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Merry Christmas, everyone.
(For the fourth year in a row.)
I'll be updating this post throughout the day as I waste my entire day watching Christmas specials.
Best Christmas Story Never Told
"Well, for one thing, the stockings; they're supposed to be hung with care in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. The INXS guy hung himself with more care! And the nativity scene; the three wise men look like transvestites! The mannish kind! Not the attractive Asian kind you're always hoping your friends will hire for your birthday party."
Married...With Children Christmas [Not the one with Sam Kinison :( ]
"No brakes! No brakes!"
Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past from the Future
"And that is where babies come from... for MACHINES."
Mystery Science Theater 3000 - Santa Claus (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WATCH THIS)
Mystery Science Theater 3000 - Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
The most common pastime for anyone living in Ohio, aside from ruining every election, is drinking. Just take a look downtown; the bars are numerous and conveniently within stumbling distance from each other. And having stumbled through many Youngstown bars myself, I can tell you that while there are virtually no jobs to be found, Youngstown offers many opportunities for any budding vagabonds (i.e., homeless drunks) out there. Even in Kent, my current home, the state of Ohio is clearly reflected; we have nearly 20 bars in the 2 x 2 block area quaintly referred to as “downtown.” This clearly makes up for all of that stuff like “culture” and “good food” that’s been missing from the area ever since a white guy with tuberculosis coughed on some Indians and then built a railroad, in that order.
- 3-in-1 scanner/printer/copier
- Bottle of quality bourbon
- $15 gift card to Barnes and Noble
- $90 in gift cards to The Olive Garden (but at least I can use them at Red Lobster and get crab legs)
- $15 gift card to Applebee's (only for use at Applebee's
) - The Onion's Our Dumb World (the best humor book I've read in two years)
- Gloves and a scarf
- Money (paper)
- Some crazy food basket
Feel free to post about your own loot.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
This short is from the short-lived Comedy Central version of TV Funhouse, which aired in late 2000. It's a shame that this series isn't on DVD; while it's not as brilliant as Wonder Showzen, the style and sense of humor is almost identical. My favorite lyric in this is when they describe how Tingles "turns whispers into screams."
Oh, and if you're not 60, you probably don't know what Tingles is parodying. Here it is:
Every year, thousands of letters addressed to Santa Claus accidentally get sent to me. Don’t ask me how it happens; all I know is that it’s certainly not part of a chain-letter scam I may have started in the late 90s. So once again, I’m left with a quandary: should I send these letters to their rightful place—the post office incinerator—or share the deepest, darkest wishes of America’s children with the public? Thanks to the powers of moral relativity, you will be entertained.
I’ve selected a handful of the choicest letters that will warm your heart and fever your brain. While it was hard to choose from the thousands of letters that ended up in my mailbox, I think you’ll find the following to represent the true meaning of Christmas.
Dear Santa,
I got a problem. A big problem. I’m not sure if Santas can help with this but I’m asking you. My daddy has been coming home after bedtime smelling funny and him and my mommy start screaming at each other. The screams are words I’m not allowed to say but my grampa thinks it’s real funny when I do. Then my mommy starts wearing raccoon makeup over her eyes and crying and she said that daddy can’t come back home. My mommy is so sad. Can you please find a place for her to go so she leaves me alone and doesn’t make me go to school and church? She’s always hugging me and telling me she loves me and it’s spooky like that haunted house they set up at school in our gym. Daddy already went away, so maybe mommy can go live on the same farm where our cat lives now. Get on this.
Your pal,
Tadler Jernson
Dear Santa,
I hope you’re reading this because it could save your life. Please do not come to our house this Christmas! As much as I love you and presents my daddy will shoot you if he finds you in the house. Where I live my daddy says there needs to be a gun placed every 20 feet just in case bad people break into our house. Then he says those animals can’t wait to get their hands on our TV and my cute little white body, then he says we know who he’s talking about and not to make him say it. Listen Santa, daddy’s biggest gun is right under the autographed picture of President Bush which is right by our fireplace! I know this because he takes it out every day to shoot pictures of Bill Clinton in the basement. Santa I’ve seen what that gun can do to a frozen turkey and the mailman and I don’t want that to happen to you! Sure maybe it will be easier for you to make deliveries in a little scooter but everyone in the neighborhood will hate me even more.
