Let's be an Eldergay Christmas Eve Open House

I'm the tree decorated with Mother's mercury glass ornaments with the hand-painted periwinkles and real lead tinsel.

I’m Brian and Chad!

Like you could keep us away, bitches!

Oh, look…mistletoe!

*cue nauseating PDA*

I'm the seventh replay of Kay Starr's "Everybody's Waitin' for the Man With the Bag" from the Mid-Century Christmas album.

I’m these, and I’m fucking everywhere.

[quote] Not a single one has been touched

Rather like the host and guests

I'm the teddy bear with a leather harness and a Santa hat.

I'm the host's velvet monogrammed slippers.

I'm the nerdy guests in smokin' hot jackets.

I'm a table loaded with vintage inspired canapes.

I’m horndog Brad, arriving with mistletoe placed in front of my crotch.

I'm the warm Rumaki, passed by a cute cater waiter. That damn Crab Rangoon Dip is really giving me a run for my money.

Save some goddam room for Crepes Suzette, you old queens!

I’m “The Men of Bertram’s Boudoir” calendar given to each guest as a gag gift, featuring 12 men who should never be photographed without clothing.

I'm the phrase "that was Mother's, don't touch it!" Repeated over and over and over throughout the evening.

We’re the Gibsons.

I’m the emphasis on “Make the Yuletide GAAAAAAY!” during Marcel’s rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

I'm Henry, arriving late from an "Ugly Sweater" party, still wearing this.

I'm Marcus, a professional pianist who regularly plays cabarets. I demur when asked to play a few carols on the host's beautifully polished, seldom used Steinway baby grand.

Then Christopher drunkenly announces that he "took a few piano lessons in his time," and siezes the opportunity to sit down at the keyboard, to muffled groans. "I was a prodigy! Mother used to say, 'Watch out, Liberace, Christopher's comin' up right behind ya'!"

[quote]'Watch out, Liberace, Christopher's comin' up right behind ya'!"

At which David rolls his eyes and stage whispers to the other David "and god knows Liberace would've loved THAT, if you know what I mean!"

I'm the shocked gasps when Steven's 32 year-old "twink" boyfriend says "what's Follies? I've never heard of it."

Christopher actually starts crying.

I'm the bugle beaded Christmas caftan worn by Addison. He wears it every year.

When Rosemary and Vera sing "Sisters" in "White Christmas" EVERY guest knows all the words and choreography. And they perform it. Like the fucking Eldergay Rockettes.

What do you want us to do to your mistletoed crotch Brad/R10?

I'm Aunt Mabel, who was paid handsomely by the other guests to detain Brian and Chad in the attic by rummaging through dusty boxes and showing them each of the Christmas ornaments which was not used this year and explaining in excruciating detail the family tales that go with them. I make sure nothing goes wrong by secretly bolting the attic door behind us. My nephew Darren knows he can depend on me every time to save the day.

I’m Dwight’s hysterical, wrist-flapping “Why did you look at ME when you sang that!?” after Marcel sings “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas”.

I’m the delicate glass Christmas ornaments. The host repeatedly warns his guests NOT to touch me! I’m very fragile!

(True story)

I'm Maurice. It's been a long year (family members with health problems). Usually, I bring an assortment of cookies (I like to bake). This year, no. I'm sitting here quietly drinking a small glass of wine.

This thread has a split personality. Is it about eldergays or twinks? In other words, it's "Let's Be an Eldergay Thanksgiving," Part 2.

I'm Chad. Brian and I have made up since our Thanksgiving blow-out. So, Brian is here, but he seems to be drinking too much egg nog. I should've insisted he take a Lactaid before we left the house.

(Truth be told, we've had tons of squabbles between Thanksgiving and now.)

On the seventh day of christmas my true love gave to me. . . . . . .

[quote]This thread has a split personality. Is it about eldergays or twinks?

I think the twinks are there because they have nowhere else to go… and they’re whores.

I'm the second trip to the liquor store.

Meanwhile, what are we gonna do with all of this food? Nobody is eating and nobody wants to take any home!

And DON'T FORGET THE OLIVES - WE NEED MORE OLIVES - and LEMONS! And TONIC! And CLUB SODA!

I’m the Elves on the Shelf posed in compromising positions.

I’m the background music.

I'm the disbelieving "You haven't seen May December YET?"

I’m Troy(e) Sivan

barbra, PLEASE

I’m what the Eggnog is served in.

R13 😂

I'm the obligatory viewing of the Pee-wee Herman Christmas special for the umpteenth time.

I'm the phrase "Does anyone want some Creme de Menthe?"

Nobody ever does.

The host sulks away, mumbling about nobody having any taste anymore.

I’m the candy cane martinis. They look festive but are hard to drink more than a few sips. Who cares what they taste like, they’re picture perfect for Instagram.

