This means he’s a professor right? He teaches there? That’s what this means, right?
It’s like that old phrase, “give the open flames to the gang of singing babies.”
An army of Santas….It’s probably fine and normal.
Or my New York apartment, am I right?!
Demonstrating my favorite dance move, the creepy wise man.
Is this picture supposed to illustrate romance with a snowman? Snowmance? Because I have reason to believe it won’t go well. Mainly because Frosty’s face says he will eat you for breakfast.
Someone should explain how book clubs work.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been so cold. I forgot my fur arm bands. She’s wearing them and she doesn’t even have to wear pants.
This is why I hate inviting Rhonda to the Christmas party. “We get it, you make your own shorts. No, I don’t want a pair. No, seriously. Stop doing the robot, Rhonda.”
The papier-mache snowman’s stage presence could use some work. For he is made of paper, you see.
This Santa speaks to me.
“…Brenda, did you try popping and locking again?”
I have a lot of questions. Just about life. Not about this picture. Nothing has ever made more sense than this picture.
There are moments that I suspect Santa doesn’t know me at all.
For other weird holidays, check out You Made it Weird: History’s Thanksgiving
and You Made it Weird: History’s Halloween