Stay Away,
April Schloss
Dear Santa,
You rotten jerk. Last Christmas, what do I ask for but a Wii? And what do I get but not a Wii? Your system does not work. I see you at the mall, and your beard smells like pee, and you ask me what do you want for Christmas, little boy? And then I said this: a Wii. Guess what, Santa, this was 2006. I said the same thing to you a few weeks ago and I bet you’re really busting ass up there, right. Seems pretty funny to me that I’m asking a 500-pound alcoholic for presents when I could just ask my Uncle Reggie who is 300 pounds and an alcoholic but guess what HE ACTUALLY GETS ME WHAT I WANT. Wow, I guess that’s a silly idea but maybe you might want to try it sometime. Some elf is probably reading this to you while you’re passed out in a chair but try and remember not to ruin my Christmas this year.
Love,
Biff Chadler
PS – A Red Lobster gift card is not SAME AS WII
Dear Santa,
How are u? I’m not sure how up on the sciences u r, but here’s my problem: my puppy needz legs. Please let’s not go into how my puppy lost its legs because it was Jamie’s fault and as my dad says the important thing is that it’s healthy and can roll around the house like a regular old dog. But Santa, how can u play fetch with a dog that can’t roll uphill? U can’t, that’s what I say. My friend Paul’s dog jumps up on the couch and it’s really cute but when our puppy jumps up on the couch he looks just like a throw pillow which is why my mom sat on him on accident. Some accident! That puppy needs a new face if there’s one of them in that bag with his legs. But u probably want to keep that stuff separate from the other toys because I wouldn’t want a toy that was touched by some puppy’s face! Yuck! Also Santa if u want to get us a new puppy I’d be fine with that. Yesterday this one was whining and he rolled across the floor into my Legos and he needs to be thrown in the garbage can where he belongs. With the garbage!!!
Regards
Frank Gibbman
Dear Santa,
Last year, I asked for a bunch of Barbies and you delivered and I thought that was really nice of ya’ll. I still play with them Barbies every day. But ever since I first got my period a few months ago, this is what has been on my mind: I want a baby. Listen, Santa, I’ve had a few days to think about it and I believe this is a sound decision. All the time people talk about pregnant teenage dropouts, but guess what: I don’t even go to school! LOL! Also I think if I have a baby it will tell little girls all over the world that it’s the perfect thing to do when you’re bored next to updating your MySpace. Plus you get all that attention! It’s like winning a beauty pageant every day for 9 months! And all the people who hate abortion and run the country will say “I did the right thing” and everyone will like me even more! OMGZ! Please Santa, a lot of kids quit showbusiness to go to college and do something different but I can’t even read or write (my friend Kayla is transcribing this). I think you’ll agree that this is the best choice a 16 year-old can make.
Catch ya’ll later,
Jamie Lynn Spears
PS – My young and fertile boyfriend just showed up, so I’m gonna see if he can’t help me out with this.
Welcome to this week’s arrangement of Christmas-themed YouTube videos which will probably be taken down tomorrow for copyright infringement. I’m glad you could make it! With finals behind me and Christmas just on the horizon, I felt it would be appropriate to write another Christmas article that didn’t use too many of those words I’ve grown to hate over the past few weeks. And I’m sure you, the reader, will appreciate my decision. In conclusion, here are some videos.
Claiming “I hate the holidays” is about as edgy, original, and meaningful as saying, “You know, Citizen Kane wasn’t very good,” or, “In retrospect, The Beatles sucked.” If you want to hold onto these statements; be my guest. Nothing is stopping you from becoming a low-budget gadfly, a Wal-Mart Oscar Wilde, if you will. But here’s a little known fact for you: Christmas is awesome, even if it is the one day of the year you’re forced to go to Church. I’ve been to church plenty of times before, and I’ll tell you one thing: it ain’t pretty—and it’s even worse on Christmas, when all of the old people are sick and everyone else is squeezing out Christmas dinner ham gas into the pews. It’s smelly, it’s boring, and you know that grampa oxygen tank over there is going to hold onto your hand just a little too long during the Sign of Peace (a Catholic tradition during mass, like showing up drunk).
