The Science of St. Nick

The hours are drawing near, when jolly ol' St. Nick will once again make his historical intercontinental trek, delivering toys to all the good boys and girls, as well as lumps of coal to those who fell short of the list this year.

During his travels, Santa Claus is expected to consume a minimum of one to two cookies or pieces of fudge or cake, per household, washing it down with a glass of cold milk or warm cocoa.  And judging from the modern schematics I've been able to commandeer for this article, Santa will also be consuming mugs and mugs of the tasty chocolate beverage along his travels.  However, cake, cookies, and cocoa cannot stay with someone over the course of one evening.  The chocolaty arts are notorious for quickly passing through, like "poop through a goose".  Although many of the features of Santa's sled have been upgraded to accommodate for modern technology, I fail to see any sort of lavatory system on the sleigh.  What happens if Santa Claus has to poop or pee?  Then what?

Definitely a man of Santa's considerable girth, would hardly be a welcomed in using the common commode used in most households throughout the world.  I've heard stories of mere mortals of larger proportions sitting on similar lavatories, only to hearing a creak and a groan before finding themselves seated flat on the floor surrounded by broken porcelain, spraying water and fresh turds.  Not to mention, it's always awkward having to request the use of someone's bathroom, especially when it's implied that you need to drop an stinky shit.  No matter how generous Santa might be, forking over a new iPod or big screen TV.

Due to an ever-growing list of deliveries, St. Nicholas would hardly have the time to make pit stops at every convenience store and gas station within 1000 miles of one another.  First you'd need to find ample parking for the sled and eight tiny reindeer.  Not an easy task at the best of times, nevertheless when your fighting off the urge to shit your pants.  I find it most difficult myself, to pull into my garage and line up my truck perfectly, when I'm "turtling".  Also, the fact that the sleigh hasn't any doors or security of any kind on it, it'd be hard fought to go into any facility and concentrate on droppin' a deuce, when you're preoccupied about some yahoo, bent on revenge for receiving a lump o' coal in his stocking last year, stealing the sleigh and going on a wild joyride, al a "Ferris Bueller's Day Off".  The only saving grace to that scenario not playing out, is the fact that 99% of the world's population aren't able to name off all eight of the reindeer's names.  

However, because much of the world is covered with countries and cultures who barely understand the concept of indoor plumbing, Santa is unable to address his fecal needs in a very private sort of way.  Therefore, the jolly elf, must take more substantial measures in evacuating his bladder and bowels.  This is where the "Fisherman Maneuver" is put into effect.  While travelling between metropolitan areas, Santa is now forced to drop trow and hang his ass over the side of the sleigh.  This is not an easily performed feat.  Much mathematics is necessary in conducting such a plan.

In the hours preceding Santa's take-off from the North Pole, there are a special team of elves who must conduct field tests in order to accomplish the most thrust from the eight reindeer used to power the sleigh.  You must consider not only all the gifts, but the food for feeding the reindeer throughout the night.  Enough food must be supplied as having the reindeer lose their energy halfway through the night is not something that bears repeating.  Not like that fateful night back in '03, when the reindeers lost altitude and came crashing down, with the sleigh and Santa in tow, onto the mean streets of Bagdad.  Thank God for the U.S. Marines who came to Santa's rescue and who handed over their rations and got Santa and his team back on schedule.

Other rations to be considered is the reservoir that houses the Stardust which assists the reindeer in their job of propelling the sleigh.  And we mustn't forget the Fat Man himself, Santa Claus.  The man in the last decade or two, has really laid on the pounds.  It's not like the good old days for Santa, when he'd pack on a couple of pounds on Christmas Eve, then spend the other 364 days of the year, working out to bring himself back down to a respected competing weight.  These days, Santa can be found with his fat ass plopped firmly down in front of his 70" big screen watching episodes of "Diner's, Drive-In's & Dives" on the Food Network.  It's because Santa "semi-retired" a few decades back, outsourcing the overseeing aspect of his job to Bernard, one of his faithful elves who's been by Santa's side since nearly the beginning.

