Bucking Tradition

For many many years, I've enjoyed spending Christmas Eve alone.  I've never had anyone special to share my holidays with, so this has never been an issue.  In the past, this tradition involved my getting very high, eating a pizza and watching television, usually viewing "Die Hard 1 &2" and "Lethal Weapon", both being excellent "man-style" Christmas movies.

As the years went on, certain aspects were phased out.  No longer do I partake in illicit drugs that will put me into a state of numbness, nor do I even dabble with alcohol anymore.  Neither has a positive affect on me, mentally.  Christmas is depressing enough for the single person, without having to intensifying this emotion.  Still the consumption of pizza continued.

These days, I don't even hardly bother with the movies anymore, opting to watch them on a predetermined schedule, instead.  Actually, it's less predetermined and more whimsical, but the pizza remains.

This year, I've already viewed my "Die Hard's" and oddly, I don't feel like watching "Lethal Weapon", but the pizza remained.  This year, however, due to a commitment to play Santa Claus, I've had to bump up the consumption of my Christmas pizza.  I arranged to pick it up at noon today, in hopes of spending the afternoon, eating and watching TV.  Fate, however, had other plans for me, and instead of picking up my meal and returning in a timely fashion, the battery in my truck decided to die, leaving me stranded in front of Costco for nearly an hour before the tow truck driver arrived.

Pizza cost $14 and change.  Thirty-plus minutes seemed like an eternity as last minute shoppers aggressively honked with the intention that I move the f*ck out of their way.  "And a Merry Christmas to you too, sir." I thought, watching each driver creep past me, with finger extended for my viewing pleasure.

Then a little chubby white-haired bloke pulled up beside me in a beat-up old tow truck that had clearly seen better days.  He hopped out and waddled his fat ass around to the raised hood on my truck and gave my battery a quick jump.  Accepting only cash, I was forced to return inside the Costco and visit the ATM which, subsequently, only distributed $50 bills.

"I hope you can break a fifty." I said, returning to my spot outside, next to the chubby elf-like gentleman.  He turned and smiled saying, "It's $50 and change, but..." he paused, looking down at the crisp new plastic Canadian fifty dollar bill, "Aah.  It's Christmas.  Let's call it an even fifty."  With that he scooped the bill from my hand, hopped back behind the wheel of his beat up monstrosity and disappeared into the distance.

I'm bucking tradition this year.  Eating about eight hours earlier than usual.  Spending $50 for a job that, literally, took less than 60 seconds, and will most likely be buying a brand new f*cking battery, shortly after Christmas, for a truck that has less than 48,000 km on it.  Go big or go home, I guess, huh..?  Merry Christmas one and all!!

Peeved

Some people have the misfortune of being allergic to pets.  I would consider myself a dog person, although I have a tremendous allergy to them.  Even the hypo-allergenic dogs, cause major discomfort in my sinuses, producing red teary eyes and a stuffy nose.  This may be good fortune for me, as I will never be the owner of anything as faggy as a labra-doodle.

Another pet I am intolerant to are pet-peeves.  I have many of them, but the ones that seem to plague me the most, are the two which, on paper, seem the most trivial of the lot.  The first is watching a favourite television program, then having to sit through three, four, five and in some instances, I've noticed, six minutes of commercials.  The commercials themselves, aren't the pet peeves.  Everyone needs to sell shit.  I understand that.  If I owned anything of value that needed to be sold to the masses, I'd advertise too, but what irks the shit outta me, is after sitting through the mind-numbing commercials, realizing that the program in which I'm currently watching, is f*cking recorded.  F*ck!

The other one, which sparked my creative flame, is inserting the DVD or Bluray into the machine, moving back to my viewing spot and wiggling my sexy ass into my chair, seating myself absolutely perfect then reaching for the remote which is missing from it's spot.  Desperately, I look around, searching for it, trying not to move out of fear of losing my absolute comfort level.  That's when I finally look up and see it across the room, sitting prominently next to the player.  F*ckitty-f*ck.

I'm sure there are more peeves that piss me off and I will likely offer those up to you in the future.  For now, I have to leave.  The main menu music has been echoing through my house for the last fifteen minutes or so, while I've been tapping away at this blog.  It's a catchy tune, but it's beginning to drive me a little crazy.  I hate it when I get a tune stuck in my head.  I guess that'd be a pet-peeve of mine.

Christmas Jobber

Strangely, I'm in more of a Christmas spirit this year, than I have been in the past.  Being that I'm a single fella, I find the holiday season to be most depressing.  It's great when you have someone to share it with, and since the birth of my nephew, Jake, and his little brother, Chad, who is experiencing his first Christmas this year, the experience is a little less abrasive.  This year, however, seems a little more content, and I suspect it's because I've been bestowed the "honour" of portraying the jolly fat man for my friend's children and some others.  Nervous, I am, but somewhat excited, as well.

