2018 Christmas Letter

Our 2018 Christmas Letter

Greetings friends and relatives!

Before we forget like we did last year, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Festive Kwanzaa, and anything else for which alternate side of the street parking rules are suspended!

2018 has been a momentous year for the Smithers family. Bill has been working hard, often very hard, when he has a job, and when he does not (most of the time, I'm afraid) he's worked hard to find one.

Julie (that's me!) has been lucky, and I got my flight attendant job back after I lost all that weight and "made nice" to my boss. I still cannot believe they fired me because I asked a Rabbi on our flight to Jerusalem if a man's cum was dairy, meat, or parve. I had theories, you know?

What if the man had just eaten ice cream? Sometimes cum was called cream, or milk, too. Wouldn't that make it dairy? Joanna (my best friend at 35,000 feet) thought since it comes from a man, and we eat it, it should be meat. After all, don't we say we're eating the man's meat? She held her view even when I pointed out that eating a cow is meat, but drinking her milk is dairy. I wanted to ask my priest, but what would he know of such things?

I missed Bill a lot during all my travels (especially his qualities that remind me of Uncle Charlie, you know?), but I did get to sample the cuisine of a lot of foreign countries, at least at the airport hotels. Often a really nice passenger would buy me drinks and a meal, too. Actually, that was the origin of the meat versus dairy question, now that I think about it.

Bill does not mind my occasional blowjobs of airline customers as long as they travel first class (or business class, but frankly, Bill does not know the difference), and as long as they buy me dinner, and little presents. Sometimes they also pay for my hotel room and I really enjoy those times, you know? Even though I'm in my thirties it makes me feel young again to be found so attractive that a successful business class man would want to spend the night with me. I try hard to make his decision an enjoyable one. Bill does not know what goes on inside those sexy airport hotels.

There's one hotel in Dubai that has a really nice hot tub. It's a pity I don't pack a bathing suit. Have you ever tried a hot tub with just a T shirt? Believe me, it's lots of fun, especially when a few business class customers join in the games. I got a T shirt right in the hotel store, that said "Made in Dubai" right across my breasts. Everyone thought at first that it was prophetic, and then later they just thought it funny, but I never got the point, even if I got the penetration (hee, hee).

But I digress. I know you're interested in our children, little Michael and Joanie. Michael has now emerged a changed man from his time being a guest of the state, upstate in Aurora. We all visited him regularly, well at least once a month, during visiting hours. One time they let Joanie inside to hug him. The guard pretended she was his wife, as long as I pretended I was the guard's wife! Michael's little tryst with Joanie helped him stay sane until parole.

We were a little worried about the paternity of Joanie's baby after that visit to Michael in Aurora, but happily it all became moot after the Christmas miracle of Joanie's miscarriage last week. I'm on the pill so no worries here!

I know you'll want to know about my most memorable flight. You may have heard about it on Fox News, but I'll bet you did not know I was the flight attendant on the plane everyone was talking about! Yes, that was the time some evil terrorist had sneaked tainted yogurt onto the airplane, which we all served (not realizing it, of course) to the economy passengers.

I've never seen so much vomit! I wanted to open a window to air out the smell, but you really cannot do that at 35,000 feet. Besides, it turns out airplane windows don't open. I got so much vomit on my outfit when trying to help the sickened passengers that I had to take it off, and I became the infamous "bra and panties" stewardess that Fox News loved. I did not understand what the big deal was, all my lady bits were hidden, but nevertheless I was arrested when we landed.

Luckily for me, the nicest business class passenger ever bailed me out and he and his wife took me home and dry cleaned my clothes. They even washed out my bra and panties for me. Then I played a French game called "Find and hide the salami" with both of them, their teenage son, his girlfriend, and his best friend. It's a French game, too complicated to explain in this short letter, but boy is it fun! It helps, too, if the girls are on the pill, like I am. I'm just lucky that way. By the time the game was done, and after my bath, my underwear was dry! How lucky is that?

The same couple arranged a lawyer for me, and he took me to see the judge in the chambers. After an hour with the judge in his chambers where he got to examine the lingerie in question ( had to remove it for his examination) he dismissed the charges. All's well that ends well, as my mother always used to say, may she rest in peace.

I feel I must include one bit of sad news, I'm afraid. Uncle Charlie died this year. The two things he was the most famous for, winning the spitting contest in two categories (distance and accuracy at over ten feet), and the size of his thing ("biggest in the county"), were omitted from his obituary. Instead they concentrated on his work helping the School for Wayward Girls.

We all loved Uncle Charlie (I, for one, loved him in every way possible!), and we'll all miss him. The alumni at the School for Wayward Girls all got together and funded a gravestone for him that looks like the Washington Monument down in DC. It brought me to tears.

I'd enclose pictures but Bill says they're a bit too risqué to include in a Christmas letter. I always do whatever Bill says, as you probably well know, especially you men out there who have "lent" him money in order to leave me alone with you, hee hee. Anyway, Bill did not actually use the word "risqué" of course, preferring a more colorful term, which he cleverly disguised with a burp.

Bill is still Bill, and Joanie is still Joanie, and I'm keeping the two of them apart as much as possible. So that's it, good friends and relatives! I hope your Christmas is good, and that 2019 brings you all good fortune, no jail time, that you keep your jobs, and that we all get Peace on Earth.

Love and kisses, Bill, Michael, Joanie, and yours truly, Julie.

PS: If you agree with me and the business class Rabbi that a man's cum is dairy food, let me know, okay? These little things bug me no end.