Speaking of which, while doing online research to make sure the Sign of Peace was called the Sign of Peace, I ran across this disturbing bit of Q&A on a Catholic web site which fully explains my previously-mentioned problem:
Q. I have a concern with those who give me the Sign of Peace. Half of them simply put out their hand, looking elsewhere, making no eye-to-eye contact as if it is just a meaningless ritual. How do I deal with that?
A. While smiling, you can try holding on to their hand, not letting go, until such time as they will turn around and make an eye-to-eye contact with you. Before long, they should get the hint that when you give someone the Sign of Peace, you look at the person.
So if you’re up for militant friendliness and the same sort of eye contact you see during specific sex acts in high-quality pornography, be my guest. But before you get all high and mighty about celebrating Jesus’ birthday, know that by Christmas, you’ve already missed it by quite some time. Some friend you are. When you move to your new place, there’s only going to be one set of footprints because Jesus sure as hell isn’t going to help out with his truck.
But in the case of Christmas, all of this should barely concern you; what matters most is how to survive the mandatory family gatherings that happen around this time of the year. Yes, Christmas is awesome (as I have proven using words), but one mini family reunion can throw a grandma-shaped wrench in the works. If you share my concern about how you will spend your holidays, I’ve come up with every single combination of the holiday experience, for your reading enjoyment. And if you think I've used this idea before, then you're sadly mistaken.
Extended family gathering: If you’re out of touch with your extended family like I am, these events can be as awkward as speed dating. You’ll be shaking hands and hugging mysterious mustached uncles (they all have them) while thinking, “What’s his game?” Children produced by people whose existence you’re unaware of will be running amok. Relatives too old and decrepit to check the mail will be taken out of cold storage and sat in a chair where they can babble about the state of the minstrel show unattended. Ghosts of the past will be calling you nicknames unheard since your childhood. All of this spells one word: trubble (there are two b’s because it’s serious).
This may seem like a bad scene, but if you devise a game where only you know the rules, things can be much more entertaining. Use this gathering as your chance to create an elaborate fantasy life for yourself. Whenever a stranger who’s supposedly related to you asks what you’ve been up to, don’t say, “Stocking cans down at the tomato soup factory, but I’m thinking about going back to school for a criminal justice degree.” Instead, tell them, “When I’m not driving race cars professionally, I’m driving race cars in parades where they let me keep all of the confetti that falls inside my car!”
If you think no one will buy this lie or similar lies, know this: when I was 17, I went to a friend’s family reunion and got everyone to believe that I was actually a member of the family. And that was when I was much, much stupider. 
Nuclear family gathering: This is very similar to the extended family gathering, except for the fact that those in your nuclear family have been conditioned not to believe your lies. So when your mom asks you about your job, school, and why your girlfriend doesn’t speak English and is still outside in the car, you’re going to have to tell the truth. As I have stated elsewhere, the answer to this problem may be the copious amounts of holiday booze flowing this time of the year; but, then again, nothing is more awkward than seeing your parents drunk. There’s always the possibility that they’ll start making out, which will kill you if you witness it.
So what is the silver lining to this family-shaped cloud? Well, during these gatherings you often get the chance to return to your childhood home, which can have the effect of filling you with warm childhood memories (Note: if you still live at home, you’re doing this wrong.). “Hey, that’s the set of stairs I pushed my little brother down when he was six. And there’s the potted plant where I dumped his ashes. God, I miss him. 2004 seems like so long ago.”
I guess if you don’t have any childhood nostalgia you can always take this chance to say anything you want to your parents without repercussion. It’s just like seeing your principal in the grocery store!
Alone: Very few of us are lucky enough to spend Christmas sans family; but, if you can work it out, god is it beautiful. All of that free time in front of you available for sleeping, playing video games, and doing nothing constructive? Sign me up.