So much consideration is necessary, if Santa is wanting to swing his fat ass over the side of the sleigh.  Not to mention some industrial-strength safety harnesses.  Something fitting enough to restrain and angry moose is more than suffice to keep St. Nick's fat ass from plummeting over the side and straight to his ultimate death below.  In addition to this task however, more science is needed to keep the crap from flying back into the sleigh.

I'm sure we've all been afflicted with the misfortune of driving down the street when out of nowhere ya cough.  And it's not a dry cough, but a wet one, met with not only a little bit of sputum, but a nasty nodule of snot that has freed itself from your inner most sanctum and now finds itself planted disgustingly on your palate.  Just like a hard-nosed trucker, you roll down your window and when you believe no one to be looking, you evacuate that snotty fragment from your mouth.  Only later, do you realize that the back draft of air propelled the once spongy morsel into the side of your vehicle, where it streaked and rolled it's way backward before finally coming to rest in a freeze-dried state for all who pass by to see.  Now imagine if you're Santa Claus, who's just taken a monster shit off the side of his regal flying sleigh, only to stop all little Emma's or tiny Tim's to discover that their is a gargantuan streak of shit flared back and down the side.  Fecal matter is difficult to remove at the best of times.  In warm climate, it may appear to have been removed with a simple dousing of a water hose, but a hint of shit always comes back a day or so later.  You are never really able to totally remove shit from the surface of anything.  If you steam-cleaned a toilet plunger, no matter how clean it looked or Febreze-fresh it might smell, no one is ever truly brave enough to wear it on their head like a long narrow crown, cuz you always know that the plunger helped rid you of the triple-coiled log from last summer.

So more science is necessary to prevent the back splashing of shit and urine with ripping one out, over the side of the sleigh.  A specific maneuver is necessary which involves getting the reindeer to fly in tight circles.  This is called the "Circling The Drain Effect".  It is through this method that centrifugal force helps fling the feces from the sleigh, so as not to spray the side of the sleigh, as well as miss the reindeer.  If you thought having them run out of energy was a unfortunate event, spraying a reindeer with piss and shit, is even worse.  A groggy lethargic reindeer is one thing, but a pissed off reindeer is much worse.  While it's true the energy output is increased, the anger ratio far exceeds that and becomes erratic.

The best case scenario for Santa, would simply be to cut a hole in the seat of the sleigh.  It's a little "low-tech", but sometimes the simplest answer to a question is the greatest solution.  I believe this is called the "K.I.S.S." Effect (Keep It Simple, Stupid).  While it may be a little drafty, pinching off a loaf would be easy and quick, and because Santa flies at such a considerable altitude, there'd be no prying eyes seeing his "brown eye".  Plus, with the advent of the GPS System in his sleigh, uninhabited areas would be more readily available and no "accidents" would occur, or there'd be far less of them.

So Have Yourselves A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!  And a Safe and Happy New Year, as well...!

Public Service

I've never really been a fan of the Ford Mustang. While others around me have "ooh'd" and "aah'd" over the Ford sportster, I've idolized other sporty modes of transportation. Cadillac's have always held a special place in my heart. Not the cookie cutter ones of the 1970's, mind you, that were basically Chevy Impala's with Caddy emblems on them. Those sucked ass, but the classics of the 1950's and 60's, as well as some of the modern classics of the 90's and new millennium.

Mustang's though, never really appealed to me. Granted some of the ones from the late 1960's and early 70's, until about 1972 or 3, were pretty cool, but I've never fancied myself as buying one. Even the modern Mustangs with their now nostalgic features are okay, but still not something I envied.

However, I always did say, to myself and others, that if I WERE to get a Mustang, it'd have to be a convertible. There's something to be said about the topless Mustang. Just a classy look, in my opinion. So this past August, I ventured out and treated myself to a second vehicle, my beloved 2008 Honda Ridgeline, being my primary mode of transportation. I found myself, locally, a 2001 Ford Mustang convertible. It's originally a California car, purchased off the lot in Palm Springs, California. She's a beautiful cherry red, with tan leather interior and a tan top. It's only a 3.8L, which while it isn't as powerful as the V8, is still strong enough to get me into trouble with the local law enforcement, if I'm not careful. Besides. I think it's more important to look good behind the wheel of such and automobile than to look like a f*cking asshole racing about. I hate those idiots, putting everyone else's safety in jeopardy so they can "look cool".

