Toledo Tales

Guest editorial by Marty Phelps, holiday consultant

Some people know it's Christmas when they hear the carols on the radio, while for other people it's mistletoe and all those hokey decorations.

Still others like a nice blanket of snow on the ground to announce the beginning of the holiday season.

But for me, nothing kicks off the holidays like picking up a crack whore.

Not just any crack whore, mind you. It's got to be one of those really emaciated, down-on-her-luck types that walk along Jefferson Avenue on a Sunday morning looking like a strung-out skeleton, one of those sick freaky types that make you shudder but at the same time give you that weird kind of spontaneous dirt-lust.

Left: Sw-e-e-e-et!

Then driving her into an alley some place outside of downtown and doing the dirty right out in public, my bare ass bouncing up and down in the back of my PT Cruiser while she tries to call her dealer to spend the $20 she just made.

The best part about my holiday crack whore ritual is going to Midnight Mass with that smirk on my face, everyone thinking I'm just in the holiday spirit. Little do they know that I'm smiling as I think about what a wild-ass start to the holiday season I just had, and that I didn't even take a shower before loading the family off to church, just wallowing in my nastiness.

Yes, some people like their egg nog and Bailey's Irish Cream, but me? I like starting off the season having illicit sex with a crack whore.

And don't even ask what I do for New Year's. That's a level of "crazy" that you're probably not ready to hear about from the Marty-man.

Labels: crack whore, holidays