This year, Santa kills the grinch .
I once wrote about a unicorn named Rainbow Sparkles, her original name was Starflower Darling Head. She was lovely creature full of joy and extra horn. This morning I thought of her while I released the morning waters. Behind me the sun was rising and the door was open. My shadow partially covered the clear stream, but some of my whiz caught the caught the morning sunlight. The sun’s magical rays transformed my piss into beautiful luminescent sparks. They flickered before exploding into the the firework grand finale that was my toilet bowl. I was transfixed, I didn’t want to stop peeing.
I don’t usually discuss bodily functions with the Internet, but today I made an exception. As the years roll onward, I care less and less about what other people think. Decency loses its luster–apparently the mighty sun uses the luster to ignite my urine forcing me to question myself and to bother uptight strangers on the Internet.
- Christmas Shoes. All this song needs is some Maple leaves because it has plenty of sap. Imagine Tiny Tim, minus crutches, buying his sick, bedridden Momma shoes she’ll never wear. In his Impoverished Consumer Whore Brain, Jesus wants his followers to come into the Kingdom wearing Stilettos. What a FAIL, Christ was a bare-footer. I don’t think he’d kick sick parents to curb for arriving at His door without footwear. That said, this song still makes my mamma cry, which strangely makes me want to buy her fancy shoes–even though the thought repels. What can I say, I’m Not Perfect and I love my mommy.
- I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. Gayle Peevy, even her name is annoying. Mrs. Peevy took upon herself the mantle of ruining all holiday cheer with her shrill voice and sassy songs. Her music stabs its way through your ears into your spinal chord where it completely terrorizes your nervous system while it attempts to scramble your auditory cortex causing seizures and other mental disorders. Luckily, her music killed off most of the DJs who played it. So, it’s relatively obscure.
- Grandma Got Run Over by Reindeer. Another song with an ill woman–what’s up with sickness and Christmas? Well this ill Granny is also drunk and she gets her skull cracked by an Elf molesting Santa, leaving Grandpa free to be a booze it up as a wild hillbilly in peace. How Nice. I can’t believe they play this song on radio. It makes me want to take a shower.
My friend’s father-in-law hands out sugarless chewing gum and mint dental floss for Halloween. He’s not even a dentist. He never calls my friend for the holidays. When my buddy finally breaks down and calls him, he always gives my friend an world-class guilt trip, “I thought you were in the hospital or lost your voice or something; haven’t heard from you in such a long time…”
I know my friend’s father-in-law isn’t a perfect Scrooge. He is, after all, a cyclist and shod runner. In fact, he competes in the senior Olympics. The man is well organized has a nice house and, for the most part, treats everyone with his own homemade brand of kindness. He means well. I don’t think he’s cruel; I don’t think he even means to irritate my friend, but he’s a touch more egotistical than myself, which is quite a feat.
A few years ago, my friend’s father-in-law must have heard Alton Brown‘s hypnotic voice praising the virtues of gifting goats for X-mas. Whatever it was, it kick-started a series of Heifer International Cards that seemed to devolve from actual gifts to what I believe are slack counterfeits. If they are real, they may as well be fakes because a third grader could produce higher caliber work with a box crayons and a roll of toilet paper. Last year my friend’s mother-in-law sent my friend a soggy copy-bond piece of paper with cloudy spots of color parading as a Heifer X-mas Card. “A Fifty Dollar Gift to Heifer International was Gift on you Behalf.” Yes, “was Gift on you behalf.” All those goats, chickens, and pigs must have chewed off the some of the keys.
I think supporting disaster relief and zero grazing charity is great. God knows there is plenty of wealth for everyone. But Heifer Cards are worse than a lump of coal and a form of reverse Scroogery. Why? First, the person who buys the card is actually doing the giving, not the person who receives the card. So it totally steals your healthy karmic thunder. Second, once Heifer International gets your address from the giver, the unending tide of requests for gifts begins. And Heifer is worse at guilt trips than my friend’s father-in-law because they include visuals, charts, and play the tax card. Last, if you really think about it, the gift says, “Hey, I love you, but some poor farmer in Africa who is outta goats is more important to me right now than you are; so, he’s getting your money this year–Merry Christmas.”
Yes, I sound like a terrible person. Maybe I am a terrible person, but I don’t give meaningless gifts that make the other person feel like a total douche. This year, the card asks, “Can One Animal Change the World?” Yes! It can change “Merry X-Mas” into “Baaah baaah baaah Humbug!”
Happy Freaking Holidays.
(Speaking of Goats, here’s a weird barefoot fairy tale about a magic goat.)
My father in law dumps out pieces of sugarless chewing gum on Halloween and even worse, Home Printed Heifer International Certificates for X-mas. For Halloween he’s a dentist for Christmas a Weird Kind of Reverse Scrooge. If he didn’t live in a gated retirement community he’d wake up with slimy egg yolks and wet toilet paper on his porch for sure.
Here are a few other Halloween treats that won’t trigger a hyperactive fits of rage in the tiny tots and rebellious teenagers at the front door:
- Silly Bandz
- Sidewalk chalk
- Bubble Kits
- Glow-in-the-dark bracelets
- Temporary tattoos
- Baseball Bats
- Bow and Arrow
- BB Guns
(Save those things for Christmas)