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"I Think, Therefore I Ant."
December 25
Santa Debunker
Kevin Williams was an average six-year-old boy who would eventually grow into
an average adolescent and then settle into life as an average man… But that
is not what concerns us here.
At the age of six, Kevin was beginning to have doubts about the authenticity
of Santa Claus. Some of the more glowing logical problems associated with the
belief in his existence were starting to surface and Kevin found himself
troubled by their presence. He
took these worrying notions to his mother, Holly, whose only attempt at
reassurance was a veiled threat that Santa might interpret his questioning as
a sign of “being naughty” and permanently delete Kevin from his Boys and
Girls Data-Base. For some
reason, Holly thought that depicting Santa as some kind of corporate machine
would make him seem more real to Kevin.
After his discussion with his mother, Kevin passed the news of his concern on
to Neil, the boy’s father. To Neil, the answer was simple and time honored
– and required nothing more than the rental of a costume.
On Christmas Eve the house was busy. Friends
of Holly and Neil started dropping by at noon and drifted in and out until well
after dinner. Kevin was allowed to stay up late and found the adults to be
unusually demonstrative and animated. Neil
wrestled with him on the floor, Holly kissed him repeatedly, and the others
asked him questions and seemed interested in his response.
It was past 9 PM when Kevin was finally sent to bed.
He found it hard to sleep but eventually the noise from the living-room
subsided and he was able to drift off.
He didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, or exactly what the noise
was that had woken him. He was pretty sure it was late, and that he had heard
a heavy thump from the living-room followed by a loud, awkward, laugh.
He lay in the darkness for a moment, listening closely.
He heard the laugh again, louder and more forced than before. It was
definitely coming from downstairs. Kevin
had a strange feeling, like he had experienced this before, though not first
hand. It was so familiar, yet new at the same time.
He knew what was expected of him and quietly made his way downstairs…
The living-room was dark and Kevin poked his head in from the hallway.
There, by the tree, large sack in hand, was Santa Claus, or someone
cleverly disguised as him.
Kevin entered the room just as Santa turned to face him.
Santa seemed genuinely surprised to see him.
“Why if it isn’t little Kevin Williams,” he said. “You should
be in bed. Ho, ho, ho! You’re
not supposed to see me.”
Kevin was suspicious immediately but wasn’t entirely sure how to react.
”Have you been a good boy?” Santa asked while easing into Neil’s
armchair and straightening his beard.
”Aren’t
you supposed to know that already?” was Kevin’s response.
”Yeah, of course… You’ve been good.
I knew that.”
Kevin
inched closer and looked at Santa directly. It was obvious this was not Santa,
that this was Neil. He saw no use
in pretending otherwise. Neil
could tell that Kevin was onto him and pulled him up on is lap.
”Something wrong?”
”You’re not Santa Claus.”
”Of
course I am!” He then suddenly raised his voice.
“Listen to those reindeer!”
After a moment the sound of bells echoed down from the master bedroom.
”See, I told you so.”
he said.
Kevin shrugged and shook his head.
Neil had known this was a possibility and immediately went to Plan B.
“Okay Kev, it’s me… But you have to understand that Santa
can’t… um, hang around at every house… So sometimes he deputizes fathers
to… to act in his place.”
Kevin remained unconvinced. In
fact, this was the final proof. This
wholly contrived performance was the last bit of evidence that he needed. He
looked at Neil and told him firmly that he knew he was lying and that there
was no Santa Claus.
A thin bead of rummy sweat ran down from Neil’s red cap. It was late, he was
itchy, his stomach was burning and quite frankly the kid was not acting in
good faith. It wasn’t supposed
to go this way. Kevin wasn’t
playing along and Neil wasn’t doing this for his own amusement.
”Okay Kevin, you’re right… There is no Santa Claus!”
Neil checked himself: there was a little too much glee in is voice.
“I guess you’re old enough to know the truth.”
For Kevin, this confession just led to more questions. The main thing he
wanted to know was “Why?” Why
did people pretend Santa existed if he didn’t?
Neil recognized that he was in trouble. He reached to the side table
and picked up a drink that had been left by one of the guests.
”Kevin,” he began, “it’s hard to explain.
