My brilliant children (whose smarts clearly didn’t come from their father’s side of the family) have outdone themselves in 2018! After a brief stint trying to sell mortgages to homeless people, Eric has settled on writing eco-friendly sustainable poetry on edible paper which he distributes with the aid of large fans throughout the city to reach the most vulnerable members of society. Forget food and healthcare. There’s free poetry for everyone!
To her credit, Emilie remains optimistic about her future despite her crippling stupidity, tenuous grasp on reality and difficult relationship with honesty. She enjoys cooking and after inadvertently weaponizing pea soup in a pressure cooker, she has settled on creating portraits out of soft serve at Dairy Queen.
Jane, my big girl, was temporarily disabled by her hormones this year but has found solace in seeking reparations from the Hostess Company for each one of the hundreds of pounds she gained on her steady diet of individually wrapped baked goods. While she waits for the company to respond to her emails, she busies herself with Occupy Dover, protesting rich people.
Lizzie, described by her ex-boyfriend as “an iceberg waiting for the Titanic,” spends most of her time listening to books on tape because she heard on the radio that reading can seriously damage your ignorance. Her sister Sue had always dreamed of performing an interpretive dance to rap music while naked. And now we know that Walmart has a policy against this. Undeterred, her new plan is to try to sell condoms suspended in Jello to high school cafeterias.
Teddy, our lapsed Communist, is intently studying the “5 Steps to Enlightenment,” for reasons no one knows. When not studying, he enjoys playing with action figures despite the fact that he’s a grown-ass man. Johnny, my feral child, fathered a couple of kids this year. Slim Jim and Ho Ho are just the cutest babies ever. When he’s not watching TV while the babies grow, Johnny immerses himself in making large-scale paintings depicting the subjugation of fry cooks in commercial kitchens.
Paul, my baby, caught the attention of his elementary school teacher when he described his mother as “having boobs almost as big as her mouth” and his best friend’s mother as “disturbingly attractive.” Ever the clever writer, he is about to self publish a children’s book entitled, No One Needs to See Your Penis at the Dinner Table. He’s doing the illustrations himself. It’s going to be a big hit!
As for me, I joined a book club full of women who apparently don’t think graphic novels are books. They prefer long books about people whose lives really suck and then they like to pepper their analysis with words in foreign languages, such as “sycophant,” “alliterative,” and “hegemony.” But they serve wine at the meetings!
In closing, the Millers hope you had whatever year you deserved and we’re thrilled that the upshot of the death of civility in America is that we can now say “fuck” and “pussy” without raising any eyebrows. Finally!
Here’s wishing you all lots and lots of hookers and hemp for 2019!
We’re now accepting list submissions! Although we’re contractually prohibited from telling you whether Santa had anything to do with that decision. Join the PIC newsletter for weekly comedy headlines. Save 10% on comedy classes at The Second City using code PIC.