I’m the host eagerly awaiting compliments on his newest Byers Caroler, “The Ghost of Christmas Past”, finally joining “Present” and “Yet-to-Come”.

But nobody gives a shit.

I'm the vintage silver tree with multi-color rotating light.

I’m the nog. Egg nog if you nasty.

I’m the host’s roommate. Still uninvited, still sauntering to the bathroom nude…except for a strategically placed wreath.

I'm the home bar. Cocktails anyone?

I'm the shitty cheapo host gifts. Seriously, a ten dollar Target gift card?

I’m the GOUT they’ve had since Thanksgiving.

As long as it’s not those half-baked Lofthouse cookies I’m down.

I'm the untouched beef burgundy pie and minted peas

r50 Don't worry, you will be coming home with me.

Never mind, I just figured out who made that fucking pie and peas.

Bite me Greg. I'll drop them off at the soup kitchen.

Once again, I am Barbra's Greatest Hits on the stereo.

The eldergays are all festive and happy when "Woman In Love" plays,

I'm the uninformed gay voter who doesn't follow politics - "Haha - Trump was fun and how ridiculous he was -Biden is SOOOO boring!"

Flash forward 5 years - said voter has his marriage revoked, can be fired for being gay, and may be 'on the list' for Trump's camps that he said he would create.

I'm fucking serious.

And we have our thread killer at only 54 replies. Wonderful.

I’m the heated argument between the “tasteful” white light aficionado and the “festive” colour light aficionado.

Good one R56. I've heard that argument too many times to count.

COLORED LIGHTS YOU TROGLODYTES!

I’m the twunk boytoy being fitted for his thong diaper costume for next week’s New Year’s Eve festivities.

I'm the words, "You know who makes a really good fruitcake?" and the answer is never whoever made the one that's sitting there.

I'm making the Hanky Pankys. Please form a line.

Thank you r60. I will no longer continue to find an Ozempic script after reading that.

Swearing off of food forever. Much obliged!

I’m Brad’s “Ho-Ho-Homo” sweater.

I’ll be balled up on the floor in no time.

I'm the "Ozempic" queen.

This prompts Julien to say "we used to call that cocaine and Marlboro Lights."

I’m Chuck holding Mitzi, his docile Frenchie, by the Christmas tree.

“Discipline mixed with love is such a good recipe.”

[quote]Mitzi, his docile Lhasa Apso

FTFY

I'm the demand that "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" not be played as it kept "All I want For Christmas Is You" from #1 by shady playlisting tactics!

R40 just a little, if you please Monsieur

I’m the house couple investigating the spot of Brad’s latest rendezvous.

“Why is the carpet all wet, Todd!?”

“I don’t KNOW, Marco!”

*host couple

I'm the foolish twink who called the host "The Host of Christmas Past." I will not be invited next year.

[quote] Never mind, I just figured out who made that fucking pie and peas. Bite me Greg. I'll drop them off at the soup kitchen.

Get over yourself, you fat, embarrassing thing, R51/R52.

I am not R50, so feel free to take home all the food you like, you greedy piker.

I'm the hag, volume cranked to 11, hair dyed in an almost-natural hue, and knocking back another bourbon. One of the hosts can't stand me, but the other has known me for 40 years, when we were working at that FABULOUS little restaurant and going out to the clubs every night. Those memories are really all I have in common with my friend the host at this point, so they'll come up a lot.

You can call me Lindy.

I’m the Chartreuse being offered to the twinks by one of the many single eldergays.

R72 Hi Lindy! When are you flashing your boobs again?

I’m the newly installed , sea green, wall-to-wall carpeting. To protect me from messy drunks, the host will make Cosmopolitans with white cranberry juice only. No red cranberry juice is allowed in the house, the host makes a point of saying.

White cranberries? Are they albinos?

I'm Maldives. I'm the sunny, warm, tropical paradise where a group of long-time friends has decided to spend the Xmas holiday together this year. Far away from the crowds, the noise, the commercialism, the repetitive obligations, and the stress.

As an accompaniment to R77.

No, hon. I’m unavailable.

[quote] I'm the foolish twink who called the host "The Host of Christmas Past." I will not be invited next year.

That's far too clever for any Gen Y twink to come up with.

^Maybe the Gen Y twink saw "Mickey's Christmas Carol" on The Disney Channel in the 90s when he was little?

I meant it as a compliment.

Isn't the twink getting banged (loudly) by the naked roommate?

I'm the prissy table. Tablecloth, napkins, silverware, decorations, etc.

^^and all of it arranged JUST SO.

