"I Think, Therefore I Ant."
December 13
Santa
and Satan
Hey gang, remember: Santa
is Satan
December 12
The
Donner Party
When I came too, I found myself in a small Peruvian hospital. I don’t know
if there are large Peruvian hospitals, but I assume that there must be. The
doctors told me that I was lucky to be alive -- that the frostbite and
exposure had nearly killed me, and that while I would eventually be able to
walk, my back legs were irreversibly damaged and I would certainly never fly
again. Those were the happiest words I could have heard.
The crash
happened on Christmas Eve. We were flying over the Andes on our way to South
America. I don’t even know why we were bothering to go there. As far as
I’m concerned there are not enough “good” children in South America to
warrant the trip. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that all the
children of South America are up to some type of nastiness, and anyway, that
isn’t my call. Mr. C. made those decisions and, to his credit, he
managed to find some good in just about everyone.
How I wish I
could tell you that the weather was to blame. Or that there was some
technical glitch that caused us to plummet into the mountains, but as is often
the case in these types of accidents, the catastrophe could easily have been
avoided. We were at about 15 thousand feet, lower than I would have liked,
when a sharp tail wind spun the sleigh wildly to the port side.
Normally, we would have made the necessary adjustments in order to get us back
on line; Santa is really just along for the ride, but for some inexplicable
reason he jerked hard on the reigns. There was a lot of confusion after
that; I bumped into Comet who collided with Vixen who rammed Dasher in the
rump with his large rack of antlers. It was all over in a flash.
We were
spiralling out of control when we hit the side of the mountain. I don’t even
remember the impact, I just recall waking up in a snowdrift and seeing the
carnage. The presents were scattered most everywhere, with wrapping paper
singed and bows floating in the air. The sleigh was almost
unrecognizable -- just a hunk of twisted metal, and next to it, Santa’s
bright, blood red cap. The other reindeer were splayed in the snow,
whether they were unconscious or dead, I couldn’t be sure.
I don’t know
what would have happened to us if Santa hadn’t appeared, stumbling up from
behind a precipice, his forehead gashed and bloodied, but with a grin fixed on
his face in jolly determination. It was as much his presence of mind
that saved us, as it was his panic behind the reigns that had condemned us.
He gathered the reindeer up and got us to huddle under the wreckage of the
sleigh to shelter ourselves from the wind and cold. We lay there all
night -- shivering, bleeding and praying. All night long he told us that
we would be fine, that we would survive.
Christmas morning
brought a clearing in the sky. The sun shed a new light on just how
desperate our situation was. Blitzen was dead. He had spent
Christmas Eve bleeding internally and had died in his sleep. Dasher,
Vixen and Comet were battered, banged and bruised. Rudolph was suffering
from head injuries and multiple fractures and the rest of us weren’t faring
much better. Our injuries, combined with the state of the sleigh, ruled out
any chance of flying back. The only one who looked at all healthy, was
Santa. The gash in his forehead was a lot deeper than it had appeared
the previous night and the sight of the dried and caked blood in his shock of
white hair was a little unsettling, but his ruddy complexion and twinkley eyes
remained. Santa calmed us all down. He cried openly for Blitzen,
it was a “Christmas mourning” he told us. He then reminded us of our
duty, of the children worldwide that counted on us and who were probably at
this very minute praying for our safe return. We would have to remain strong.
Santa was convinced that help would arrive within the day. Blitzen would
be given a heroes funeral. Christmas would live on. Santa’s
famed jollosity buoyed our spirits and comforted us all. I honestly
believed that as long as we were in his charge, we would come to no further
harm.
By Boxing Day, a
few of the reindeer were beginning to suspect that Santa was stringing them a
line. That night while Santa slept, Dancer and Prancer began whispering
that Santa was responsible for Blitzen’s death. I didn’t know what
to say, this type of talk was treasonous and I had never heard a harsh word
spoken against Santa and, like the others, was shocked. We dismissed
Dancer and Prancer’s attack as nothing more than grief, but I had a feeling
that a once unbreachable loyalty had been compromised.
