No one likes going to their spouse's office Christmas party. I am no exception. I tried and can't get out of it. In landscaping an office party just means the guys shower and change on Friday afternoon so the strippers don't get yeast infections from grinding in our dirty laps.

I've been scouring the internet for tips on how to best survive these realworld office hootenannies but there are two factors that none of these guides have touched on: my wife's manager is a tranny and I am me.

I know how this should play out, but I also know how it probably will play out. The chance that I will be able to contain myself is inversely proportional to the amount of alcohol I shall imbibe. Sure, I could stay dry and sober, but then I wouldn't be able to set foot in the same room as a tranny in the first place.

When I was a kid society would have hunted this thing down and restored natural order. Today I am told I have to be understanding, compassionate, and worst of all, tolerant. So now I have to spend a night of my holidays in the presence of an abomination. Merry fucking Christmas.