If you still feel guilty about spending Christmas alone, here’s an elaborate role-playing scenario for one player that will justify your Christmas decision: Buy a bottle of Jack Daniels or your standard generic brand whiskey, sit in a broken, metal folding chair in front of a TV displaying a test pattern with poor reception (it helps if you do this at 4AM), and then start drinking the whiskey. Once you’re about halfway through the bottle, envision the alternate reality that led you to this lonesome Christmas fate. Did your parents burn alive in a department store on Christmas Eve while in line to buy you a Cabbage Patch Kid? Scenarios like this are a good place to start. And with enough whiskey in your system, you will begin to believe it. This will allow you to justify spending more than three days in just your underwear.
If none of the above match your future holiday plans, please post them and I will help you work through this like some 21st century Erma Bombeck. If there’s one thing I was put on this earth to do, it’s share homespun wisdom.
Next week: Blueberry Stains: A Primer
- Cash and various gift cards
- The Count of Monte Cristo unabridged, with a new translation
- Breakfast of Champions
- Leaf Storm
- Slaughtermatic
- Some awesome coffee beans from Hawaii
- An iPod radio transmitter
- Clothes I'll never wear
- And probably other stuff I'm forgetting
There was a new car wash in town. A skeleton car wash. It was called “Skeleton Car Wash” because it was a car wash run completely by skeletons.
It was Saturday. I was in the car with my stepmother, and she asked me, quite bluntly, “Would you like to go to the Skeleton Car Wash?” I asked, “You mean, the one run completely by skeletons?” She nodded. The other Skeleton Car Wash was run by the Skeleton family who were not skeletons.
We pulled up to the Skeleton Car Wash, and a skeleton in coveralls walked over to the driver’s-side window. “What’ll it be, ma’am?” My stepmother asked for a normal wash; the skeleton walked over to my window, rapped on it, and stuck the ten dollar bill my stepmother had given him right in his eye socket. It popped out of his mouth and I guess it would be scarier if we hadn’t just shopped at the Skeleton Supermarket (they have a skeleton in the back that works in the deli).
My stepmother drove into the car wash, and the lights went out. It was just like a regular car wash, except you were supposed to tune your radio to a specific frequency and they would play spooky sound effects. Except I guess the skeletons weren’t paying attention because there was just a bunch of jungle sounds.
We pulled out of the Skeleton Car Wash onto the main road. We both felt empty, somehow. Suddenly, my stepmother looked at me and asked, “Wasn’t that car wash supposed to be $8.50?” At that point I realized that my stepmother was a ghost all along, and we didn’t get our change back and things were scary.
In the case of the red-headed stepchild of the music industry, Clay Aiken, this impractical advice deals with the misuse of the powers of invisibility. Setting up a world where he is, in fact, invisible, he shows his listeners that he has absolutely no idea how to use his newly-found superpowers. Here is an excerpt from his song, “Invisible:”
If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
Hardly a lofty goal for someone who is invisible; in fact, with a properly placed tree branch, one can easily become an Aikenistic voyeur, and can even bring video equipment while keeping in mind the strength of the support and also if there are any nearby escape bushes. A better use for invisibility in the case of Clay would be come up with a cool new invisibility-related supervillain name such as “Aiken’t See You,” eliminate any competition for this hypothetical girl, and then seek a cure for invisibility once all the homicide is out of the way. It’s completely practical, and do you honesty think the police are going to take any calls about an invisible murdered seriously? They won’t, I’ve tried it.
Moving on to the world of R&B, most people know Whitney Houston as the world’s most famous bag lady. But did you know she actually used to be a musician? It’s true. Taking a look at the terrible advice given in her 90s hit “I Will Always Love You” should prove why everything she does today is now considered an “episode:”
I hope life treats you kind
And I hope you have all you've dreamed of.
And I wish to you, joy and happiness.
But above all this, I wish you love.
Not only does this song paint a picture of a mutual breakup, but it also depicts a breakup where both parties are completely diplomatic; both sheer impossibilities. Houston shows that there is honor in becoming a well-wisher, rather than turning all of those who wronged you into your mortal enemies. What Whitney doesn’t know is that this is the coward’s way out, and that keeping your exes around as friends not only demonstrates your spinelessness, but it also shows that you lack capacity for both spite and revenge, the only two characteristics the separate us from animals.