So with my elevated Christmas spirit, I've been humming and singing more Christmas tunes than usual, and in doing so, their lyrics have drawn my attention and stirred my imagination.  For example, the Christmas carol, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas".  Particularly the lines, "Now bring us some figgy pudding, and bring it right here!"  Despite all the good will towards everyone during this season, these lyrics seem quite demanding and out of context.  How good could figgy pudding really be that it would cause people to forgo all good manners and demand that they be served this tasty treat?  There's a lot of tasty foods associated with the Christmas season, but none has forced me to demand "Bring it here on the double, damn it!"  Judging by the picture above, it does look quite inviting, although it may be too sweet for even my palate.  Not knowing what it was, exactly, I looked it up.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that the fig is a fruit associated with the Ficus plant.  For those unaware, I purchased a small Ficus plant as a house warming gift for some friends a year or two ago, and it has since then grown from a few inches tall to now touching the high ceiling of their home.  I'm not aware of whether it bears any small fruit or not, but the plant is massive, and knowing the culinary gifts that these new home owners possess, I'm certain that if there are any figs on this Ficus (aka "The Stupid Jeff Plant" as they affectionately call it), then some tasty treats may be appearing at a social gathering in the future, and knowing M______, she'll probably add bacon to the recipe somewhere...

There's another carol that sparked my attention, specifically "Winter Wonderland".  I don't know why this is considered a Christmas carol, as it fails to mention Christmas, by name, anywhere in the song, and being a resident of Canada, I know for a fact that winter extends a lot longer than just the few weeks before Christmas.  Most years, the snow flies at the end of October or early November and stays until early-to-mid April, causing several weeks and months to be a "winter wonderland".  This isn't the only facet of the song that curbs my attention.  There are some lyrics that I've found questionable for many years and am just now addressing in this forum.

"In the meadow, we can build a snowman / We can pretend he's Parson Brown".  I don't know who Parson Brown is, but that's no matter, it's the next couple of lines that piqued my interest.  "He'll say: Are you married? / We'll say: No man! / But you can do the job / When you're in town".  You can do the job?  To me, this makes her sound like a tramp (or worse).  If she's hot, then I'll happily apply for the job, but long distance travel seems like too much of a hassle for just a booty call.

Lastly, I must address the song "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town".  Seeing as how I'm going to be acting the part of jolly Saint Nick, I should get behind some of the lyrics to better portray the role.  "He sees you when your sleeping"...  Creepy.  "He knows when you're awake / He knows when you've been bad or good".  Uhm, "Stalker"?!?

I'll dial back the creepy stalker aspect of the role and play him as the happy jolly fat guy that Hollywood has made him for the last fifty some years.  It's what the kids know and love.  I've been walking about the house today, practicing the belly-jiggling laugh and the voice.  My cat, Monkey, is looking at me like I'm high, a little pissed at me, too, for not sharing whatever it was I smoked.  I'm not too worried.  Some have shown their support for my doing this.  I just hope I don't f*ck it all up and ruin the illusion of Santa Claus for them, like it was shattered for me when I was a little kid.

Here's to WISHING YOU ALL A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS....!!

Reindeer Games

So you should already know Dasher, Dancer, Blinky and Vixen.  Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen.  No, wait!  I'm pretty sure Blinky is one of the Pac-Man ghosts.  So who am I missing?  Uh...  Prancer!!  What the hell kind of name is Prancer?  Suitable for a reindeer, I suppose.  And I always thought Cupid was that fat kid that shot people with arrows on St. Valentine's Day.  Someone's pulling double duty, maybe?

The most famous reindeer of them all, though is Rudolph, of course.  That little fetal-alcohol-syndrome reindeer, born to alcoholic parents, hence the big fat rosy-red nose.  Luckily for Santa Claus, his handicap benefited all on that fateful night that almost grounded the jolly fat man and his team of reindeer.

According to the song, however, young Rudolph was victim to bullying.  Shunned by his peers because of his glowing appendage.  Teased, mocked and bullied, rejected from playing any of the games that they'd play on a regular basis.

I'm sure the little reindeer had entertained thoughts of leaving the confinement of the North Pole, heading south to  civilization, where no one knew him, and starting over, but hesitated because of the extreme limitations bestowed upon a four-legged creature whose only skills were flying and firing up a glowing red nose.  Unfortunately, when you're born a magical reindeer, no matter your skill set, your vocational options are pretty limited.