I'm the sound and smell of the festive cracker used to disguise the postprandial fart

I'm Mother's crystal Waterford punch bowl on the sideboard, with 11 crystal cups arranged neatly at its base. The set used to have 12 cups, but in 1966, Uncle Harvey dropped an hors d'oeuvres plate onto one of them. Mother never forgave him, and Uncle Harvey never came to another family Christmas gathering, but every year the story of his ghastly faux pas was retold to the family as they very carefully sipped their punch.

I'm the 11th Waterford crystal punch glass about to take a tumble as a drunken Brad tries to slip his hand around the twink's ass

I'm the host's piercing falsetto shriek as he sees the 11th vintage Waterford crystal punch glass slipping from Brad's hand.

"E♭6 on the nose," mutters Marcus the pianist, who has perfect pitch.

I'm the $6.99 Home Goods price tag on the end of the Yuletide table runner

[quote]I'm the prissy table.

They have their own table now? Sort of like the kids' table at Thanksgiving, I guess.

R60: I have never heard of Hanky Pankys (Pankies?), and I'm an Eldergay. They look awful, but I bet they're delicious if you're stoned.

On topic: Can I go home now? I've had too many Hanky Pankys. Can someone drive me? I feel sick. What's my name? Is that Waterford?

I'm Bev, one of the lesbian couple next door, dropping by on the pretext that she heard a piercing scream and wanted to "make sure everything's okay."

Jeffrey, the other half of the hosting couple, reassures her that "Gary is just having a moment," and has a brainstorm:

"Bev, would you and Cyn have any interest in some gluten-free cookies?" Moments later, a delighted Bev leaves with a full Ziploc of the unwanted confections and an exhortation to have a "Happy Solstice!"

I'm drunken Brad's second near-accident of the evening, as he almost staggers and crashes into the framed Follies poster. Luckily, Steven was right next to him and was able to steady him.

The host has gone into the bathroom for a moment to pop a Valium. Just like Mother did on Christmas Eve '66 after the dreadful Waterford crystal glass incident with Uncle Harvey.

R84 and R85, I will have you know that it is a tablescape and I worked very hard on this year’s theme!

There's a theme? Hard to tell after all you FATTIES attacked the food. Couldn't even wait til it was put down.

I’m brevity, the soul of wit. I am a stranger to these party guests.

I’m the bottom shelf liquor poured into the oh so elegant decanters with the twee silver tags

I’m Brad’s viagra, spilled all over the bedroom floor.

Who were the couple from the Friendsgiving thread who were promised a spin-off? Are they in attendance?

I'm the overflow of used Depends in the powder room wastebasket.

Brian and Chad are indeed in attendance.

When last seen, they were being scolded for giving the male Byers Carolers erections with little incense cones.

I’m 61 and I suppose I qualify as an elder gay or a boomer. None of this applies to me or the people I know. Some gays are fussy queens, but this doesn’t apply to eldrgays in general.

[quote] I’m 61 and I suppose I qualify as an elder gay or a boomer. None of this applies to me or the people I know. Some gays are fussy queens, but this doesn’t apply to eldrgays in general.

Oh, shit up, MARY!

R103 how will you be spending Christmas?

I’m “The Davids” Christmas sweaters, one green and one red, with a giant D on each.

Lots of whispered jokes abound as to what else the D could stand for.

I'm the cherished mid-century silver Christmas tree. I'm presented as the ne plus ultra of joyful space age kitsch but I'm actually a grade old objet de curiosité, tarnished, threadbare and coated with tar and nicotine after 60 years in several smoking households.

grade was typed as GRODIE

I am me. Well preserved 64-year-old in awesome health hanging around all these pickled, queenie, whiny and not so well preserved, drunken eldergays . My host gift was some non-dairy almond based egg nog from Whole Foods and a bottle of Fireball which the queenest and most obese eldergays loudly makes fun of .In a new part of town so discretely checking both Grindr and Sniffies on my phone. Already took a Cialis before arriving. Being strategic, thinking there must be some muscular bottoms 40-55 needing some dad time around .

zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I'm the vintage 1960s Angel Chimes. (They were Mother's.) Gary left them unlit; visions of a burning guest, or house, deterred him. But after his valium, here he is, merrily lighting the candles.

I’m Brad trotting out his sexy Santa costume.

When the twink sits on his lap, lots of bouncing is involved.

I am the all the eldergays gathered round the TV in hushed silence watching the annual replaying of Christmas in Vienna featuring Ms. Diana Ross!!!

I’d love to be invited to an elder gay Christmas Eve open house,

I'm r109's self-realisation. I'm nowhere to be found.

R114, same here. Sounds like fun.

I am Mike, the passive aggressive, mostly aggressive, ultra uptight control freak from the Palm Springs gathering. Brad, Chad and Brian have nothing on me. I live on in my original thread and still whispered about in others.

I’m Felix’s new Christmas tree this year: red with white ornaments.

I generate intense discussion.

