A Doug Fir, ugh. The pine whore of the Christmas tree world. Might as well put a star on a hooker and stand her in the corner.
She plops on the chiffon throw and says, “Who’s dick I got to suck to get this over with?” Merry slutty Christmas everyone.
“Gross,” Nat says. “Rose gold is for poor people!”
People always said Holly had mother’s eyes. Now the girl’s got the receipts.
Both Holly and Nativity bum rush me, so I do the only thing I can — climb.
I can hear the silicone boiling in her tits before the water balloons explode off her chest.
And Holly’s just an oozing, dripping flesh ornament that smells like burning snails.
The flames climb, and so do I.
Andrew would like people to know the following:
By day, Andrew Rutledge works as a freelance Creative Director writing ads for gaming industry clients like Microsoft and Blizzard. But at night (and before-the-sun-comes-up mornings) this Hoosier native writes short stories while banging out a draft of his upcoming novel. Just never ask him what the word Hoosier actually means. That’s a story for another time. You can find his short stories here. Or drop him a note here.
Thank you, Andrew!