So on that fateful foggy eve, it came as some surprise when the jolly elf himself, Santa Claus, came a knocking on the barn door and "volun-told" Rudolph to guide his sleigh that night.  The song suggests that St. Nick asked Rudolph to guide his sleigh, but being that he owned his ass, it was high-time to return the favour from years of free food and shelter.

So now, his very existence validated by the big boss man himself, the other reindeer now honoured and respected Rudolph because of his glowing red nose.  So upon the return from that global tour, they now accepted him into the fold and allowed him to play the very reindeer games, that they prevented him from participating in all those previous years.

This song has always pissed me off some, because of the sudden change of attitude by the eight reindeer.  To bully someone because of a physical handicap, only to then accept them just because one person vouched for them being cool?  If I were Rudolph, suddenly faced with a new important role on the team, so important now, that I'd inspired someone in the world to compose a song about me, I'd tell those reindeer to "piss off".  They could now join ME in MY reindeer games.

What kind of games can a reindeer play anyway?  They only have hooves and antlers.  Doesn't leave much room for anything but running and locking up horns.  Sounds like a lot of work if you ask me, and Rudolph was probably better for never having to had played at all.

So have yourselves a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone.  Now that you know more of the facts, enjoy singing about the most famous reindeer of them all, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, with your loving families around the ol' Christmas tree. Wish you all the best in 2013.

Religious Persecution

In recent years, the world has been going to hell in a hand basket.  Everyone is tip-toeing around, afraid to say certain phrases or make certain gestures for fear of making someone uncomfortable.  People aren't allowed to politely wish someone a Merry Christmas, as it may offend someone of another faith.  Schools no longer present Christmas pageants for adoring parents to watch their younglings stumble and stammer over difficult dialogue and terrible costuming, for it may offend someone who doesn't believe in the birth of Christ. Churches aren't even aloud to display manger scenes on the front lawns of their own grounds.  Soon it'll be taboo to position a Christmas tree in the front window if the curtains are to be left open.  Simply put...  What the f*ck is wrong with people these days?

I've never backed down from the admission that I don't believe in God or Jesus or any of that religious hooey.  I don't fault others for believing in it.  If it gives you peace, love and happiness to believe in an invisible man who created everything in the world, and nothing was ever created by mankind themselves, then that's you're prerogative.  I don't need to believe it, nor do I give two shits if you do.  I will say, though, some of my fondest memories of growing up, were from performing, albeit poorly, in those Christmas pageants.

(*I know it's politically correct to say "humankind" now, but I don't give a shit.)

I can respect any person who felt it necessary to flee from whatever backwards country or regime where their own self-preservation felt threatened.  I can respect the fact that they have found solace and safety within the borders of Canada or the U.S. or any country that embraces free will and expression.  I cannot respect any person who relocates to my country or any of those listed, and finds it necessary to impose their beliefs and wills on us, just so they don't feel persecuted.  That makes these selfish motherf*ckers no better than the oppression they fled from.  If some middle-eastern bloke wishes to wear a turban and pray to the east twice a day, that's fine, but if I choose to wish you a Merry Christmas, then suck it up and say thank you.  It's not the words themselves that mean the most.  It's the good will behind those words.  It's so rare to find genuine kindness in people anymore, that when this time of year roles around, if someone expresses pleasantries towards another, those words should be met with the same form of kindness.  DON'T raise a stink and start a campaign to ban the words.

Words do have multiple meanings, for f*ck sake!  Even the F-word itself has multiple meanings, as you can learn from this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26UA578yQ5g 

Another example would be the word "fag".  If you go to Dictionary.com, you'll see one of the many meanings for the word, is a verb to describe one growing weary or tired from a laborious task.  Another meaning is to fray the end of a rope.  When used as a noun, it is used to describe a cigarette or a defective piece of woven cloth.  As you read this, were you aware of these meanings or were you like me, and only believed the word to be an offensive term bestowed upon the gay community.  I'd always thought it was a bastardized term derived from the meaning of "happiness" or "fun", like in the Flintstones Theme (ie. ...You'll have a yabba-dabba-doo time, you'll have a gay... ol'... time).  Even the word "faggot" means: A bundle.  Be it sticks, cloth, or even iron bars.  I even read that it refers to balled up pork bound by herbs and breading then deep fried.  That faggot sounds delicious!

