Drunk on Christmas is a holy tradition. Like drunk on Easter. Or Lincoln's Birthday.
Another Christmas tradition? Sleeping in the garage. Hearing your children's bones crackle like yule logs.
And so on. I was bitterly (if not a little blithely, I'll admit) considering my blogging options for this day while out in Santa Monica preparing to shoot the former location of Axley Manor, when I came across this 75¢ photo in a pile of crap in a junk store.
Santa, you magnificent bastard, you read my wish list.