A few moments ago, I was on Facebook, wasting time on this chilly Saturday afternoon, when I came across some Mustang photos of one of my "Facebook friends". Like most Facebook friends, I've never met this individual, nor have I ever exchanged two words with them, other than to pass off "gifts" in whatever game we both enjoy playing. So always interested in pictures from car shows around the globe, I shuffled through a few of the pictures, pausing on a couple to share my opinions of what I saw. Until I came across a smashed Mustang convertible.

The model and year looked just like my car, only this one was a deep grey in colour. Underneath the photo, a question was posed. "Have you ever been in a wreck with your Mustang?" I posted how I recently acquired my Mustang and how I don't even like to leave it unattended when I'm out and about in public. But then I was reminded of an accident I'd had when I was a teenager. An accident where I demolished a Mustang with my car.

It was a late afternoon, early evening. I was stopped at a four-way stop. Then proceeded to go. That's when the 1974 Chevy Nova that I was driving struck a Mustang II, broadside. I was barely moving, but it sent this tiny car spinning down the street, it's right side caved right the f*ck in. I panicked, as this was my first accident ever. We exchanged all the required information, but I knew that (not only was) I f*cked, but that car was going to the junk yard. Completely obliterated.

However, it was a Mustang II. Much like the one pictured above. Mustang II's are the red-headed step children of the Mustang world. An embarrassment. Something to be shunned and hidden away, tucked under the stairs, never to be acknowledged again. Therefore, I don't really feel that bad for wrecking that automobile. Sure, the blemish went on my permanent record, but driving records only go back about seven years, so that's a distant memory today, but because the Mustang II is such a huge piece of shit, I think I did the world a service rather than anything negative. So it's been a long time in the making, but "YOU'RE WELCOME, WORLD!! YOU'RE WELCOME!!!"

Have a nice day!

F*ck Bullies!!!!

Kids be getting soft these days. That's what I'm thinking. Decades of mothers and fathers coddling their kids, teaching them to be soft, rather than calloused to what life brings them. If they fall down and scrape their knee, they're babied until the bleeding stops, rather than dad calling out, "Suck it up you wimp!" The latter is how I was raised. That and a lot more.

I see in the news repeatedly how this teenager and that teenager, is turning to suicide in order to deal with bullying in school. What could be said that is SO bad, that ending your life is better than just coping with the constant scurrility.

I, myself, was bullied relentlessly in my early school years. I recall being singled out in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades, especially. Growing up, I was always a sort of scrawny little guy, and therefore a prime target for those bigger than myself. I remember one fellow, in the seventh and eighth grades, named Jimmy. He was a couple years older than the rest of us, high school age I think, and this f*cker would constantly pick on me and try to beat on me. I don't understand why that was. One time he cornered me on the playground, ready to pummel me with his fists, accusing me of "thinking I was so cool". That statement, for the time, was the furthest thing from the truth. Today, on the other hand, I KNOW I am so cool. (Just look at my hair! Damn, I look good!)

High school, presented me with entirely new challenges. Here I was, placed into a sea of adolescents much bigger and older than myself. A whole new pool of social acceptance. I can remember this one guy, a couple of grades above me, who terrorized me for my entire freshman year. Any chance he got, he'd corner me and just lay into me with the insults. I can't remember much about the f*cker, other than he had kind of a pansy mustache, one of those faggy teenage ones, and this deep-seated scowl on his face. I don't remember ever seeing him with his friends, where he'd have a smile on his face. He'd always be a step or two behind a couple other guys, until he'd see me, then his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and the bullying commenced shortly after that. Midway through the school year, I found myself running late to classes, because I had to take the long way around the school, just to avoid crossing paths with that f*cking guy.

Not once, though, throughout all the hazing and bullying, did I ever think that I'd rather be dead than deal with all this shit. I don't know exactly what it took for me to "survive" the bullying. Lord knows that it wasn't that I hit a growth spurt over the summer. I didn't get that until I was eighteen years old. Far too late for any of it to matter. But looking back now, I can only think it was a couple of things that helped me to survive the taunting.