Another example was presented last year during the NBA 2011-2012 season, where a player of Asian decent showed great promise and agility.  He'd been overlooked and sold short by teams before, and even his new team, the New York Knickerbockers, had considered cutting him, but after a barrage of injuries to the roster, The Knicks gave Jeremy Shu-How Lin an opportunity to play, and the sensational Season of Lin-sanity and Lin-vincibility was born.  Jeremy proceeded to play absolutely Lin-credible for many of the games that were to follow.  Then there was the game where it was destined for the New York Knicks to lose a game.  A color-commentator remarked that the opposing team had found a "chink in their armor".  Well the accusations began to fly that this commentator was a bigot and so forth.  If you look up the word "chink", it clearly refers to: a crack, cleft or fissure;  a narrow opening; to breach, rent or cut.  It even refers to the sound of two glasses coming together, as in a toast.  At the bottom of the page, it does mention that it's also a disparaging and offensive term for someone of Asian decent.  But come on.  Shit like that is only used by the uneducated and uncultured folks.  You know...?  Like rednecks!

In the city where I reside, the city transit have digital message boards that display the route of the bus, as well as other messages.  If our local hockey team is doing well, the message may read "Go Blades!!!"  I'm not a Blades fan, but I'm not going to raise a stink over the fact that others like and support the team.  On July 1st, they read "Happy Canada Day!"  That's cool.  At during the Christmas season, they read "Merry Christmas!!!" and that is fine with me.

If anyone is a hater and does not approve of the message of good will, then may I make a suggestion.  Instead of disagreeing and raising an Anti-Christmas campaign and threatening a lawsuit, as this local f*ck-nut, Ashu Solo is doing in Saskatoon, do us all a favour and either go the f*ck back to whatever shit-hole you came from or step in front of one of these city buses that you're so offended by.  Either way, we won't have to listen to your bellyaching anymore.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!!!
(And if you have a problem with that, I don't give a shit!)

Bare Assed

T-Minus 21 And Counting

I worked this morning and as it does on most occasions, my mind wandered away from the monotonous task I was doing, to a subject a little more interesting.

Today is December 1st and if the Mayan calender is correct, we, as a collective, only have 21 days remaining in existence.  Pretty shitty, considering I just celebrated my birthday and Christmas is just around the corner, but the premise got me to thinking.  Not to mention, I have to work until the twenty-first of this month, before the seasonal shutdown at work.  It would definitely blow, if I have to work every day then my first day off marks..., nothing.  OBLIVION!!

IF the world actually does come to an end, how might one want to go out?  When asked, a majority of the consensus tends to lean toward "going out with a bang", and I don't mean a "shoot 'em up" kind of scenario, but more of the intimate variety.  A minority would opt for spending it with family.  I don't really have much for family.  My sister has her husband and kids and I believe that if the world were coming to a violent end, they'd rather spend it with themselves alone, and rightfully so.  

That leaves only one option left for me, and sadly I am without a "beneficial friend".  Although, with time quickly counting down, beggars may not be choosers and mutual copulation may be easier than initially thought...

It was at this point that I had the song "Sex & Candy" pop in my head, by the band Marcy's Playground.  A stupid name for a band, but no worse, I suppose, than Meat Curtains.  One of the lines of the song specifically states, "I smell sex and candy, here."  Disgusting!  Candy would be alright.  Every time I walk into the Pine & Fancy Candy Store at the mall, I'm mentally teleported to a far away fantasy land where everyone is happy and sweet.  As for sex though...  Yech.  Unless there's scented candles or lotions, the smell is anything but wonderful.  Or at the very least, not nearly as enjoyable as the act itself.  All musty and sweaty...  I don't know if I'd want to spend all of eternity with that reminder on my mind.  If the End of Days comes on December 21st of this month, and I do find a partner to spend my last fleeting moments with...  I hope she's wearing a Vanilla-based perfume.  Mmm.  Vanilla.

Frankly, I think it's a load of malarky.  Just like Y2K and those retards last year who thought a flying saucer was coming to pick up the human race.  A bunch of bullshit.  It is my belief, and I've been stating this for years and years, since first learning of the Mayan calendar and prediction of Armageddon.  I think the Mayans simply got to the end of the page or the stone tablet.  Whatever they were counting out the days on and never got a chance to carve out another tablet.

It's written that the Mayans existed between 250 and 900AD.  Nearly two thousand years ago.  Why the hell did they need to carve out a calendar so far into the future?  If they knew the world was going to end on December 21st, 2012, wouldn't it have just been easier to simply carve out a statement?  "Hey future people, as of December 21st of 2012, you guys are all f*cked!!"

It's just a scheme to get people into a panic.  The survivalist stores are all raking in the bundles of cash as scared desperate people spend what little money they have remaining from the recession, on rice, canned beans, gas generators and handguns.  Even I had hatched a scheme to make some cash from all the hype.  I wanted to fashion a 2012 calendar that showcased a different natural disaster in every month, then in December, I was going to number it up until the 21st, then leave the remaining days blank.  F*cking HILARIOUS!!!