I Rock! (around the Christmas tree)

The year was 1987, and I was rockin' around the Christmas tree when I tripped on the extension cord and fell on my hip, flattening some very nicely-wrapped gifts. I blamed it on the cat, though—poor Herbert can be so clumsy. My brothers were so upset to unwrap their brand new dismembered action figures that they cast the useless toys into the fireplace, screaming Herbert's name with tears in their eyes. I, however, was too enamored with my Jordache jeans to feel bad about what I'd done to Herbert—and my brothers too, I guess. I rushed into my bedroom to model my new jeans in front of the mirror. I was so pleased that I decided to write a thank-you letter to Santa. Months passed, my jeans were still great, and Herbert died, so there was no real point in feeling sorry for him anyway. In June, when my mind was furthest from Christmas, Santa wrote back. He informed me that I'd been named the 1987 Sellout of the Year. I knew exactly the outfit I'd wear to the ceremonies...