Nestled ever so sweetly behind the counter of the post office lied a package for the Calabrese Bros, which was quickly brought back to the manor and savagely torn open. Full of goodies and fun and exotic smelling soaps, Christmas had come seven days early!
I spy with my little eye a Pokémon dish towel, oversized comic books and personalized mini-coffins for eraser tops and GI Joe weaponry storage (that's the plan, anyway) If there's one thing Bobby Calabrese loves, it's a total immersion in gift-giving randominity.
Sent from our pal, Carissa from Minneapolis, we knew we struck gold when the box actually smelled something fierce. Sight was fancied, the sense of smell was tickled, what other senses would be stimulated? Let's find out:
Soaps. Homemade soaps. Spider-sense tingling. What did this mean? Immediately I questioned my hygiene, wondered if I started a chain of events stemming from playing a sweaty show and hugging an unsuspecting fan. They'd begin a descent into madness, forging together the finest cleaning products into chunks of soap-rock, sprinkled with blood and poison (one of the soaps actually says "poison!") maniacally sending it off our way in hopes of us using it and having our skin melt off and...oh, I just read the letter. It's because she's nice and it's Christmas and not to worry, although we do smell like shit, these soaps are actually really good and good for you. Well, cool!
Pizza smell would have been fun, but I figure the process would have been too greasy. Instead, we have patchouli.
My, oh my. Patchouli.
I often joke about how much I hate patchouli, patchouli users, patchouli cultuer, etc., and in any roundabout, bad juju scenario that ever existed on Earth....we get a big ol', stinkin' pile o' patchouli. I think something got lost in translation, because Carissa mentioned that I was a fan. Yeah not totally.
I can't complain, because this is a gift from the heart, and I'd be an asshole to not be gracious. And all the soaps are vegan friendly and good for your skin and all that jazz, so thank you, Carissa from Minneapolis. We love you.
Buuuut if my grandma gave me socks on Christmas morning, I'd smile, give her a hug and stealthily dump the pack into another sibling's present pile. Looks like Jimmy will be walking away with not one, but three bars of soap! Merry Christmas!
Also included is a Pokémon towel (for Davey) and GIGANTIC "Star Wars" and Batman comic books. I've already called dibs, so even if they weren't meant for just me, they're all totally mine now. I'm blatantly disregarding the obvious (there are three of them) which can easily be distributed among us, but this is Christmastime, pal. There are no rules and social graces during Christmas. Oh, didn't know the holiday rule of "no rules?" Because it's a rule. Or is it? I thought I said there are no rules? JUST DO WHAT I SAY AND QUIT TRYING TO CONFUSE ME.
"Bobby," "Davey" and "Immy." She didn't forget the "J," I just forgot to photograph it. "Immy" sounds more fun, anyway.
These will be used for guitar picks. Maybe even as a carrying case for interesting articles and pictures I find in any of the thousands of magazines and catalogs I somehow get sent to my mailbox. The scenarios run deep with a coffin the size of a cell phone. WAIT. Hold the phone. Stick with me here, but...what about a cell phone casket for when your phone dies? You can bury it in the backyard and say a few words in internet slang, too.
u will be missed u were a gr8 phone, c u on the other side ttyl:(
Oh, sweet baby Jesus on Christmas morn, this idea is gonna make me a millionaire.
Thanks again, Carissa! Merry Christmas!
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