The Christmas Bash was a rousing success. It must have been, because the place looks like the Hessian Headquarters in Trenton must have looked the day after Washington caught those Teutonic mercenaries all beer’d up on Christmas Day in 1776 and gave them an Arsch-kicking, except that I have yet to run across any dead Germans.

We had enough food for Washington’s Army and enough booze, wine, and beer to get both sides in that conflict blitzed. I (along with my bodyguard Ken, the Anal Cruise Director) spent the better part of the day making drinks in the kitchen and doing scullery work. Apple martinis were again the drink of choice for most, even though I was ready for anything, as long as it wasn’t blue shit. As a result, neither of us got to sit all day. Hell, we even ate standing up.

This morning I treated the nascent hangover with a hot grease-bomb (ham, eggs, cheese, toast, lots of butter) and hot coffee. Since then, I have been managing to swallow my own spit and to help clean up the rubble a couple feet at a time.

To those who attended who may be reading this, thank you for coming. And to those who read this but who were not here, I wish you could have been. It was a great shindig, indeed putting the Battle of Trenton to shame.

I hope you all had a great Christmas. We certainly did.