It's day 12 of the war on Christmas and there's no better way to honor it than with the scariest weapon ever: a whole bunch of dancing gay elves celebrating the 12 days of Christmas! It's the fundie whackos worst nightmare because they know they'll never be able to dance this well.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
War On Christmas: Day 11
It's day 11 and I've resorted to bizarre videos mocking the 12 days of Christmas. It's a whole lot better than crawling through the broken glass in the the Squall-Mart parking lot on my hands and knees to buy cheap shit from China. Why subject myself to all that agony when I can watch the brave Italians fight to their death in this heartwarming tribute to the war on Christmas.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
War On Christmas: Day 10
It's day 10 and the continual christmas music feels like worms eating at my brain. Frozen and rapidly thawing turkey carcasses drip drip drip in the grocery aisles. Cans of cranberry glop stand stacked like sentries dare me to cross the line and buy something other than "holiday" food. The vegetables are all guarded by cans of cream of celery, cream of mushroom, and that abomination spawned from the worst of 50's era cookbooks: canned fried onion rings. They whisper seductively of an orgy waiting for me to join them to make it complete. I start to poke my eyes out as the image of soggy canned green beans drenched in mushroom scented lard soup laced with greasy rings of non-crunching onion scream Merry Christmas Heathen as I crawl away to try and escape the horror. I know resistance is futile but I try anyway. It's my patriotic duty to fight them with every last bit of free will I have left. They must not win...they must not win...
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
War On Christmas: Day 9
If I object to one thing above every evil religion has done, killing the universal sense of humor is at the top of the list. I'm going to fight from my side of the war on Christmas with my favorite 12 days of Christmas spoofs. This is one to get you started. If you want to know more about the origins of this brilliant work of art, consult the google oracle for "boymongoose"
Monday, December 20, 2010
War on Christmas: Day 8
It's day 8 of the War on Xmas and from the looks of things the mall rats are worshipping at the altar of human consumerism. I can report they're fat little suckers as they swarm through food courts and suck up grease and corn syrup globules in astonishing quantities. They're definitely winning on this front while the rest of us are held prisoner to vegetables and sensible shoes.
I do understand the sacredness of it all as there is nothing more Christ-like than a crazed shopper knocking over frail old ladies and small children in their hurry to get to the bargain counter where life-sized arks with dinosaurs are going fast.
There's nothing more holy than elbowing grandpa out of the way so the feeding frenzy winner can walk away with a pair of boxers that ask the ultimate meaning of life question: "Who's your baby daddy?"
I do understand the sacredness of it all as there is nothing more Christ-like than a crazed shopper knocking over frail old ladies and small children in their hurry to get to the bargain counter where life-sized arks with dinosaurs are going fast.
There's nothing more holy than elbowing grandpa out of the way so the feeding frenzy winner can walk away with a pair of boxers that ask the ultimate meaning of life question: "Who's your baby daddy?"
Sunday, December 19, 2010
War On Christmas: Day 7
In a few days the real war on Christmas begins. That's when families start converging on the designated battle grounds and a year's worth of festering hostilities rage to the surface once more.
What says Christmas more than a dinner spoiled by drunken arguments, screaming accusations, blame laid thick and heavy over everything and anything that has been hashed over for decades but still makes a special appearance for this most sacred of all holidays?
There is no deeper meaning to Christmas than at least one, if not two or more people breaking into spontaneous tears of humiliation over being told they were too fat, too thin, too poor, too rich, too single, too married, too good at birth control, too bad at birth control, too slutty, not slutty enough.
It would not be the holiest day of the year without the cheap last minute presents bought to avoid the meltdown of the previous year when regifting led to the tree being set on fire, the Christmas goose shoved down grandpa's throat, the vat sized container of bubble bath held responsible for an outbreak of incurable hives.
Nothing says Christmas like daddy's new slutty girlfriend and mommy's new little boy toy humping in the hall closet while mommy and daddy rehash old issues until they scream for mercy.
Yes, this is such a special day that is made all the more special by the dog throwing up on the neighbor's brand new expensive coat, grandma giving lap dances after one too many eggnogs, and the children shoving Santa's ass up the chimney and threatening to kill every damn one of his elves if he ever comes back again.
And to top it all off, everyone is whispering that the reindeer seem to have developed an unhealthy attachment to weird uncle Bobby.
What says Christmas more than a dinner spoiled by drunken arguments, screaming accusations, blame laid thick and heavy over everything and anything that has been hashed over for decades but still makes a special appearance for this most sacred of all holidays?
There is no deeper meaning to Christmas than at least one, if not two or more people breaking into spontaneous tears of humiliation over being told they were too fat, too thin, too poor, too rich, too single, too married, too good at birth control, too bad at birth control, too slutty, not slutty enough.
It would not be the holiest day of the year without the cheap last minute presents bought to avoid the meltdown of the previous year when regifting led to the tree being set on fire, the Christmas goose shoved down grandpa's throat, the vat sized container of bubble bath held responsible for an outbreak of incurable hives.
Nothing says Christmas like daddy's new slutty girlfriend and mommy's new little boy toy humping in the hall closet while mommy and daddy rehash old issues until they scream for mercy.
Yes, this is such a special day that is made all the more special by the dog throwing up on the neighbor's brand new expensive coat, grandma giving lap dances after one too many eggnogs, and the children shoving Santa's ass up the chimney and threatening to kill every damn one of his elves if he ever comes back again.
And to top it all off, everyone is whispering that the reindeer seem to have developed an unhealthy attachment to weird uncle Bobby.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)