[quote] and a bottle of Fireball which the queenest and most obese eldergays loudly makes fun of

Who wouldn’t?

[quote] I'm the prissy table. Tablecloth, napkins, silverware, decorations, etc.

What's so prissy about having a tablecloth, napkins (cloth, I'm presuming), silverware (or stainless steel), and some decorations?

What's supposed to be on the table? A tarp, paper plates, and plastic forks.

R120 Yes. We have to keep Party City in business. Besides, who wants this unwashed horde to do unspeakably vulgar things to Mother's place setting pieces and linens?

I'm Barbra's Christmas album, playing on the stereo.

R115 my self realization and my self actualization are both fully present and intact. Subscribing to a "common" ethnocentric idea of how a gay man manages his older years is tiresome, wouldn't you agree???

Happy Winter Solstice 🌅

Something certainly is tiresome, yes

I'm the white elephant gifts. Why do so many of us seem to need batteries?

I’m Melvin’s present. What could it be?

I’m the cheese ball made using Mother’s original recipe.

I'm the term "Open House." I usually mean, come in, have a drink or two, share in some holiday mirth and jollility, then get the fuck out.

Sadly, it seems some of you lonely, desperate queens (or is it, kweens) are hunkering down for the entire evening. Most of you have overstayed your welcome. It is now time for you to leave.

I’m the Viciously face slappings

I'm the homophobic neighbour from the last thread who found a pair of soiled undercrackers in her azalea bush after that wicked orgy that must have taken place, on thanksgiving of all days!

I'm now half bent out my upstairs window with my late husband's field glasses, determined to find something to report to the authorities!

The last open house resembling any of this took place in 2007 in Tower Grove East in St. Louis City, in the 3400 block of Halliday Avenue.

I know. I was there.

People kept bumping into the vitrines in the living room and dining room that held the host's extensive collection of Roseville Pottery.

r120 hasn't been to a party since 1992. Tablescapes have become a competitive art form. Although for an open house, there aren't place settings at the table so the tablescape needs to be even more impressive.

I'm the nap. I'm being longed for by most of the gathering.

I don't like tablescapes at dinner parties. Just a bouquet of flowers and very clean well presented service and table linens. I do really like tablescapes on buffet tables. You don't have to look at them very long if they are horrible and if they are great, it's a nice atout.

Open gape

I’m the misplaced tiara

I’m guest gift bags with poppers

And cockrings R137 ! Mustn't forget the cockriiiiiings!

And condoms that are thrown, unused, onto the host’s front steps as guests leave

I'm the increasingly heated argument about what Christmas movie to have playing on the hosts' TV. [italic]It's a Wonderful Life[/italic] is dismissed out of hand as "depressing." The "twink" demands [italic]Die Hard[/italic] and is shouted down instantly.

The camps eventually boil down to [italic]Christmas in Connecticut[/italic] vs [italic]Holiday Inn[/italic]. Just as tempers begin to flare, Jeffrey grabs the remote, stating: "This is OUR party and OUR TV and we're watching [italic]Meet Me in St Louis.[/italic]"

Gift bags? Have you ever exited your basements?

"I'll watch Die Hard with the "twink," thank you. Best Christmas movie ever."

^^Upon hearing this, Christopher drops the tray of canapes.

[quote] Jeffrey grabs the remote, stating: "This is OUR party and OUR TV and we're watching Meet Me in St Louis."

#JeSuisJeffrey

R137 R138 R139

Op says eldergay not young gay.

No, the movie the twink wants to watch is The Grinch with Jim Carrey because it makes him nostalgic for his childhood, much to the ire of the elders.

I'm the quiet gay sitting in a corner, happily watching "A Christmas Story" on my phone while the rest of the queens fight.

I’m in the car being dom’d by the only alpha at the party

I the regret that comes with realizing the trains are running on a holiday schedule and I have to stay here another 45 minutes. I could have stayed home in my sweats and hung out with my dog and cat.

I'm r148's dog and cat, thankful for the respite

I'm Jason. I'm too old for any of the really good parties and too young to fight over which 80-year-old Christmas movie to watch. I sneak into the host's bedroom, crack open a window the tiniest bit, and furtively hit my THC vape until I feel ready to socialize again.

I’m the Hummels in Mother’s curio cabinet.

I'm the twink who didn't understand the concept of "nut cups."

I'm the boozy, slightly cacophonous singalong to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," slightly marred because the "twink" sings the later, more upbeat lyrics used by Sinatra and others, and gets his arm viciously slapped by Michael.

Brad here. I'm the "young" eldergay because I'm ~ 6 years younger than most of the crowd.

I forgot to bring a Secret Santa gift, but I won't say anything. Someone won't receive a gift, but it won't be me.

I’m the nude roommate hollering “who wants to stuff my stocking!?”

