Archive for December, 2010

Stick A Fork In It

December 31, 2010

Well, it’s the end of 2010. So, let me be the first person to wish you a Happy New Year! (Well, the first person to wish you a Happy New Year while wearing bunny slippers and an iCarly Snuggie.)

What are your plans for New Year’s Eve? Party? Spend a quiet evening in pensive reflection? Resolve to be a better person?

Me, I’ll spend December 31st the way I’ve spent the last seven: down a few bottles of Nyquil, watch Brian’s Song a couple of times, and sit by the Interstate, taking potshots at passing motorists with my pellet gun.

It’s not much, but it’s the best way I know to usher in a new calendar year – all the while attempting to fill the gaping chasm that is my soul.


December 30, 2010

I keep hearing a car commercial on the radio where the guy who owns the place keeps saying Ack-uh-ruh rather than Ack-your-uh.  I don’t mean to make fun of anybody’s accent but if you buy an Acura dealership shouldn’t you at least be able to pronouce the name of the damn company?

List for Life

December 29, 2010

The year’s drawing to a close so let’s slam the door shut with a list to end all lists – a list of lists.  Well, a list to end 2010, at list – er, least.

Check out THE TOP TWENTY INTERNET LISTS OF 2010.  There won’t be a test.

Just A Closer Walk With Whatever

December 27, 2010

Have you ever worried that Athiests didn’t have any really cool gospel songs?  No, of course not.  But Steve Martin has.  The man’s constantly thinking outside the box.  Thank G – uh, thank goodness for small favors.

Yet Another 10 Things About Christmas That Really Bug Me

December 26, 2010

I’ve pontificated before (okay, ranted) about the seasonal stupidity that threatens the otherwise festive nature of Christmastime. First, I gave you 10 THINGS ABOUT CHRISTMAS THAT REALLY BUG ME. Then, I penned 10 MORE THINGS ABOUT CHRISTMAS THAT REALLY BUG ME.  Now?  You’re soaking in it, mes amis.

The Gift Card Haters.  Okay, I’ll give you a husband should have more going for him than reducing his marriage to a fifty dollar gift card from Lowe’s.  But anyone who gets pissy because a coworker or friend and distant relative thought enough to essentially give them spending money at a place they might like to spend said money should have their egg nogged.

The Colors. Red and Green? Yeah.  Not the most inspired.  Halloween has black and orange and that makes sense. Green? Okay, the tree thing, yeah, I’ll give you that. And red, the Santa stuff maybe, why not?  But together, these complementary colors just sort of leave me lukewarm.

Traffic cops and whistles. Okay, this one’s personal. I was wrapping gifts for a charity at a mall the other day and the mall traffic was so bad that they had to hire some off duty cops to direct traffic (because most of the idiots behind the wheel don’t know what to do at a four-way stop, apparently). Well, I wrapped gifts for four hours to the sounds of this over-zealous traffic cop tweeting on his whistle every ten seconds.  Tweet!  Tweet tweet!  Tweet! Tweeeet! Tweet-a-tweet- tweet!  You try listening to that and not want to shove coal up somebody’s stocking.

Naughty or nice as double entendre.  Somewhere along the way, some adults thought it would be fun to sexualize Santa Claus.  Naughty elves, a hot Mrs. Claus, reindeer games (you know what I mean).  And each and every one of these bozos will attempt to co-opt the phrase “naughty or nice” as some kind of speakeasy access to triple Xmas shenanigans.  “Have you been naughty or nice?” “I’ve been veeeeery naughty, Santa.”  “Ho ho HO!”

Happy Holidays!  Every year, you get the diehards who bitch and moan about how people don’t say “Merry Christmas” anymore and how “Happy Holidays” is demeaning the Yuletide spirit.  Well, I like to say “Happy Holidays” because there are multiple holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, heck I’ll even throw in Boxing Day.  I may only see folks once at year’s end, so by using the salutation “Happy Holidays” I get ‘em all in.  Anybody whines about how I’m ruining Christmas because I’m thoughtfully inclusive can bloody well suck it.

Switches in the stocking.  What do you get when you cross a festive holiday with the threat of child abuse?  Switches in the stocking.  Always struck me as some Victorian holdover that deserved Social Services to come a-callin’.

Adults believing in Santa.  Why do people think an adult who still believes in Father Christmas is charming?  This year, I’ve been treated to a half dozen television series that played with that premise.  Usually characters surrounding this person go out of their way to keep this belief alive, calling it childlike and innocent.  When in real-life, you know someone over the age of 16 who still thinks Santa comes down the chimney every year and you’re gonna put them on special meds. 

The sad trees. The ones that are left at the Christmas tree lots on December 25. You drive by and they’re all just sitting there, unloved.  Hey, I got picked last for kickball, I know how it feels!

Bad Santa.  Not the Billy Bob Thorton film, the real bad Santas – the ones that are just phoning it in or should never have put on the suit.  You find them at malls and department stores and wherever kids need a lap and a hope.  Most of these guys are okay.  They have real beards and bellies full of jelly and they can manage a passable Ho Ho Ho without embarrassing themselves.  But those other guys, the bad Santas.  They might as well be punching kids right in the face.