Santa’s famed
jollosity began to subside by day four. We had eaten whatever chocolate
and fruits that had been on board and we were all feeling the pangs of hunger
as keenly as we did the cold. Santa had stopped offering encouraging
words and had become distant and weird. He frequently berated us for “poor
performance in the air” and would spend long periods of time staring at
Blitzen’s corpse and muttering and ho ho hoing to himself. Rudolph’s
head injuries were now at a critical stage and he was slipping in and out of a
coma. Santa was particularly rough on him. He called Rudolph a
“beacon of plight” and claimed that the crash was Christ’s punishment
for his “unnatural and commercial obscenities.” Much to the delight
of Dancer and Prancer, Dasher and Vixen were extremely agitated now. It
appeared that whatever respect they had once held for Santa had been replaced
with a seething bitterness that is usually unknown to the gentle reindeer.
And yet, the four of them did nothing. They still feared the old man and
recognized that the rest of us still believed in, and trusted him.
Everything
changed on day nine. I had never seen Santa so wild-eyed and cruel. He
sat for hours singing the same two lines, over and over.
Rudolph you’re a bloody
fright,
Why’d you kill us all that night?
When he was
conscious, Rudolph took the rhyming couplet badly. It was Santa that had
taught him not to be ashamed of his unnatural desire to bastardize certain
traditions of Xmas in the name of an extra buck. Santa’s inspirational,
“Rudolph with your nose so bright...” speech, on a rather snowy Christmas
Eve, had won him his acceptance with the rest of the crew. And now
Rudolph was dying, his red nose just a dim glow and Santa was sending him to
his grave with taunts and a cruel variation on that once inspirational speech.
Santa’s next
move shocked us all. As we fell into another evening of darkness and
desperate thought, Santa sat up and demanded that we all come to
attention. The tone of his voice was bleak and eerie. He avoided
looking into our moist brown eyes when he informed us that we would surely die
if we did not do something to combat the cold and hunger. In a grand and
sweeping gesture, Santa thrust his finger to the dead Blitzen. “There
is our salvation!” he roared. I felt a cold ring in my heart as I
looked at my dead friend. Santa stomped over to Blitzen, grabbed him by
the neck and pulled him up to his bowl full of jelly for a stomach.
“Fur...for warmth. You rotten beasts are smothered in the stuff, but look at
me.” We all lowered our heads, Santa continued, “I’m so hungry,
and no offense bucks and does but reindeer is good eatin’. We don’t
have any other choice. If we are going to survive, we have to eat
Blitzen and fashion me a coat out of his hide. Ho ho ho!”
It was, and is,
an unspeakable act. But we did, each of us. We ate our friend, our
colleague, our brother. And our shame was compounded by Santa’s
glee. To him this was just a meal. There was no significance, none
of the horror and sickening guilt that plagued each of us reindeer. The
only reason that he wanted us to eat as well was because our complicity made
his own actions less ghastly. There wasn’t one among us now who
didn’t despise the old bastard.
Santa was better
for a couple of days. With his appetite temporarily sated, he sat
rubbing his stomach while wrapped in Blitzen’s fur. Blitzen’s dead
eyes stared out from his head, now a hat sitting atop the old man’s
crown. Those lifeless eyes gazed at us vacantly, a symbol of our
betrayal and a constant reminder of the atrocity we had committed.
Things might not
have gone from bad to worse except for one thing; Rudolph was fairing poorly
and would surely be dead within the next day or two. Santa was eyeing
him longingly, but then again, he was also looking at Vixen with a new
interest. I was sure it was with a hunger of a more unnatural and
unsavory nature. Santa wasn’t worried by some of the reindeer’s hateful
looks, Comet and Cupid were his fiercest allies and obviously had both gone
insane. They were blood hungry. The feast of Rudolph had
reawakened their primal instinct to kill, to taste flesh. Rudolph
continued to fade but neither they, nor Santa, seemed inclined to wait for
nature to take its course.