Brad and the twink initially scuffle as to who gets to be first, before deciding to go in together.

I’m the monkey pox jokes that Brad does not find at all funny.

I’m crass, fat Frank, who could give Cousin Eddie a run for his money.

“Shitter was full!” he boastfully announces en route to the can.

[quote] “Shitter was full!” he boastfully announces en route to the can.

"The can" is way less crass than "the shitter"!

I'm the 32-year-old "twink" braying at "Shitter was full" because "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" is my favorite Christmas movie, though even I know better than to spout this opinion in a room full of eldergays.

Scrooge the Musical is the movie to be played at an eldergay open house.

[quote]I'm the 32-year-old "twink"

I'm the eldergay who hasn't had sex with a young and attractive man in 30 years who fantasises about all these twinks being at their open house.

r158 "shitter's full!" is a famous line from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.

Christmas Vacatuon - if ut haooened today Clark & his family would’ve been slaughtered if nit by his neighbors then by the SWAT team. And he’d be lucky to get one jar of jam as a Christmas bonus,

It’s really something to see Clark in his massive center hall colonial whine that he’s broke because he can’t afford a swimming pool in his park-sized backyard

I’m Algernon’s old trauma that arises whenever “fruitcake” is spoken aloud.

I'm the three-day hangovers

I’m dementia

I’m the productive coughs that don’t stop the smokers from stepping out on the porch.

Productive coughs? What are those?

Never mind. I looked it up. It involves phlegm.

Phlegm at 11!

Uh oh - how many Egg Nogs has Larry had, tonight? He is in front of the fireplace and has tied a napkin around his neck and is pretending to be Vera-Ellen, again! ……..,,,.”The Wedding Chimes - bring happy times- for Mandy d Me ….,,,, Mandy! What a Gal!!”

I’m Brian and Chad juggling mother’s mercury glass ornaments.

I cause the host to let out his second E flat 6 of the evening.

I am a massively overstuffed Christmas stocking. My mum sewed me out of a large OP shirt. You could almost fit a car in me. Opening me up while the rest of the house was still asleep, remains the coziest memory of any holiday for the lucky sappy queen who got to do it every year for so many years. MARY! I know, whatever.

I’m Xander and Hubert, enjoying one last big holiday meal before we start the master cleanse for a fresh start in the new year.

Marcel: “Thank you for joining us from 2007!”

I'm the box of Dunkin Christmas Donuts Kevin breezes in with, a few hours into the festivities. He plops them right on the sideboard, in the box, making room by pushing aside the various carefully plated homemade tortes, savories, and hors d'oeuvres.

The donuts are eagerly devoured within minutes. Gary stifles tears in the kitchen, being consoled by Kevin as he angrily hisses, "Next time I'll just put out a big fucking bowl of fucking [italic]corn syrup [/italic] with a fucking [italic]ladle[/italic], since those fucking PIGS don't know decent food from GARBAGE!"

Je t'adore, R175.

Shut the door, R176?

Love you r175! I can so hear those words being spoken by a bitter old queen in my head.

I'm Jeffrey's prized Golden Girls ornaments hanging in a prominent place on the tree. The guests love me. And love to touch and handle me. And by the end of the evening, Sophia will be in pieces on the floor. Alerted by the tinkling of broken glass, Jeffrey booms: "MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION! One of our guests, and I'm not saying who, Armand, seems to have shattered my Sophia Petrillo hand-blown glass ornament, and I just want to make sure everyone stays clear of the tree and doesn't step on the MANY tiny shards of poor Sophia, may she rest in peace -- or in pieces, THANK YOU Armand!"

I’m the comparison of a glazed donut with a blown out fart box.

R179 you gave me a needed chuckle, thank you!

BTW Blanche looks like shit there..

I'm the Golden Girls dolls, which have been taken off one of the end tables and safely hidden in the bedroom closet, lest anything happen to them like the Sophia ornament.

I'm the audible gasp from the guests when the elder host of the couple, Bob, waltzes out with his new hair system on. He previously looked pretty good with a spiky cut that was a little thinning and receding.

Now he looks like a blonde Little Steven on the Sopranos and we're not supposed to notice. Dan, his husband, asked everyone not to mention it, but he keeps asking if he looks different.

Fur will fly when we all get drunk.

I'm David, spotting this Golden Girls game in the bookshelf and pulling it out, saying "Who wants to play a round in Sophia's memory?"

The only response is from Jeffrey, through gritted teeth: "Put. It. Back. I am NOT in the mood. Right. Now."

I'm our host's sphincter muscle, which has reached its maximum level of clenchedness, due to the near destruction of one of Mother's Waterford crystal glasses (bringing back terrible memories of Christmas Eve '66) the fucking box of fucking Dunkin Donuts (classless PIGS!) and now the shattering of his precious Sophia ornament (well it could have been worse. It could have been Dorothy).

