The family crowded around the table, eyeing Grandma hungrily as she chopped the chickens, the brother-in-law with the bug-eye lifting Grandma's skirt to see what was underneath.
Mom started to drunkenly sing, "Away in a manger, Joseph the pimp and Mary the whore....."
"Shut up, Mom," Wild Bill said; "remember, we don't do Christmas."
"Aw, but I'm just trying to make her feel good," Mom replied.
The brother-in-law with a tongue too large for his mouth finally sputtered forth; "It's cold in here."
Grandma hesitated. She could of course turn on the propane-gas stove to heaten things up, but Wild Bill, preferring the simple life, was against modern amenities.
But surprisingly, Wild Bill said, "Turn on the stove, woman."
Grandma gingerly turned the valve a little bit, but only dead air hissed out.
"Don't you know how to do anything, woman?" Wild Bill yelled; "the only damned thing you know how to do is Christmas, and we don't do Christmas."
Wild Bill grabbed the valve and twisted it wide open, lighting a match.
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Okay, that's it, the end of the story. I suspect I should enroll in some sort of creative writing class.