It all started with a game of Truth or Dare…

It’s bad enough I got arrested for prostitution on Christmas Eve. Alleged prostitution, mind you. I didn’t do it. Of course I didn’t. The cops say I offered up a certain sex act for a $5 gasoline gift card, but honey?

My sex acts are worth way, way more.

So when I tried to explain what happened to the person who came and bailed me out of jail, she wasn’t exactly impressed.

Because it was my boyfriend’s mother.

Now, I got two boyfriends, so Murphy’s Law said it had to be the mother I hate the most. And she hates me right back. Even more now that I lost her son.

That’s right. Where in the hell are Joe and Trevor? It’s Christmas Eve, and I keep getting pictures on social media showing Joe and Trevor all oiled up in g-strings that look like candy canes, dancing with a bunch of well-coiffed older women.

I, on the other hand, am wearing Santa pants, flip flops, and smell like jail cell pee.
That game of Truth or Dare turns out to be way more dangerous than anyone expected.
And our savior? It ain’t the baby Jesus. Not the three wise men. No little drummer boy. Not even the donkey that carried the Virgin Mary on its back while she howled for an epidural.

Nope. Can you guess?

That’s right.

Mavis the Chicken.

Can she help us out of this clustercluck?