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Whitewalls, chromedomes, and an asshat with jingle bells

Whitened on December 24, 2023.

Wandering around the Spend-O-Mart, meandering about looking for Christmas gifts for all my loved ones (and Christmas GIFs for my unloved ones), I happened upon the automotive section where they were having a sale on curb feelers.

My previous life in 1950 as a whitewall whitener popped into my rather peanut-shaped mind. Outdoors, the snow fell—and it was white. So, it was only natural I would remember those white, white whitewalls so suddenly. I had truly been a pro at that job—buffing those whitewalls until they shined shinier than the chrome—as white as teeth, as white as new-fallen snow (before anyone peed in it), and as white as succulent windowsills covered in delicious lead paint. Not even whitewashed fences, Harry Whyte’s asshattery, nor a den of Bavarian white-tailed gnomes could come close.

And there was a lot of new-fallen snow out there right now. I had a lot of peeing to do. I forgot about Christmas shopping and ran out of the store.



The office I don’t work at held their Christmas party on Thursday. All of my coworkers attended, including me—even though I don’t work there and I’m not really my own coworker. Nevertheless, I wore my reddest (and greenest!) leisure suit and the asshat with the jingle bells on it. My boss didn’t recognize me when I greeted him, probably because I don’t actually work in that office and never did. After I got far too drunk off eggnog, I ate all the horse d’œuvres myself and then tried to eat the Christmas tree. My coworkers would surely all remember me for a long time now. Hopefully I wouldn’t get fired, though!

After security was called, I rode out on the horse I rode in on.

Back when I did work there, there was something that always disturbed me about that office: In the corner of the kitchenette there sat a recycle bin, which was sadly disused. However, every once in a while, suddenly and without warning, this blue, blue receptacle would suddenly be filled to the brim with crushed cardboard boxes. Where did they come from? Why did they end up there? Was someone eating all the food in those cardboard boxes for lunch? All at once? And most significantly, why would anyone assume these boxes’ sudden appearance would merit a warning? Didn’t that office’s HR department have better things to do?

Those questions were never answered before I quit the job I never had there anyway.

Back at the party… I wasn’t drunk enough to eat my leisure suit and asshat but I tried. (Those horse doofers weren’t drunk enough, either.) And for once in my life, I actually succeeded at something. My past life in 1950 as that master whitewall whitener had presaged my future life as a professional dome-chromer. But before I could complete that thought—or whatever it was—something much more important popped into my peculiarly cashew-shaped mind…

Tomorrow is Christmas and now I have nothing to wear!