Imagine being this guy:
Well, it is another year and I am spending Christmas all alone again. I got this stupid pink Snuggie from my son. That son of a bitch just doesn't have any sense. They put me in this "Assisted Living" facility and think once I am here they can just call once in a while and I will be happy. I don't have alzheimers, for God's sakes. I remember that they forget about me.
If my saint of a wife hadn't gone and died on me, I think this would be more tolerable. It is being alone that is killer. Sure, the daily card games make the time pass, and the library shuttle gets me a consistent supply of reading material but I want more. Why do the holiday's make things worse? What does the birth of a kid 2000 years ago have to do with making me long to see my grandkids? I think the cafeteria is serving some sort of holiday meal. I just hope they have gingerbread men. I like to bite the heads off and put them back on the plate.
Merry Christmas everyone. Tell your old people you love them.