Dear Pittman,
Thank you for sharing your fondest Christmas memories with me.
When I think of my boyhood Christmases growing up in Sherwood, two things generally come to mind. I think of my mother, Dorothy Gooch. Of the time when I was eleven and we hit a deer with our car. Standing in the snow watching mother kneeling over the wounded whimpering fawn. The muscles in her arms tested by the weight of the axe as she brings it to rest with a cleaving squish in the neck of the baby deer.
So Christmas always reminds me of the time my mother decapitated a baby deer...
And it also reminds me of anal sex.
Sincerely,
Jim Gooch
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