Perhaps it's time to quietly slip back into the bathroom and pop another Valium, as Mother surely would have done.

R182 Sofia looks like she's been raped then redressed in a panic before Nurse DeFarge comes on shift

[R182] Dorothy looks like Bowen Yang in 15 years (clothes included).

The Dunkin’ Donuts post brings back a memory from the cobwebs.

My ex-BF made and brought to a snob friend’s party:

The Lipton onion soup dip. He used sour cream. He didn’t even use cream cheese, which would’ve been classier and would’ve required some stirring effort due to cream cheese being thick.

It was very popular at the party and the hostess (snob friend) did comment on it.

I’m the deviled eggs Brad brought.

“Whore d’oeuvres” I’m called.

I'm the mix up the host has in the bathroom when, in his nervous state, he accidentally pops a viagra instead of the valium.

I’m the brass claw lamp in the corner of the living room, circa 1986. I’m currently festooned with faux garland and colored LED Christmas lights that cast a radioactive like glow around the room and onto the two Patrick Nagel prints, (they’re “original” giclee!). I hover over the host’s black lacquer coffee table with brass accents, which serves the sectional Natuzzi black leather sectional sofa, (with hidden compartment for a push-button telephone!). My entire room is a time machine harkening back to the host’s glory days of the 1980s yet I’m still pointed out with great pride.

R191 many of us would give our eye teeth for such. That is, if we still have them.

We're the Hissing Eldergays. Are we too late?

I'm Gary's ultimate tribute to Mother. I'm made of pretzel sticks dipped in white chocolate, then tipped with red icing and black and clear sprinkles, and set on the coffee table.

It's almost like Mother, Aunt Gladys, and MeeMaw are here spending Christmas with him again.

I'm the white Christmas lights festooned on the fireplace mantle casting an eerie, almost supernatural glow on the framed 16" x 24" portrait of Mother on her wedding day.

I’m Brian and Chad finding a life-sized plastic skeleton amongst the stored Halloween decorations. We decide to dress it in a Mrs. Claus costume and put mother’s wig on it.

The little joke will necessitate an ambulance for the host.

Why does the least socially helpful person always show up on the dot?

I’ll rephrase: I’m the socially unhelpful person who shows up on the dot and requires his hosts to stop their finishing touches and instead engage in stilted conversation with him.

a partridge in a cunt tree

I'm the 78 year old former off-Broadway sequined chanteuse belting carols at the piano surrounded by a circle of adoring men in ugly Christmas sweaters.

That isn't me in the link, just my inspiration.

A lot of men want imported pigskins for xmas

I'm Nathan. I never host at my house because it's, well, a mess. However, I do show up with decorations and foods that have no connection to my host's decorations and menu. This is the closest I can get to hosting a party.

I am the hissing sounds the guests make when the kaftanned old queen from next door rings the doorbell while clutching a sad plate of desert dry cookies, and tries to peer through the windows.

Aww R203 let the poor guy in, he's lonely!

I'm the sushi in a clear plastic box from Safeway that no one eats. The host looked askance at the guest who brought it.

some of these things are even worse than I could have ever imagined.

I'm Barbra's Christmas Album, still playing in the background, which prompts Jeffery to say "has Bette Midler ever done a Christmas album?"

I am the little chihuahua Max and little Yorkie Elsa who bark, bark bark every time the doorbell rings and they go racing to the door as new guests clumsily try to to get in without letting them out.. The entire stops cold each time “DON’T let Max and Elsa het out!!!” …… Meanwhile PLEASE DO NOT go into the third bedroom - 17 year old Siamese Magnolia took her fluids today - she can’t get excited!!

I'm Clarence. I currently tip the scales at 375 (but I don't look a pound over 350!). Because of last year's "accident," the host insists I bring my own chair with me whenever I visit. Which is kind of a pain, but at least I look festive in my new Christmas caftan. And don't the light-up Christmas bulb earrings just make the look complete? Now, who brought the fudge?

I’m buzzkill Simon bumming everyone out by performing the original “Have Yourself…” lyrics Judy Garland refused to sing.

The fuck did I just read, R208?

I'm the carefully curated Holiday Barbie collection on display (as just part of a much larger collection!) in one of the bedrooms, deemed "The Barbie Room". The host actually has a lock on the door and has the key tied with a long pink ribbon. The tour is given exclusively to guests who arrive on time, early in the evening along with the tree and decorations tour, before the guests get too inebriated. Only two or three guests actually care to see the dolls, most go in for laughs, and a handful sit out in the living room, sipping their drinks and grumbling about not looking at a bunch of fucking dolls.