Number one, was I knew the truth. They'd say one thing, but I knew the alternative to be the truth. The goof in high school, constantly had me cornered, pushed back between a couple of lockers, towering over me calling me "a little faggot" and other similar slurs, but I always knew that I was not a gay. (He probably was, but I sure as hell was not!)

Number two, and I had to think long and hard on this one, but it makes sense. I grew up in an alcoholic family. That is, my dad was an alcoholic, the rest of us were on the receiving end of it. Today I harbour no ill-will towards my dad, recognizing the experience as Jeckyll & Hyde. When he was sober, my dad was the best. When he was drunk, which at the time was A LOT, he was a f*cking horror show. Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger have nothing on my dad when he was rip-snortin' drunk. And this, I believe is the other reason I survived the bullying I received at school. For I know, no matter what these small-dicked idiots could dish out on me at school, my drunk father could dish out ten times (if not more) worse abuse.

So that is my secret to success, but what about all these teenagers today, who would rather swallow a bottle of pills or eat a f*ckin' bullet, than deal with the atrocities that berate them on a daily basis. Some might argue that today's youth are faced with an entirely different era than when I was a boy. Today, there's something called "cyber-bullying", in which tech-savvy bullies take to the world wide web, and post a plethora of untruths on Facebook, Twitter and whatever other social websites there are. Well I don't buy this a a viable reason for offing one's self. Bullies take to these sites because of the anonymity involved. Why, then, can't the victims return like with like. Fight fire with fire. Do like Sean Connery said in the Untouchables. "If they bring a knife, you bring a gun. If they put one of your guys in the hospital, you put one of theirs in the morgue."

Now as I'm writing that line, I have flashbacks of Columbine and alike. I don't mean victims of bullying should bring small arms to school and open fire. That's a bullshit, p*ssy way out of things. I mean fight your oppressors with words. I personally have attacked many a person with my words, and in some instances have caused quite a turmoil. I'm still receiving mail concerning my pledge that Chewbacca from Star Wars, was gay for Han Solo, and I suspect I will continue to receive mail over that. But that's good. It means I'm always on someone's mind. The victims of bullying can do the same. Post all sorts of shit about your bully. It doesn't matter if it's true. None of the shit they're saying about you is truth (in all likelihood).

Today, there's a large movement to end bullying. A valiant effort, this is true. I don't think we will ever see the end of bullying, to be completely honest, as bullying is everywhere. Corporate America bullies the poor. Big government bullies the other parties. "The Simpsons" has been on TV for over two decades now, and nearly every week, you see poor Bart and Milhouse handing over their lunch money to the school bullies. The WWE, which I have not laid eyes upon since Wrestlemania, constantly pits one super heavyweight wrestler against a lightweight grappler. Tell me how fair it is to see a 400lb behemoth fight against another fellow who's barely 5'8"?

Bullying is everywhere. It's a global epidemic. It will never end, sadly. So we need to find other alternatives to combating it. Teachers need to be more diligent. Whenever I was cornered as a young lad, lots of teachers would pass by, but not a one ever stopped to check and see if I was okay. They'd just smile and nod and keep on their way. I think most teachers and school officials know it to be going on, but are oblivious to recognizing it when they come upon it. I think better training needs to be given to school officials and stronger consequences to those who are caught.

"A show of hands. Who here has been the victim of bullying?" a man said to a group of kids during a television program earlier. A majority of hands were raised, including his own. "Now who here has bullied other people?" No hands were raised, except his own. He, admitting that in addition to being bullied, he too had bullied others. Only then, through that honesty, did one or two hands get raised. Everyone is willing to admit they're picked on, but never want to admit to being the monster themselves. As for me. Yeah. I think it could be said, that I've bullied a couple others. I don't remember who, or what the circumstance, but I have bullied. I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is. I can only learn from it and move on.

The same goes for those who find themselves victim to bullying and ridicule. Don't f*cking kill yourself. That shit doesn't solve anything. It makes your family miserable, because they couldn't help you. It makes the bullies feel invincible because they drove you to it. What you need to do, is LIVE. Live your life. If for no other reason, but out of spite. If your oppressors "hate" you that much, think of how miserable you're going to make their shitty little lives, by living yours to the fullest. Then when your a success, you can look down your nose at them as they fill your car up with gas or give you french fries with your burger order. F*ck them.