For some reason which has, through the ages, befuddled youngsters everywhere, the elderly punish kids by sending them horrific sweaters as their sole gift for Christmas. Luckily (for at least this one reason) I grew up in the greater Los Angeles area, and sweaters weren't a part of my yearly ensemble. It was more a fashionable mix of Gotcha, Quicksilver, and the occasional hyper-color. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's because you aren't from 28-38 years old. In any case, closets throughout the world, at least in the chillier climes, are stuffed to bursting with knitted travesties, such that Bill Cosby himself would blush. Perhaps it was puffily painted representations of kittens, snuggled in a basket with vacant beaded stares. Maybe argyle which clashes not with what else you wear, but within the very pattern itself. Some pattern designer who crissed one too many crosses went cookoo bananas and decided that YES, neon orange DOES in fact blend nicely with both mint green AND ochre.
And YOU, not wanting to suffer the indignity, discomfort, and shame of actually donning such a garment, relegate it to the far reaches of your closet. We all have this area in our closet; the area where no light penetrates, like the event horizon of a black hole - all enter, yet none return. It is behind the winter jacket, past the overalls which are totally going to go back in style soon, beyond the shirt from the t-shirt gun which is 17 sizes to small, but which you refuse to give away; it lies in the farthest expanses. You may not have a walk-in closet, but it's in an area you certainly can't reach, beyond the farthest frontier. Against the wall is your ugly sweater.
You've kept it all these years, because you felt bad that grandma knitted it with love (she actually bought it at Marshals on the clearance rack, check the label, it's made in a country that no longer exists, and may in fact, have never existed).
NOW, its true purpose is revealed.
Details to follow.
You have been warned.