Around Christmastime, people make a deal of Santa trackers. And the weatherman likes to add a Santa animation to the Doppler radar.
But when it comes to the Easter Bunny, does anybody watch that varmint?
No.
They really ought to. Because bunnies can be nasty little creatures, and they have really sharp teeth.
And Easter Eggs have a pretty short shelf life. As pretty as the dye and glitter job is, you do not want to tear open and eat a hard-boiled egg that’s been sitting at the bottom of Peter Cottontail’s basket all night.
Stick to the chocolate ones.
Category: Christmas
The Pile
Every Christmas, my desk at work gets buried by a pile of boxes, cookies in plastic bags, cards, and other gifts.
The cards, I read and throw away.
The cookies, I eat.
But the boxes, I stack up and stare at for hours.
I try to imagine what’s in them.
When other people try to tell me what was in their boxes, I stick my fingers in my ears and shout “DON’T RUIN THE MYSTERY!”
Now that I’ve been here for a few years, the stack of boxes is a bit unstable.
But my contemplative vigil remains steady as ever.
Holly Jolly
Most Christmas songs are stupid, but there’s one stupider than all the rest: Have A Holly Jolly Christmas.
I know what jolly means, but what the hell does holly mean?
Yes, I know it’s a plant. But in the context of the song, holly is meant to act as an adjective. Or as an adverb that modifies jolly.
When I last checked the dictionary, the only definition for holly is as a noun.
Can you have a holly jolly anything else?
Easter?
Birthday?
Blowjob?
Root canal?
No?
Then fuck you and your holly jolly Christmas.
I’m too busy celebrating Kwanzaa.
You’re such a HO HO HO!
Usually, Santa’s so reliable on Christmas, delivering toys to all the good boys and girls.
However, this year he missed a lot of deliveries, and got a bunch of others mixed up.
It’s totally my fault. I’m sorry.
How so?
Well, I slipped some GHB into the milk I left out with the cookies, and it fucked up his memory.
Look, I only wanted to get a little holiday action with the jolly old elf, but I guess I put too much of the drug in there.
Still, it was worth it, even if I’m on the naughty list forever.
Milk and Fuck You
It’s a tradition to leave out milk and cookies for Santa, and you don’t mess with traditions.
Or so I thought.
I woke up to an angry fat man in red and white, smashing the plate of cookies against my face.
“CHEAP FUCKIN’ OREOS!” bellowed Santa.
Then he drank the milk. And spat it out. Right into my bloody, cookie crumb-covered face.
“SKIM MILK? WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS?”
I was too terrified to move.
“Tell the world I want caviar and champagne. Or I burn every motherfucking house down.”
He vanished up the chimney.
Next year, I’m doing Hanukkah.
The Hunter’s Christmas
Every Christmas, Nardo would pick up his toys one by one, howling his hunter’s howl, and put them under the tree with the presents.
Without him to hunt them now, his toys sit unused at the foot of the bed, on top of the chest we keep there.
I pick up a stuffed toy robin, walk into the living room, and place it under the tree.
I look at the robin sitting there, just like years before.
I’d say “Good boy!” and pet him, and he’d go back for more.
But it’s not the same.
Because I forgot to howl.
Ingrate
Nobody ever wants to get back up on Santa’s lap and thank him for all that he brought them. So, he eats to fill that emptiness, and his beard is thick with frozen tears.
He drinks. The elves worry that he’ll pass out in a snowdrift and freeze to death.
Mrs. Claus threatens to leave, but she’s got nowhere to go. All she knows is keeping the fat old man happy.
Well, used to.
She wrote a book. Told everything.
The publisher printed millions of copies in time for Christmas.
Claus hung himself so he wouldn’t have to deliver them.
Day Thirteen
On the 13th day of Christmas, the woman who I thought was my true love left me.
After all I did for her, too.
The birds all went back to the pet store, and the nursery took back the tree.
The jewelers aren’t happy about the rings, so I filed a claim through American Express.
The maids went back to the dairy and took their cows with them.
The ladies, lords, pipers and drummers were just day hires. They went back home when the gig was over.
Okay, maybe not the drummers. They’re all sleeping on my couch.
Goddamn deadbeats.
We Wish You A Merry Come In Peace
Every Christmas, the weather guy puts Santa’s sleigh on the radar display.
This year, I’m going to hack into the system and replace Santa with a gigantic meteor.
That way, when he pulls up the map, instead of convincing children to go to sleep, the entire broadcast area will run screaming through the streets with panic.
I hacked into the television station’s network and did the swap.
That night, I watched the weather report.
Right there on the map, for all to see:
A UFO?
Most people ran screaming into the streets.
I didn’t.
Maybe Santa traded in the sleigh?
Flying Reindeer
There’s nothing I hate more than when parents lie to their children and make them believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and Ben Affleck movies that don’t suck.
They’re all a lie.
North Pole? Santa?
All the crap we buy and give as gifts really comes from China.
Based on the wretched environmental conditions in China, imagine how much worse the North Pole would be.
It would be a toxic nightmare of a wasteland.
But then, it would explain the flying reindeer.
Would you want to step in any of that chemical crap?
I’d mutate and learn to fly, too.