Hermey the Elf. He wanted to be a dentist and everyone gave him $#!& for it. What? Santa’s got a medical plan so damn good he can’t add some dental to it? They don’t need tooth work at the North Pole? You tellin’ me with all those candy canes and gingerbread houses around they don’t get cavities? Wait, some of you are defending this travesty – it’s MAGIC, you say, as if magic, that catch-all for lazy writing, explained anything. Hey, magic doesn’t make the toys. Magic doesn’t train the reindeer. Magic didn’t help Santa get through the fog. Magic doesn’t do diddly squat!  Elves need a freakin’ dentist and Hermey was the go-to dude. Instead of razzing the guy, applaud his drive and gumption. Don’t make fun of him for wanting to be a dentist, make fun of him for getting his diploma online from the University of Phoenix!

Sparky MacMillan is the official sentry of the Isle of Misfit toys.

Gift for the Mad Guy

December 25, 2010

Moira gave me an empty box for Chrismukkah. She said it was my “love” box and that whenever I was feeling down and needed comforting I could open the box and feel her love and warmth even if she wasn’t around. She said she’d placed a portion of her love in the box but, since her love was infinite, even a portion of infinite was infinite and that it would never ever run out no matter how many times I opened it. Ultimately, I think it was a real cool present and I was touched, of course, especially since it really is stuff like that which makes me love her.

But … you know …

I really wanted one of those neat little radio-controlled helicopters that zoom around – one with the spy camera! Man, that would be so cool. Maybe next year.

X Marks The Mas

December 24, 2010

Just a few hours left until Christmas and I’ve been running around all week trying to finish off my holiday shopping. (Already, I’ve blown my policy of never spending more on one gift than I spend on prescription meds in a month, but what the hell: it’s the holidays!)

Still, there are a few last-minute gifts which I need to purchase to complete my Yuletide frenzy! Here’s my list; let me know what you think, okay?

For the lovely Moira: some Charlie perfume and Bon Jovi tickets (like she hasn’t been hinting for weeks)

For Jake: the gift every young boy doesn’t know he needs – a rock tumbler!

For Maxine: a subscription to Teen People and the Wiccan Times (well, a renewal, actually)

For my boss, Mr. Starkweather: an autographed copy of that Keith Richards biography (his idol and role model)

For Felix and Shandra at the lab: a box of chocolate oranges and a some Ugg boots

For Durango, my evil twin: a hand-made coupon, good for one bailing out of jail (non felony only)

For Tammy, my publicist: that 1963 issue of Linda Carter, Student Nurse she’s been searching for at every comic book convention on the East coast

For Dr. Wyatt, my urologist: a PS3

For Sammi Jo, my feng shui guru: Cheese-of-the-month club

For Dr. Murray Abelman, my podiatrist: a wheat grass juicer

For the Rossi Brothers, my mechanics: a Discovery Channel store gift certificate

For Volodymyr, my bodyguard: a Prodyne natural fruit infusion flavor pitcher

For Velveteen, my personal masseuse: Skin So Soft signature Silk Moisturizing Shower Gel

For Cheyenne, my spiritual advisor: a Lady Gaga 2011 wall calendar and an assurance I’ll finally take her up on that colon-cleanse therapy at the day spa

For Michael, my stand in: peanut brittle

For the gang down at the lodge: a case of PBR

For Shasta, personal trainer: Bananagrams

For Brian Kilmeade: the phone number of that – uh, dog sitter – that special dog sitter (the one from my bachelor party)

For Andi Preston, our babysitter: a solemn promise to leave her out of my memoirs

And, for myself (because we all need to take a moment to remember ourselves): Monkey Trouble on Blu-ray

Ah, yes. Hope your holidays are memorable. (The good kind of memorable.)

Hand Jive

December 22, 2010

This is just plain weird.  Seriously, what were the ad guys thinking?  The commercial’s Ukranian, but I can’t even imagine it’s a cultural thing.  Squirrel hands.  I’ll say it again: Squirrel hands!  Yeesh.

Yule Dog

December 21, 2010

Ahhh! That freaky Stella Artois reindeer dog is on TV again! Creepy, man. Something like that shouldn’t be on television unless it’s gonna rise from a well and kill me in seven days.

Next, Please

December 21, 2010

Why are we still talking about it?  Who the hell cares?  I was bored with them before they started sucking up all that unnecessary media time.

Basically, here’s ten people, places and things I’m completely sick of…

North & South Korea

The lunar eclipse




Hide Yo Kids! Hide Yo Wife!

How they digitally de-aged Jeff Bridges for “Tron: Legacy”

That brain-damaged woman who knows no fear


Brett Favre, his junk and pretty much the whole damn NFL

Yes, please, I’ve had up to here with the whole lot of you.  Please deposit your 15 minutes at the same door you should not let you hit you on the ass as you leave through it.