It’s not a lie, really… It’s just that we pretend he exists. Like
the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny.”
Kevin jolted upright. Neil cursed
himself under his breath. “Sorry,
Kev… But, I mean, come on! If
Santa’s unbelievable, I figured you got wise to the Easter Bunny.”
Kevin sat motionless, Neil carried on.
“All of those things are made up, Kevin . It’s no big deal.
They’re just fun for kids. It’s nice to have stuff to believe in.”
Kevin looked at Neil hard. He
could see it now. These were just
lies made up by adults to fool children. Neil
was quick to respond. “It’s
not like that. Adults have them too. It’s like when we go to church and pray
to God.”
Kevin felt nauseous. What was he saying? No
Santa, no Easter Bunny and now… No God! Neil
downed the drink and ripped the beard from his face.
“God, Santa, they’re the same, really.
They’re figureheads. They help us… They help us to give meaning to
things… But they’re not real. And you should never… must never, depend
on them for anything. I’m glad
you figured this out, Kev. It’ll help you in the long run. You have to
question things. You have to be suspicious.”
Neil was racing now. He walked to the mantle and picked up another drink.
He was glad he had told Holly they would clean up in the morning.
“Kevin, I want to be honest with you.
You’re right, you know. There are too many lies. Too many people
telling you one thing and then doing another.” Neil raised his glass,
“To the death of Santa Claus, eh soldier?”
Neil downed the red liquid. It tasted sort of like wine.
Kevin was stunned. Shell shocked. He
wanted to go back to his room but Neil sat him down and pulled him back onto
his lap. “I want my boy to know the truth. I really do. I don’t want you
to take everything you read or hear as gospel. I want you to make your own
decisions. Informed, reasonable
decisions. Kevin, this is a
special night. I feel like
you’re a man now. A real, grown up man.
How does that feel, Kev? Feels
good, doesn’t it?”
Kevin went limp and fell into Neil. His
mind was reeling. He had
questioned Santa Claus and now he was paying the price.
This would be one Christmas he would never forget. But he knew now and
he took some small comfort in that. Everything was out in the open and he
would adjust, he would learn. He
was glad it was over.
Neil
stroked the boy’s hair and continued. “You know buddy… Some kids have
two dads…”
December 21
Xmas
Toys For The Kids...
We always
suspected as much, didn't we?
Available as soon as Ms. Love relapses... Boxing Day at the latest.
You can even grow your own army!
December 20
Have a Bill O’Reilly Christmas
*Lazy writer's note: Christmas is the
season of repeats and "specials" so here's this one again...
All Songs by Bilious
O’Reilly
Pagans Roasting On An Open Fire
The Liberals Were Hung By The Chimney With Care
Rudolph The Red Nosed Homo
I Spit On The Turkey’s Left Wing
White Christmas At The O'Reilly House
Put A Little Holiday In Your Heart, You Totalitarian, Anti-Christian Fags
Deck The Halls With Bleeding Heart Pinheads
Let It Snow (And Rain Bombs On Iraq)
Okay, shut up and listen. This
Christmas CD of mine is not only my personal battle against all those totalitarian,
anti-Christian forces who are waging a war on Christmas… It’s
also a chance to cash in on the season – which, let’s face it, is what
Christmas is really all about.
You know, I have a
memory of me sitting on my stairs in my Levittown house and looking at the
Christmas tree about 5:30 in the morning. I stared at that Christmas tree and
I thought to myself, “Gosh, if Santa were to come down the chimney right
now, I could legally shoot him.” Yes, Christmas was a magical time for me as
a child. I loved everything about Christmas. The tinsel, the presents,
the… uh, tree, and what the hell, even the baby Jesus... And this is from a
guy who really hates kids!
I
am not going to let oppressive, hohohophobic forces in this country diminish
and denigrate the holiday and the subsequent sales of this CD. You try
and take Christmas from me, and I'll cut you.
That
said, I sure hope you enjoy the 8 instant classic tracks on this CD and
“Have a Bill O’Reilly Christmas.”
Bill O’Reilly
Vibrating Fox News Jockey 2005
Cover
photo: Some Unfortunate Photographer © 2005 Fox
Merkin Records
December 19
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 364 Shopping Days Left Until Xmas!
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