Last post for 2001! Score!
Monthly Archives: December 2001
Ho ho ho, revisited
Hello, boys and girls of all nations! I am Santa Claus. I go by other names too: Kris Kringle, St. Nicholas, Father Christmas, Tubby, Chimney Monkey, et cetera. It really all depends upon where you are from.
Now, people are somehow under the impression that I live at the North Pole and have enslaved legions of elves in order to make toys for all the good little girls and boys of the world. This is all wrong. First of all, I don’t live at the North Pole. It’s colder than shit up there. And when I talk about shit, you know I mean the cold stuff. Instead, I live in the south of France, where the weather is much more temperate, and where “Mrs. Claus” and my various other concubines are free to lounge by the pool with their Christmas gifts sticking out, if you get me. Secondly, there are no such things as elves. Instead I have enslaved children. Although elves look a bit like children, so I can understand how that mistake could have been made.
Third, my people don’t make the toys anymore. We used to, but when consumer electronics started to take off it was no longer cost-effective. Plus, we had children building these things, not electricians. I mean, hell, ever since Nike started putting computer chips in their sneakers (for demographical tracking purposes), they’ve been losing approximately twenty percent of their workforce in electrocutions every fiscal year. That’s no way to run a business.
Anyway, we buy all the toys from an independent contractor, who is himself not responsible for making the toys, but instead makes deals with toy companies all over the world to sell us their goods at bargain basement prices, or else the Eight Tiny Reindeer will show up and make things difficult for them. The ETR are among the most feared Christmas-related intimidation organizations, and have been for the last several hundred years. Obviously, I’m quite proud.
Lastly, I have stopped using “naughty vs. nice” as a criterion for who gets presents and who doesn’t. I mean, it’s so difficult to tell if the little girl or boy is really at fault. Suppose a kid puts ice cream in his mother’s nice shoe, or a peanut butter sandwich in the VCR or something. I see that all the time. Kids are stupid. It doesn’t mean they’re naughty. And if they did know what they were doing, maybe it was warranted. Maybe their parents were assholes. Parent’s an asshole, shouldn’t take it out on the kid, you know? Then there are the little angels, the precious little shits who are so good to their parents that they have little invisible halos over their heads – not to mention the brown stuff covering the top halves of their faces – at all times. These little snots are so obviously trying to curry my favor, and while it’s true that they haven’t done anything bad, per se, I still have an irresistable urge to put a boot up their asses. So, I no longer discriminate between naughty and nice. Instead, I just give the good presents to the kids I like, and save the Power Rangers shit for the bastards I can’t stand. So, little Billy Galverton of Odessa, New York, if you’re wondering why you didn’t get that brand new ten-speed bicycle, well, maybe you should look in the mirror and ask yourself that question. Before you choke out the words, you won’t be able to help noticing that you’ve turned into Billy, the Brown-Nosed Bastard. Santa got no time for asskissers, sonny. And little Kendra Dowden of Lexington, Kentucky, even though you keep stacking your Barbies on top of each other and making guttural sounds that give your parents the impression that you are preternaturally possessed of sexual knowledge – flames which you feed by stealing your mother’s vibrator and putting it in the refrigerator (on the dairy shelf next to the butter), and taking Daddy’s condoms and putting them out in the glove box of his Trans Am – Santa will continue to give you the good shit – computers, VCRs, baby tees – because he thinks you got style and class, baby.
So, if the children I’ve enslaved are no longer making toys, what are they doing? Well, they’re delivering them, of course. No sleigh or reindeer for these tots – everyone’s on bicycles this year, as we’ve had several vague terrorist threats from several non-Santa-loving countries. To alleviate the situation, I have purchased several Segway scooters for my deliverychildren to ride. At least, that was the original plan, but those fuckers are expensive. So I bought one for myself, and I must say, even though I am quite obese – disgustingly so – they get me from the bar to the boudoir to the kitchen to the toilet without any troubles, and as a man in his autumn years, that is really all I can ask for.