All of the dolls are here, from 1988 to 2023, only the blonde versions naturally, displayed on custom built wooden shelf units. The host loves telling the story about the carpenter who built the shelves, even imitating him ("Your little niece is just gonna love you!"). The only duplicates are 1995 (two different fabrics because the original factory caught fire!) and 1997 (because of the green eye box/ blue eye doll thing). Each doll is accompanied by its corresponding Hallmark Keepsake Ornament . The host carefully measured how much space was needed for this exhibit.

Also on display are several other Christmas themed Barbies though they are not strictly part of the Holiday series, such as "Peppermint Princess". The host initially had them displayed separately, but it triggered his OCD so terribly, the two collections were combined in the middle of the night. He had to call in sick to work. All dolls released in the same year should be together!

One of the young twinks decides to play a prank by switching around an ornament and its box, but is caught by Daddy and quietly admonished. Then the doorbell rings and the host swishes away to answer it after excusing himself. The twink quickly turns back and manages to switch several of the ornaments and boxes before the host returns. This will not be discovered until well after the new year, accompanied by such a loud, blood-curdling shriek, neighbors will call 911.

R212 😂😂😂

There’s a big ol hole in my ass

I'm the Robert Tonner Wonder Woman doll, which is in a temperature-controlled glass case.

I'm the crowd gawking at Mark's cell phone and the muted titters, whispers, and gasps that change abruptly to loud, bright small talk whenever Jeffrey is in earshot. The topic: Is the bottom in the video actually Jeffrey or just someone who has an identical looking head, haircut, and belly?

(Alan's opinion: "Well, when [italic]I[/italic] had Jeffrey he was 30 years younger and 30 pounds lighter! Whatever ...[italic]this[/italic] is, I wouldn't fuck it with someone else's dick!" He waves his hand dismissively, while his eyes never leave the screen.)

[quote]There’s a big ol hole in my ass

To match the one in your head, apparently.

I’m the reading glasses that come on when the flip phone comes out.

R209 made me spit-laugh!!!!

I'm four functional alcoholics, all smokers to boot. It's a Christmas miracle how they keep going, year after year after year. Real throwbacks in countries that have tamped down on all the fun and messy old vices.

I’m the large banner over the fireplace that says a plague and thousand grease fires to the “let’s be” troll.

I am Earl, Marcus' sometime boyfriend who does weekend cabaret downtown, and I present a marvelous 'Have Yourself a Merry Christmas' (if I do say so myself), in full Judy drag. I get quite an ovation until my eighth White Cranberry Cosmo and creepy Judy comes out when I demand people to be respectful as I begin my full 'Judy at Carnegie Hall' routine.

I am the host's doorman calling him to say if there is one more complaint from the other tenants he is calling the police!

I'm Marcus, the shy professional cabaret pianist. I've been nursing a broken heart, sad memories of happier Christmases in the past, and several glasses of extremely strong punch.

After Earl -- now demanding to be called "Judy" -- is convinced to sit down and have another drink, I silently sit at the piano. I begin to play a lilting and understated version of "2000 Miles" by The Pretenders. Conversation dies down as I begin to sing. In my mind, I am singing to a certain special someone now more than 2000 miles away.

MARY!

Is there anyone good looking at this party?

I am Judy, Earl by day, screaming at Marcus the WIMP. Throwing a cosmo in his face, I demand he play 'The Man That Got Away' before I go to the buffet table and eat four Duncan donuts. After purging in the coat closet, I return to the piano demand Marcus to play 'Over the Rainbow'. When he doesn't play in my key, I throw the bowl of Jordan almonds in his face and scream LIMP WIMP for everyone in the building to hear.

I am the tropical fish in the host's living room wondering why people are throwing unwanted cocktails into my tank.

I’m Duncan (aka Drunken Duncan) attempting to join the singing shenanigans by performing “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”. I do this while prancing around the tree, my words so slurred nobody can understand me, until I trip on the runner and take the tree down with me.

The host hits his third E♭6 of the night as mother’s mercury glass ornaments go rolling everywhere…the ones that survived.

Everyone chips in opening all the windows. Brad’s offer of a consolatory BJ does nothing to improve the host’s mood.

Brad must have noticed that the host still has a viagra-induced boner, despite slipping into an extra tight pair of briefs under his truss an hour ago

I guess the events of R229 took care of Dorothy, Blanche, and Rose. [See R179 .]

I'm the cunty looks (well-honed over decades) as a queen makes sure to snidely judge what guests come wearing or bring.

You have not honed your grammar over the last 8 decades.

I’m the tree filled wit Christopher Radko hand blown glass ornaments made by exploited factory workers in Poland just after the fall of the Iron Curtain. Only pre-QVC-era ones before he sold out! Much of the early and mid 90’s were spent going from Christmas shop to Christmas shop to find the most coveted ones. Any tarnished silvering is carefully hidden in their meticulous placement. The cats, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, are locked in the basement between the day after Thanksgiving and the Epiphany.

