Christmas is coming and the goose is getting fat. We all know you call your mother-in-law the goose. You’re not fooling anyone. Christmas has come once again and halls of your house or whose ever place your celebrating at this year are as clogged as the arteries in Grandpa’s heart. A mist the hustle and bustle of holiday cheer, wedged between the turkey, stuffing, cranberries, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, brown and serve rolls, alternate stuffing, ham, carrots, all seventeen assortments of pie and cookies that outweigh your Aunt Gladys, is the most popular thought ringing thru the holiday season and that, of course, is the perfect murder. Being in close company with so many of our loved ones makes us realize how much we love them to death and would probably love them a little easier if they were in fact dead. The only problem is that pesky government of ours which frowns on murder, excepting if you are temporarily insane which as far as I can tell only implies that you got really, really, really upset (mad) and lost control (mad) and couldn’t help yourself (blatant copout). If only the government could spend the holidays at your place. They would reinstitute public executions in order to elevate your holiday woes. I mean if they spent one hour smelling Cousin Frankie’s farts or listening to the never humors jokes of you Uncle Billy, who will be your Aunt Billie as soon as he/she gets the surgery. Christmas is truly the most wonderful time of the year because once its over you no longer have to see any of your relatives for an entire year. No fake hugs from the cousin you had a crush on growing up (you are honestly pretty sick). No cheek pinching from people who have to rest after pinching your cheek to get their strength back (To fight off death). No barrage of food that you would never eat unless your Aunt Ester would take offense that no one ate it (why does she have to always watch you eat it. Not even the dog will willingly eat this… whatever it is.) No presents of clothing that you will have to wash 30 to 40 times next year on the 20th to make it look like you wore it out in the past year. Finally after spending any amount of time pondering it you realize that there is no possible way to kill off your family and get away with it. Killing one of them just allows another more “face” time and that leaves little hope. Then faced with the dismal realization of your plight you have but one reasonable recourse: Alcohol. This Christmas brought to you in its entirety by Jim Bean, who reminds you that the more time you spend with your family the better a friend old Jim becomes.