Tuesday, December 24, 2013

2013 Christmas Celebration, 9th hour


I've been wandering around my head lately, and in that vast echoing space, I found a few random thoughts about Christmas that I thought I'd share with you.

I don't like Santa Claus. I mean, those guys who dress up as Santa. Their suits never fit, and they always seem surly. Or drunk. I don't think they're happy, but listen, the Easter bunny's not having a good time, either. It's tough all over.

I also don't like ornaments or decorations that show Santa kneeling at the Nativity. That's just weird. Yes, I understand the symbolism of it, but it's still weird.

Do Santa’s reindeer poop as they fly overhead? Perhaps that's what happens to people who make the naughty list.

Playboy runs this ad where they offer a video of their Playmates in which the ad says "It's the perfect Christmas gift for your husband." Seriously, what wife buys that for her husband? None do. And I think they know that no wife would. It's just their way of trying to disguise the whole creepiness of it. Hey, it's Christmas. Let’s celebrate the season and watch some porn! Ho, ho, ho.

Why do the local weathermen always seem so pleased when bad weather happens? They can barely contain their joy as they tell us about icy sleet and dangerous roads. Are they that bored? The next time that Channel 19 guy starts grinning as he tells us how terrible the weather is going to be, I'm going to hunt him down and introduce him to the business end of a 2x4.

People in California and Florida receive too much sun in December. It bakes their brains. When you walk on their beaches, you think that you smell suntan lotion, but it's actually brains frying in coconut oil. The vendors sell them in cones.

I want to get too much sun, though. I want to lie on those beaches. I want to sip cold, fruity drinks with umbrellas in them and enjoy the sights and sounds of the ocean as the breeze brings me the faint hint of frying brains.

My Christmas village is cool. I've enjoyed setting it up. But the other day as I was moving the figurines around, my roomie came up to me, looked at the lovely and peaceful village and said, "It figures you'd like playing with dolls." He's funny. And fast, too. I missed him with both shots.

Gift bags are truly good things. I don't care what Martha Stewart says. I do like Martha, though. I think she's hot -- in that strange, horrible perfectionist way. If you dated her, you couldn't just kiss her or hold her hand. You'd have to make some sort of presentation of the whole thing with fresh cut flowers and ice cold caviar and handmade chocolate sweets. She'd be too much trouble. That's why I don't date her. That and the fact I don't know her.

And I think that's enough randomness for now.

We will be back next hour!

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