It all happened
so quickly. Our hunger got the better of us. It only made sense to eat him. I
remember the sensation that I felt when my mouth tore into that flesh, still
warm and alive...so unlike the bitter coldness of Blitzen. Santa fell to
his knees, a pathetic look for mercy in his eyes; I bit down on his
neck. His oily blood spurted into my mouth and tasted oh so warm and
rich. We all fell on him, gorging on his fat body, ripping the flesh
from his bones while his screams, sounding like the cry of a deranged caroler,
filled the air.
December 11
Drunk Santa
“It’s
the most drunken filled time of the year.”
…Especially if
you’re a mall Santa. Let’s
face it, if you are, you’ve been happily unemployed all year and now here
you are throwing all those glorious memories of welfare and sleeping until
noon away. And for what?
A few lousy bucks. It’s a
terrible, thankless job that forces grown men into hot, itchy suits. Why not
just prostitute yourself? The hours and money are better. This
job sullies the final month of your year with horrific days and nights that
involve screaming kids who may or may not pee on you.
Why, it’s enough to drive any sane Santa to drink…
I
ho-ho-hope, I don’t puke on you… Ah, what do I care?
This
Santa buys his booze at a hardware store…
Santa
doesn't like having a demon seed on his knee, that's why he has a monkey on
his back!
December 9
PRETTIGE
KERSTDAGEN
Flemish Translation:
Prettige Kerstdagen: “I Am
Nothing But A Poorly Groomed Human Chia Pet.”
Coversh
photgosh: Odin Valhalla © 1958
Vooshstankish Yumping Yiminy Existential Phlegm Records
A
Home Wreckers Christmas
Xmas Songs by
Holiday Harlots and Seasonal Tarts
Includes such classics as: Watch Me Go – I’m Mrs. Mistletoe, Do
The Santa, and Ho, Ho, Ho (The 3 Prostitutes Song).
Cover
photo: Yousuf Karsh. ©
1967 Sweet Cuckold Records
happy
holi-dee lenny dee
Not so merry holiday songs caterwauled by me, lenny dee
Oh crap, is it Christmas already?
Guess that means it’s time to pull out the old smelly Santa suit, clean the
dog’s ears and sing until I make the kids cry tears of blood. I hope
you enjoy my Christmas album. It’s basically me weeping and drunkenly
moaning out standard Christmas Carols. God, I’m so alone. Thank Christ
for my dogs… At least I’ve got something to eat. You know, should my
situation get really desperate. Anything could happen, I guess. But remember,
like the song says: We need a little Christmas... And I really
need to get laid.
lenny dee 1961
cover
photo: lenny’s mom © 1961 christmas bell
hell records
December 6
Things To Do At Your Xmas Office Party
Show Up In A Gorilla Suit
You are now instantly the funniest person in the room and the official life of
the party. Smile with glib
satisfaction under that mask as the drones with lampshades on their heads
seethe with jealousy. Expect that
big pay raise in January for this masterstroke of office politics.
Don't Worry About…
…Your body odour, or brushing your teeth, you’re not here to impress
people with your hygiene, you’re here to party and get down and dirty – and
you’re already off to a head start when it comes to dirty!
Dress Inappropriately
If you can’t find a gorilla suit then go for something slutty. When you look
in the mirror, if you can see a body part that's normally blurred out on TV,
that means you’re on the right track. Now
take it to the next level!
Eat Way Too Much
The prospect of free food is overwhelming, so stuff that face of yours. Gorge
away. Hey, a gorilla would – so
why not you?
Photocopy Body Parts
The allure of a photocopier is big at in-office holiday parties. Resistance
is futile.
Get Drunk
The alcohol is free. You now have
a great reason and subsequent excuse.
Get drunk.
Make Fun Of Your
Boss
Now that you’re liquored up, this is practically mandatory.
Do it with your pants (or gorilla suit) at half mast.
Be the Last to Leave
Yes, you’ll reek of desperation if you become that leech at the bar who just
never leaves. But that gorilla suit isn’t due back until 9am tomorrow
– so take full advantage.
Last Christmas is so 2005...
Only 11 Shopping Days Left Until Xmas!
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