You're A Mean One, Mr. Jim

I am writing this at a quarter til nine of Christmas morning. This is the latest we have EVER opened presents. Most of the house is still asleep. The last few years, my sister has been waking us up around 7. It was a bit annoying, when my brothers and I tended to stay up hanging out and having fun on Christmas Eve. Last year I came up with a devious scheme to sneak into Malissa's room and set her clock back several hours. She finally came out of her room well after the time Mom and Dad told her she had to sleep to and asked if she could watch tv until it was time. They laughed and told her that it was later than she thought it was. To put it mildly, she was furious. Everyone else thought it was the funniest thing ever, including all the relatives we saw later in the day.
This year, we knew that wouldn't work on her. I convinced my parents to let me keep her up last night watching tv so that she wouldn't wake us all up so early. They agreed pretty easily, probably wanting their sleep, too. So I kept her up until about midnight, let her drink pop and stuff, then I went to sleep, leaving her still awake and wired. When I woke up just a few minutes ago, I crept past the sleeping house up to her room and shook her awake saying, "Hurry up! Get up! Time to open presents!" When she jumped out of bed I laughed and said, "Just kidding! No one else is up." Now she's up earlier than she wanted to be and still can't open presents.

Ain't I a stinker?

:) :) :)

Qops! (courtesy National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation)
CLARK: Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.

CLARK: Hey. If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?