While the children deliver presents to you and your families tonight, I’ll be swilling moonshine and monitoring all of them. They’ll know not to misbehave or try to escape, because Santa’s got the detonator for those exploding collars that have been welded around their necks. I hope you enjoy what you get, because there ain’t no returns, Buster Brown.
Oops! Look at that. “Mrs. Claus” and three of her closest female friends are beckoning me into the hot tub. Who am I to say no? I may be Santa Claus, but I am also a man, damn it all. I think I’m going to have a very merry Christmas… maybe even five or six of them before the evening’s over.
So leave us! he said. Get the hell out of here!
Merry Christmas to all, and bitch, get me a beer!
Don’t get me wrong
I like comments after my posts. I love comments after my posts. To those of you who have been reading the comments recently and scratching your head in confusion, allow me to explain: “Gunnar”, “Fig”, “Johnny Angelo”, and others are characters from a very funny radio show called The Complacents. They will also be the subjects of online comics, if I can ever be bothered to produce such a thing.
So, several of these people who are leaving comments are in fact fictional characters. Now, since many of you have been asking, allow me to clarify: I am not the one posting these. It is true that there is a Complacents Forum, upon which several of my friends and I have posted as various Complacents characters and had a great deal of fun. But the comments on *this* page are not me.
Which is not to say I do not find them amusing. However, I’ve narrowed it down and I think I know who’s doing it, and I would like to encourage him to stop posting as Complacents characters. People visiting from elsewhere will not understand the joke, and I would like this website to be stranger-friendly – as much as it can be, anyway.
But please, keep leaving comments, as I enjoy them. This goes for everyone. As far as signing them, anonymity has its uses, but here it’s not necessary. At the very least, leave your first name or initials. If you must post as fictional characters, create something new. Is that too much to ask?
I would like to encourage everyone to join my Delphi forum as there is much potential for mirth and merrymaking there. I will be much less picky about things there. I promise! After all, what other forum boasts threads dedicated to bawdy limericks right alongside threads dedicated to Ethan from “Survivor 3″? None.
Although there may be a reason for that.
Desserts on my mind
I am no longer making Jell-O. My Jell-O concoction was utterly successful, except for the fact that red and green food coloring, when mixed together, are the color of tuna salad. Also, never mind that I let the Jell-O set too long and it was hard and rubbery, so I had to make a new batch. Other than that, not a hitch.
This is one of the finest threads ever created on any online forum anywhere. Sign in as a guest if you are prompted. It is worth it.
I’m making jello
Ho ho ho
The Christian holiday on which we celebrate the birth of Jesus is growing ever nearer. True to form, I have not yet done any shopping. I am bad consumer. I am a naughty consumer. As far as my contributions to the economy go, the terrorists have already won. When I emerge from my cave, arms raised in a surrendering gesture, Bill O’Reilly will shoot me, because that’s the kind of badass he is.
“I’m-a shoo choo inna face!”
I expect that in a few days I’ll be marching over to a mall or shopping center of some kind laying down some dough to purchase gifts for my loved ones, so don’t jump up into my ass just yet, reactionary conservative journalists! I’m no fifth columnist planning to take the country down with some brilliant tactical scheme! No way! Not me! I’m going to go shopping at Toys ‘[Backwards R]‘ Us and at the Men’s Wearhouse and at Pier One and at Bed Bath & Beyond and wherever the hell else the day takes me, for I am a Capitalist, and I love Things! And I love buying Things and giving them to others! So there’s no need to tap my phone, J. Edgar Whoever! No reason to keep that satellite camera trained on the top of my head at all times! It’s a waste of the taxpayers’ money, and it’s a waste of Attorney General John Ashcroft’s valuable time!
“Dammit, can’t you see I’m busy?”
Sorry, John! And I thought you were great back when you fronted The Verve!
Ask Dr. Lucas
Dr. Lucas will answer the questions of you, the readers. Dr. Lucas is not technically a doctor, nor does he aspire to be one. In fact, he has no desire to jump through any of the hoops that would be required for him to meet the bare minimum of qualifications necessary for someone who wishes to spend time doling out advice to people. But that is neither here nor there, because the questions he is going to answer for you, the readers, were all made up anyway and not actually asked by anyone.
