There might be somewhere you’re going; It might be a nice cheery place. There might be kids and some of them might be yours. Christmas might even be at your house and there’s a pretty tree and the roast beast is ready for the Who-Ville Christmas feast. It’s a wonderful holly Jolly Christmas and you’re channeling the Grinch. Face it, if just one more person tells you a lame Christmas Joke you’re going to strangle them.

What do you call Santa Clause after he’s fallen into a fireplace?
Krisp Kringle

Ho Ho Ho that’s so funny. Just you watch I’m going to push down your snowman for that one.

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I was born on Christmas. For a kid this means hyphenated Christmas/Birthday presents which totally sucks when you’re trying to get Johnny West’s Gold Knight and his noble steed Bravo. The Gold Knight and Bravo go for about three hundred bucks today for a reissue. Back then it was just the cheap knock-off stuff that my parents bought when they couldn’t afford the GI Joe stuff. In addition I never got a birthday party like the other kids. They might as well have put a photo in the dictionary of me as THE BOY WHO NEVER HAD A BIRTHDAY PARTY. I still don’t think I’m over the whole lack of pointy hats and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. So now I sharpen my knives and listen to Pink Flloyd tell me I’m another year older and closer to death on Christmas day. (I’m serious about the knife tradition. It started because the carving knife was always dull)

Still and all my mother got the best “First time I saw the baby” story ever with my wrinkled little face being lit up by the Christmas lights. That story always prompted the “Jane you ruined my Christmas dinner.” complaint from my Grandmother which shows you all that that we had the same kind of holiday family fun as everyone else with heavy drinkers in the fold. I don’t have much to complain about. I always had fun on Christmas and my Mom always made sure to have a special present for me late at night when I was actually born. They were clever about celebrating Christmas for us kids too. One year when my Dad was laid off it turned out Santa had dropped some stuff on the way down the chimney and the gifts had been lost in the basement fireplace till my Mom found them. Not to be outdone my Dad kept the Santa thing going for a whole extra year. We had just started to figure out who was wearing that red suit when he asked a neighbor to wear it. The new Santa didn’t bother to get up on the roof and clomp around but it worked for us and kept the magic going.

Charles Dickens even wrote a Christmas story about me. It’s not A Christmas Carol, mine is the crappy one where it’s a Victorian version of It’s a Wonderful Life without Jimmy Steward or Donna Reed. I don’t think anyone has actually read The Chimes since it was published but I’m a Christmas Baby with a Christmas Story written by Charles dickens in which I’m a main character. How many of you can say that?

Christmas is when I got my first puppy too. It was three years ago and my girlfriend at the time got me the most expensive free dog ever. She’d been found under a wrecked house in Alabama and it was decided I needed a doggy. With Vet bills and airline tickets I could have bought a purebred hound but that was the kind of Girlfriend I had. It wasn’t the last time I subsidized my own gift and anyway the puppy stayed and the woman went. Five minutes after midnight on Christmas 2007 a seven pound ball of fluff was shoved into my arms and Charlotte has stuck to me like Velcro through thick and thin ever since then.  My shopping list this year consisted of three pounds of hamburger, one for every year, and a box of the fancy dog cookies for a cookie platter. Easiest girl I ever bought presents for it and so worthwhile.

Anyway Merry Fucking Christmas. You expected satire and I gave you memory lane. It’s Christmas get some of the cheer even if it comes from a bottle. I wish you all the best for the coming year and hope that Santa doesn’t forget the Gold Knight and Bravo if that’s what you’re wanting

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“(@)’(@)”””*l'(@)l'(@)**l'(@)

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