I’ve never seen a disgusted-looking goat before, and they eat rancid cans of Spam…cans included. These Rosemary’s Baby-Neighbors here are going to pay dearly for this shaming. Rethink the term “sacrificial goat,” as ol’ Agatha is about to turn (possibly head-butt) the tables and offer up a yarn-heavy sacrifice to the AntiChristmas. By the time she finishes her rampage of vengeance, a few stray jingle-bells and a half-eaten receipt from Joann Fabrics will be all that remains of the McCheesersons.
Of course, if you’re into that sort of thing (this is where I switch into Whore Mode) you may purchase some Ugly Christmas Sweaters (or vintage glassware, lamps, or cool secondhand crap) at my eBay store Flowers From The Attic. Seriously, buy some of our stuff and get it out of our house. My husband was almost killed last night when he opened the door to the linen closet and an avalanche of seventy sweaters spilled into his head and buried him like a wooly man-moth. Thank god I heard his muffled sneezing and the jingle bells on the Rudolph cardigan he was shaking as an impromptu emergency alert system. I wasn’t about to explain that one to the coroner.