Staying in the realm of R&B, which seems particularly good at misdirection, the perennial Boyz II Men hit “I’ll Make Love to You,” which is still probably being inappropriately played at middle school dances, features a particularly misguided male character telling his lady friend:
I'll make love to you
Like you want me to
And I'll hold you tight
Baby all through the night
The first mistake he makes is lovemaking on someone else’s terms without first doing research. Not only can this lead to awkwardness, but it can be followed by serious medical problems and/or walking discomfort after the act. I haven’t even touched upon the fact that the phrase “I’ll make love to you” sounds more like an omen than the sweet talk of lovers. No one can succeed by being that direct. Only through weeks of awkward, stilted conversation can a guy find out if his girlfriend has a boyfriend. After that, a series of discussions relating to future sexual congress may take weeks, or even months to negotiate.
So, on this Valentine’s Day, should you be lucky enough to have a guy or gal that you are sweet on, I recommend taking your cues from large, obstinate bald men like Dr. Phil, instead of popular music. Not only will you avoid falling into the traps I have outlined, but you’ll win the respect of Oprah. And, when it all boils down, isn’t that more important than love?
My friend Nick colored it.
- The ultimate segue, heard on the local news on Christmas: "A real-life Grinch steals Christmas from a local family, but doesn't steal their spirit..." Sweet Lord, I bet the 22-year old underpaid T-Com grad who wrote the copy for that newscast must feel like Ernest fucking Hemingway. This had two of the things I love about local news segues; the phrase "real-life" followed by a fictional character, and then the cheesy hopeful ending. The only thing worse and more hilarious are the segues into weather. Local news is so tragic, the only thing worse being local commercials.
- I got a Nintendo DS yesterday, and members of LiveJournal were there to witness it! Secretly. My love of karting, more specifically Mario Karting, led me to buy the Mario Kart DS bundle, which came with awesome decals, and appropriately, Mario Kart DS. With a strategically placed racing stripe decal, it'll look like my DS is tearing ass around my hands! Also, it's red so it's faster than other DS's. I plan on trucking my DS to my campus's library to take advantage of the free wireless internet and play this baby online. Then, I'll probably get kicked out because I tend to curse when I'm around lots of books.
- I also signed up for the GameFly service, which will allow me to cement myself in nerdiness monthly. It's kind of like NetFlix, but with games, and it elminates the lengthy post-game selling process. It was either this, or get a new cell phone made for grown-ups, but I find it easier to play videogames than to keep relationships afloat. Also, if the dames want to get ahold of me, they can always contact the cell phone service I have in my ! Please ladies, keep the description of where the lovin' will take place brief; I only have 60 minutes of service, and I want to make them count. Also, it would be nice if you could pick me up because gas is expensive.
Thanks in advance,
- Bob
Another Christmas has come and gone, and as always, I'm left with a "meh" feeling about the holiday. I actually LIKE Christmas; it's just that, for the past five years or so, the whole thing has felt really routine. Yes, a Christian holiday, steeped in thousands of years of tradition is ROUTINE?! I'm just as surprised as you. I guess I do have the benefit of not having to see my extended family, and not recreating tragedies of Christmas past (like a certain year that rhymes with shoe-shmousand-and-shoe), so I can't really complain. I swear, one of these days I am going to pretend to celebrate the birth of Jesus with explosions and at least one sexy dame. Is that so much to ask?! I had better start planning this event! Until then, I'm somewhat disappointed! But not with the stuff I got.Here's how I cleaned up this X-Mas:
- $200 in spending money (See George Harrison for the definition of spending money*)
- Peanut Butter and Jeremy's Best Book Ever
- TWO sets of pajamas (watch out ladies, word has it that I LIKE TO SLEEP COMFORTABLY)
- TWO gift cards for book stores (sleeping AND reading? COMPREHEND THE SINGLENESS)
And, as always, the holidays are best spent spent with the families of others. This way, you can observe the passive-aggressive hostility just beneath the surface as an innocent spectator! I did not witness much of this, however; since my friends had better things to do, I spent Christmas Eve at another friend's house (with a peaceful family), and it was a night full of pasta, wine, and a certain Broadway musical I'm told is called "Night Impresario." Okay, the musical part sucked, but I slept through that thanks to my good friend wine. So I guess things aren't so bad. As things wind down, this year has been pretty good, with the mild disappointments being outweighed by such triumphs that they rank up there as "affronts to god." NOTHING CAN BRING ME DOWN DO YOU HEAR ME COSMOS!!!!
