I was fast asleep, but I had heard a noise, so I crept down the stairs to have a peep. And there, beneath the mistletoe was my mother, practically naked, with her face planted in the middle of Santa Claus's beard so snowy white.

And this was no innocent kiss, I tell you. I was shocked. My own mother, happily married to my father (or so I thought), was sucking the jolly face off of old St. Nick, while my father was upstairs dreaming of sugar plums.

I bounded back up the stairs, woke up the old man, and told him that there was a dirty old fart in a red suit with his sloppy red tongue jammed down mommy's throat, teaching her the real spirit of Christmas.

Boy was he pissed.