Dear Dr. Lucas,
My girlfriend just broke up with me because she heard me singing in the shower! I tried to tell her that “I’m Humping My Girlfriend’s Sister” is a popular R&B single getting serious radioplay these days, but a casual flip through the dial never turns it up! What do I do?
Crooner in Connecticut
Dear Crooner,
You are not very smart. “I’m Humping My Girlfriend’s Sister” is not a recent single, nor was it ever particularly popular. Try searching for it in Napster.
Best,
Dr. Lucas
Dear Dr. Lucas,
I keep having strange pains on the left side of my face. These occur every time my boyfriend and I sleep together. What is wrong?
Painful in Pennsylvania
Dear Painful,
You are not very smart. What you and your boyfriend call “sleeping together” the rest of us call “boxing”. Tell him to hit you on the other side of the head every once in a while – that’ll even out the pain to both sides of your face.
Best,
Dr. Lucas
Dear Dr. Lucas,
Help! A lion just escaped from the zoo! What on earth can a single man like myself do?
Sweating in Seattle
Dear Sweating,
First, consider placing a personal ad in the local paper. Your friends may laugh and tease you mercilessly, but if various factors work together there’s a chance you could make that magical connection. Another thing to try is to go to singles bars. The women there can be shallow and materialistic, but just as often they are drunk and/or desperate, so if you play your cards right, they’ll suddenly find they can’t get rid of you. If all else fails, mail-order brides are more widely available than ever, from all over the globe. South Asian? Middle Eastern? Eastern European? Whatever your “thing”, there’s a woman out there somewhere just waiting for you to pay the requisite amount of dollars and sweep her off her feet! Hopefully, your woes will be a thing of the past in no time. And good luck with that lion!
Best,
Dr. Lucas
Dear Dr. Lucas,
Christmas is coming! The goose is getting fat. If I haven’t got a penny to put in the old man’s hat, will a ha’penny do?
Yuletide Yutz in Yonkers
Dear Yutz,
You are not very smart. If you haven’t got a penny, then indeed, a ha’penny will do. If you haven’t got a ha’penny, then God bless you!
Best,
Dr. Lucas
Dear Dr. Lucas,
One week ago, I had a baby. It has not stopped crying since. What is wrong with it?
Irritated in Iowa
Dear Irritated,
It depends. Is it a boy or a girl? Have you checked? If it is one, it may be upset it is not the other. Gender confusion happens much earlier in life nowadays than it did when you or I were growing up. Alternately, perhaps your child has been watching movies with emotional endings. Do the tears appear to be of sorrow or of joy? If this continues, you might consider taking your baby to a psychiatrist. It’s never too early for Prozac!
Best,
Dr. Lucas
Dear Dr. Lucas,
I am a thirtysomething white male who is married to a wonderful lady and has two adorable daughters. I have my dream job, and make more money than I ever possibly dreamed I would. I drive a nice car, live in a big house, and smell like baby powder, even without showering. I am deliriously happy. Thing is, I am thinking about throwing it all away to move down to Mexico and shack up with a fourteen year old girl I met in a chatroom. What do you think?
Tempted in Texas
Dear Tempted,
Carpe Diem! Go for it!
Best,
Dr. Lucas
Fun stuff goes here
Roller coasters are fun.
Barbecues are fun.
Kitty cats are fun.
Seeing people you know on game shows is fun.
Sleeping is fun.
Youth Bible study is fun.
Drinking whiskey is fun.
Google image searching is fun.
Thought of the day
Putting all your eggs into one basket will surely lead to fertility problems.
I will brook no insolence
These are my boys:
Do not attempt to overpower them, as they are quite sinister. You will do exactly as they tell you. Any defiance and you’ll find yourself turned into a toad with your arse in flames. And nobody wants that. Except maybe these boys.
I smell Best Supporting Actor nominations! Anyone? Anyone?