*I've got my mind set on you
I've got my mind set on you
I've got my mind set on you
I've got my mind set on you
We’re all familiar with the image of the white-bearded, red-suited, atherosclerosis victim Santa Claus, who sneaks down our chimneys, or perhaps burrows through our dry wall like a ferret every year to spread Christmas joy. What many of you may not know, however, is that this modern image of Santa was popularized by the Coca-Cola company, in an effort to regain some kind of popularity after the government forced them to take the dangerous narcotic out of their drink, and the word “vitality” out of their product description. Fortunately for the soda company, their new holiday ad campaign worked, and now one’s brain can’t help but fill with warm fuzzy memories upon seeing the old, Norman Rockwell-esque advertisements which portray impish children leaving an overworked Santa bottles of Coke in a fiendish attempt to give him type 2 diabetes.
By co-opting Saint Nicholas and legends about Norwegian chimney monsters, Coke was able to give the holiday season an iconic character which children can visit and urinate on annually in malls across the country. Some holiday traditions barely make it past the drawing board, though, and these miscarriages of Yuletide cheer are such embarrassments to the human race as a whole that they’ve been edited out of all known history books. Thanks to the efforts of my crack research team, I’ve been able to learn much about a few of these past holiday transgressions, and I hope to shed a little light on them, lest history repeat itself.
Gravy Claus: A little known part of FDR’s “New Deal” policy, Gravy Claus was an attempt to bring joy to the children of an economically crippled country, as well as feed the starving population of America with hundreds of thousands of gallons of World War One surplus gravy. Possessing the indomitable spirit that Americans were once known for, FDR decided to play the role of Gravy Claus himself, outfitting his wheelchair with hoverjets designed by top White House basement scientists. In a scheme later ripped off by the movie “Speed,” FDR delivered one of his famous fireside chats on Christmas Eve 1934, fooling a nation into thinking that the president was sitting in a log-heated White House, instead of traveling from rooftop to rooftop distributing gravy. “Please hold a bucket in your hearth,” heard many times during that radio address, came to be FDR’s best known quote, beating out the banal, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” Sadly, a misjudgment of velocity by the president caused him to topple off of the roof of the third house he visited that night, flooding the city Chicago with 10 feet of pork gravy.
The Burning Bush: In the 1960s, the Roman Catholic Church was a little uneasy with the fact that the common hippie was beginning to resemble Jesus; the only notable difference between the two being the stink of petuli oil (Jesus smelled like camels, which is much better). Evoking the spirit of Old Testament “Golden Age” God, the Church began selling burnable Christmas trees with the intention of reminding its flock that God wasn’t always a bearded socialist. When burned, a small speaker in the trunk of these Christmas trees would emit such cheerful holiday sayings as “Fear me!” “Repent!” and “Multiply, Christian warriors!” in the spirit of the burning bush that commanded Moses. In the interest of safety, a small fire extinguisher filled with holy water was provided with each tree; however, the Church managed to overlook that they had been using kerosene as holy water since Vatican II. Due to this tragedy, until the 1980s it looked like the Rapture had actually happened.
To Russia with Hate: With the American enmity of all things Russian culminating with the character of Ivan Drago of Rocky IV, in 1985 President Reagan encouraged Americans to send Christmas presents to poor, Russian children, with a note attached to each gift, on which “I must break you” would be written. These gifts were to be sent only out of spite, and would include such child-hated contents as socks, underwear, and hollowed-out bibles filled with non-alcoholic vodka. This tradition broke the Russian spirit yearly until 1989, when America tried to send Yakov Smirnoff back to Russia as a “gift.” When Yakov made the brilliant observation, “In Soviet Russia, present gives you,” upon reaching Siberia, communism instantly fell, making movie villains boring from that point on. As a result of all of this, Tetris was created, finally making it legal for women to play video games.
