last holdout before the onslaught of Christmas.
How I hate its music. Particularly “Santa Baby.” Because who wants to get sexy with Santa? Look at the man. I don’t think the temperature at the North Pole is the sole reason Mrs. Claus is frigid.
The only thing I hate more than the music is the weird, wasteful gifts that people buy in order to check “buy presents” off their lists. Like this snowball maker:
This thing is $30. Because, you know, making snowballs by hand is hard.
There are so many idiotic products available that there’s actually a blog called The Worst Things For Sale.
Visiting it will kill a few hours of your life. Just a warning.
Godspeed, Internet. May you find something decent to put on your wish list.
Or you could just ask for cookies. That’s my plan.