Feedback whore
All right.
I am a total slut for commentary on my individual articles and my site in general. I have not been getting too much feedback from you, my adoring readers. Perhaps you are confused, because there are so many options available. Let’s run through them together.
- If you answer the poll on the left side of the page, you will find there is a window in which you can leave comments. Use this space to enter witty anonymous things about the nature of the poll that everyone can read. Also you may type things such as “Frig My Big Pig Wig”, which someone actually wrote.
- Beneath the poll, you may have noticed an email form. Fill that with your name and email address and tell me what you’re thinking. It doesn’t even have to be about the website. Maybe you just want a pen pal. Maybe you need advice on your love life. Maybe you want to give me a stern talking-to. Fill out the form and send it. I reserve the right to quote you in an article if you are entertaining and if I otherwise run out of ideas.
- The Comments link at the bottom of each article. Here is your chance to respond to what I have just written. Agree? Disagree? Am I mistaken? Can you clarify something? Can I get a “hell yeah”? If you post a comment, I am likely to repsond with a comment, and everybody will get to read our conversation, and it will be very entertaining for all parties involved.
- My guestbook. Sign in here, and tell me your general thoughts on the site, or of any one part of it. Then, read what other people have written! It’s a community!
- Finally, my Delphi forum. I don’t envision this as being about the site at all, but rather as a community where conversations can be enjoyed and online friendships can flourish. Membership to Delphi is free, and the pop-up ads are minimal. Your posts can include HTML formatting, and it is very easy to post pictures and things. Also, there are more polls! And you can create your own. What could be better?
Only by working together can we open the avenues of communication and bring the world together as one. And if we do not, my friends, then the terrorists have already won.
Don’t they have eggs in them? Don’t eggs spoil?
Late this afternoon, while I was taking my lunch, a meal which I generally enjoy late in the day, I witnessed a curious example of customer service. Those of you who know me well know that I am employed at the circulation desk at the library of an academic institution, and one of my duties is to assist patrons as necessary, so it should come as no surprise that I always try to note with interest any unusual or innovative methods of dealing with customers.
Anywho, there I was at the Burger King, placing my order for a Double Cheeseburger and a Chicken Tenders Sandwich with a medium Coke, and as I was waiting for the hard-working chefs in back to fill my order, a portly fellow in a beige jacket and glasses came up to the counter with a large grocery bag. He set the bag on the counter and began describing to the cashier on duty that he had bought a large quantity of french toast sticks that morning and had not had the opportunity to eat them. The cashier watched him as he rooted through his large plastic grocery bag and pulled out what seemed to be an impossible number of cardstock containers full of french toast sticks and set them on the counter. The portly man stacked the boxes and slid them across to the cashier, who stared at them, confused as to how he could help this man. Was he returning them? Did he want a refund? Did he want new ones? What was the deal? After a few awkward seconds, the customer finally offered what he wanted, which was for all five hundred of the french toast sticks to be reheated.
Now, if I had been the cashier, I would have laughed in his face, or possibly pointed out that the french toast sticks were at least six hours old and were probably bad, but this cashier picked them up and set them on the counter behind him for the cooks in the back to heat up, as if this were a common request. I stood there gaping in mild disbelief, and as the cute female cook in the back scooped up the french toast sticks to reheat them, she gave me a knowing look, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
The fast food industry is not renowned for its variety of services available to customers, but let us now praise the Burger King cashier for going above and beyond in the face of an eccentric middle-aged nerd, and let us praise the cute brunette in the kitchen for her facial expressions. Cheers up to your ears!
Grand pianos crash together
I am subscribed to AT&T’s @Home cable modem service. Apparently, all along they have merely been reselling to me Excite’s @Home service, and inflating the price to suit their twisted ends. However, Excite wanted a piece of that hot action, and AT&T wouldn’t play ball, so Excite stopped doing business with them. Result? I’m using dial-up.
I cannot overemphasize how much this sucks.
Fuck you, dial-up. Fuck you, giant squabbling corporations.
¡Viva la Grammarporn!