In the spirit of the Christmas season, I encourage everyone to try and make up their own holiday traditions. They certainly won’t be as tragic as the aforementioned failures, and who knows; maybe your tradition will become as popular as the Christmas stocking or the New Year’s Eve diaper. Just make sure that you’re not treading on any trademarks of litigious soda corporations.
It’s happened to all of us at one point or another. It’s Christmas Eve, and you’ve just donned your stocking cap and taken a small hit of ether to chase those worries away. Just as you get less cold underneath your itchy, 19th century comforter, some whiny holiday ghosts materialize and get “all up in your grill, dog,” in the parlance of Charles Dickens. What right do they have? Just because you’re overworking some worthless slacker whose son is so crippled that the word “Tiny” is affixed to his first name? Well, those ledgers aren’t going to write in themselves, at least not until the year 2032 when the automoledger is introduced. These holiday ghosts have no respect for the economy, and just expect you to give out money and geese to any soot-stained peasant that drunkenly ambles up to your doorstep. Quite frankly, that’s the government’s job, and these ghosts claiming to teach the “meaning of Christmas” are doing nothing but trying to enforce a militant kind of socialism. This is why I’m shouting, “No more!”
You could let each spirit lead you by the hand, and throughout the course of the night learn the error of your ways. Then, only because of the fear of death – not any kind of true altruism – will you embrace Christmas and become a “better person.” That’s what I call the sucker’s route, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to roll over for a bunch of ghosts. Should you encounter any of these holiday ghosts, you’ll find that they’re fairly easy to manipulate. In the spirit of turnabout being fair play, I recommend that you turn the tables on them and in no way grow as a person.
The Ghost of Christmas Past is usually the first to show up, most of the time taking on the form of a small child possibly named “Gary.” This ghost is going to want to take you to various tragic Christmases in your past to rub in what a loser you’ve been in some sanctimonious display of ghost judgment. You’re probably thinking, “No dice,” but you want to make a profit, don’t you? Have a large, burlap sack ready, and agree to go with Gary to various points in the past. If you’re asked why you need the sack, just say, “for breathing,” and remember to stick your head in it intermittently during the trip. When you get to the past, find a way to distract the ghost - possibly by reminding it of its tragic status as a dead child - and then go to work stealing presents from your various past Christmas selves. You may have to beat up these past selves, if only to make sure that none of the packaging on the various gifts is broken; you’re going to want to sell these toys for top dollar once you get back to the present. Just make sure that you don’t give your child self any mortal wounds in the process, because if you kill your past self while in the past, the universe will collapse into itself, and it’ll be mostly your fault.
The Ghost of Christmas Present, usually a giant, has been replaced by an apparition taking the form of a beautiful woman, but don’t get too excited; you can’t touch her, not just because she’s a ghost, but also because she has a ghost husband who drives race cars. She’s going to want to take you to the home of your previously-mentioned put-upon employee and his crippled son, and I advise that you go. When you get there, you can inform the ghost of the importance of family planning in times of economic strife, as well as the benefits of a national healthcare system. What you may not know is that ghosts have a lot of pull in Washington; in fact, three of our presidents were ghosts (try and guess which ones). If you have a ghost lobbying for national healthcare, your employees will quit complaining about their lack of coverage, and also the fact that your building is full of scorpions.
The Ghost of Christmas future is the “Captain Obvious” of the holiday spirits. It shows up primarily to let you know that at one point in the future, you will die. If you’re fully aware of your mortality, I say have a little fun with this spirit. Shortly before going to sleep on Christmas Eve, go down to the courthouse and have your name legally changed. Later that night, when the ghost tries to reveal that it’s your name on the tombstone, you can cross your arms, chuckle, and say, “Sorry, pal, my name’s Lance Millionaire!” At that point, the ghost will probably give you some coupons in exchange for not telling his supervisor.
As you can see, holiday ghosts are a pretty disorganized lot, and it’s incredibly easy to avoid being manipulated to get some Dickensian justice of your own. Just make sure you’re not messing with the ghosts of Chanukah Past, Present and Future; they mean business. It should also be mentioned that they are made out of mustard gas and can fire lightning. If you don’t believe me, ask your local Rabbi.