The story at r175 reminds me of a true story Dan Levy of Schitt's Creek told. During the run of the show he would often host Sunday brunch for his castmates and he would make fancy recipes or have upscale catering. Then Annie Murphy would breeze in with a bucket of KFC and everyone would devour the fried chicken instead.

I’m Brett. I’m asked to provide a newcomer with my business card, so he can contact me with some questions about his mother's estate. When I take out my wallet, a fossilized condom falls out and onto the wood floor, immediately attracting the attention of every pair of eyes at the party.

I'm volunteering at the kettle.

R233 What's wrong with the grammar?

I am the hideous Peruvian street art, still on display (but now with golden ornaments hanging from the frame), but nobody compliments me because everyone is compelled to say something nice about the overdecorated Christmas tree.

I’m Earl, a straight, butch stripper who was called to do a Santa strip for a bachelorette party. When the door opened I saw a fag conga line dancing to the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’. Suddenly, they all stopped and looked at me. I was about to leave when a drag queen grabbed my arm and pulled me in saying “Shanta, come on in you Ho Ho Whore!” I was pulled to the piano when the queen said “Hit it, Marcus” to a poor guy wiping food off his face. The queen started singing, ‘Santa Baby’ and motioned me to dance. I wasn’t sure until a few guys came up and started giving me $20 bills. I started getting into and took off my hat and coat and a few more guys tried pulling my pants down. I ripped them off and stood there with a stocking g-string when another old dude pulled that down and plopped my dick in his mouth. I smacked his head and his teeth flew out of his mouth. I pulled the Christmas skirt from around the tree to cover myself when I heard some screaming by the front door and the police came in. The toothless old man said I bashed him and the cops arrested me for indecent exposure. What a fucking nightmare before Christmas.

I'm Marcus, back to moping as Christopher has forcibly nudged me off the piano bench, yelled "Lighten up, JESUS!" and started in playing "Sleigh Ride." The boisterous singalong fades quickly as no one really knows the lyrics, but several partygoers enthusiastically insert the whip-crack sound effect where appropriate.

[quote]Is there anyone good looking at this party?

The labradoodles are kind of cute.

R240 that was unexpected!

Creative

I’m the extra thick candy cane that’s sucked on erotically.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Who spends money (and it's a lot of money on Christopher Radko ornaments? Exploited Poles or not, $60? $100 or something that hangs off a dying branch for two weeks a year?

But bonus points for cat's names!

I'm the yule log grease fire the guests have happily tossed R221 into. We all warm our hands (and hearts) near the fire as R221 burns alive and then we laugh and laugh and laugh

I am the crackling log fire playing as a movie on the TV. I am extremely annoying but the hosting eldergays think it's lovely and original. Their real fireplace hasn't worked in 11 years.

I'm Mother's beautifully preserved antique Bavarian crèche. The large handpainted Joseph has been positioned near the manger, the better to support the cocktail sausage he now sports between his legs. Mitchell, the guilty party, has moved to the other side of the room, awaiting Gary's shriek. Ten minutes later, it arrives, followed by everyone else's laughter as they notice Joseph's miraculous endowment.

I'm "Bell Book and Candle" running on a loop in the den.

I'm the filthy "anonymous" phone calls to the homophobic neighbour who believes this loving Christmas get-together is really a perverted gay orgy.

I’m the coordinated red and green dildos hung in the window to give the homophobic neighbor a heart attack.

This party sounds exquisite. I’m the early sixty year old Karen who deeply wishes to be accepted by “the fun gays down the hall” but they see right through my nicely nice exterior and avoid me like the plague. I walk past the door several times in the hopes of hearing an orgy, but all I can hear are show tunes and shattering glass. I hate these fags. Why doesn’t anyone like me?

oh R253... very good and very sad for the aging Karen.

I’m the conversation about Shannen Doherty’s podcast. Most of us sympathize with Shannen for being fired for Charmed because we all supported her during the 90210 fiasco.

Except Larry who is siding with Alyssa Milano.

This conversation lasts for 25 minutes and nobody makes any new points

I'm the $75 bottle of Champagne Collet Brut Vintage 2008 Collection Privée that Jacob splurged on, feeling a bit of the Christmas spirit towards his old friends Jeffrey and Gary. Jeffrey hugs him at the door and then puts the chilled Champagne on the kitchen counter and walks back to the party. Jacob calls after him loudly, "Where are the flutes? I'm just gonna pop open the Collet Brut so everyone can toast!"

Like fuck was Jacob gonna let those fuckin' cheapskates save his Champagne for their own private New Year's celebrations. The nerve!

I'm the Diana screams that turn to joy when it's announced trump just died in a car crash.

Here he is

r257 LOL @ "Diana screams" it now has an official name!