An Indian tells the Pilgrims the many uses of butternut squash at the first Thanksgiving [Photo courtesy of The History Channel: "Our history has pop culture references, and thus is inherently better.(tm)"]
When most of us see the word “Thanksgiving,” the images that will most likely come to mind include binging on a variety of holiday-appropriate food, legitimately not going in to work, and falling asleep watching football as the effects of tryptophan-laced turkey meat overtake our central nervous systems. Were that it so simple. All of the fun of sloth and gluttony that comes packaged with Thanksgiving is ruined by the simple fact that, on this holiday, it’s considered appropriate to invite monsters into our very own homes, and in many cases, to enter the dens of these terrible beasts.
These abominations known as “relatives” should be easy to avoid at this point in your life; however, social traditions dictate that we must see these people at least twice a year, if only for gift exchange and passive-aggression. Avoiding family members is fairly easy to do once you reach college age, but this lack of contact will only lead to inexperience and nightmarish holiday encounters with people that your parents claim are related to you in some way. However, I think you’ll find that each and every family is essentially the same; they just have different haircuts. And, with a brief lesson on the family dynamic, it won’t be necessary to poison the cranberry sauce to escape the torment of conversation, although that approach may be more effective.
Grandparents are an easily-pulled piece of the Thankgiving Jenga puzzle. For the most part, grandparents come in three different categories: crazy, religious, and crazy/religious. No matter what their scientifically-defined dispositions may be, grandparents aren’t hard to please. If you happen to be a woman, inform them of your upcoming marriage and possible future babies that you may name after them; in their eyes, this is pretty much your life purpose. If you’re a man, don’t be gay. This may be somewhat tricky due to the suspicious nature of the elderly, so I recommend dressing up in army fatigues and jungle face paint for the meal in order to prove your manliness. To carry this further, if you want someone to pass you a food item, smash a dinner plate against the side of the table and threaten a nearby family member with the jagged edge. This will add a much-needed bit of intensity to the Thanksgiving meal, and your grandparents will appreciate your apparent heterosexuality.
Aunts and uncles are a somewhat more complicated breed. The weird, middle-aged and single aunt and uncle are easy to tame, and should not be worried about. Desperate for attention and now at the age where hanging out with you would be considered inappropriate, these family members will easily submit to you and enjoy the opportunity to eat food not cooked in a dirty microwave. If you play your cards right, you may even get a free subscription to MAD Magazine out of them!
However, don’t get too confident, as the bitchy aunt and/or uncle may be at your table, looking for a chance to gain dominance. Your parents hate them, they hate your parents, and by the transitive property, they hate you. If your Thanksgiving meal was taking place 10,000 years ago, they probably would’ve opened up your trachea with the equivalent of an electric carver and then urinated in the various corners of your house. Keep this in mind, and try not to put them on edge by making eye contact; they may catch on to the fact that you know they’re secretly power-judging your entire family.
The most elusive of the familial bonds are represented in what I call the “phantom phamily.” Who are these people? I guarantee that only one other family member will know, and even then no amount of theorizing or playing “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” will connect them to your family. Of course, you could ask your grandparents, who are fountains of knowledge when it comes to people you don’t know or care about, but you‘ll most likely get an answer such as: “You know your aunt Beth? Well, she got married to her au pair, and this is his second wife’s adopted mother.” To which you may respond, “What the hell is an au pair?”
Of course, there’s always the chance that this phantom phamily member may indeed be a homeless drifter who has infiltrated the tight network of security around the dining room. Just look for a bindle to identify this person as a vagabond, unless of course any of your real family members happen to carry their belongings inside of kerchiefs tied to sticks. If there is a real, honest-to-god hobo at your table, take the opportunity to ask him about the boxcar life and also to share his homemade “chocolohol,” a homemade concoction made of pure grain alcohol and fudge.
If none of this advice works, there is one last-ditch maneuver that can be pulled off with a little skill. Should the meal degenerate into a circus of snippiness and awkward conversations, grab the turkey as fast as you can and scream, “No one is eating until we stop talking to each other like a normal family!” If you’re lucky enough to have a hobo at the dinner table, you may want to reinforce your point with one of his many knives. Why not make stab wounds a Thanksgiving tradition? I’m sure the Pilgrims would’ve had no problem with this.
