The Christmas Ugly


My least favorite Christmas greeting is, without a doubt, “Have A Safe Holiday.”

What does it mean? I have to admit, I didn’t realize I was in any immediate danger just because there were now brightly colored lights on people’s porches and everyone was buying large quantities of cheap shit to wrap up in shredded trees to give to each other. It’s the trees who are in danger, when you really think about. They’re either being pulped and turned into gaudy wrapping paper or cut down, dried out and propped up in people’s living rooms with they’re lots of shoddy lightwight electical devices strung around them. One minute you’re living a peaceful existence in a pastoral woodland setting, cool autumn air, birds and squirrels, sunshine and quiet. The next you’re a fucking fire hazard next to noisy 51″ big screen that won’t stop playing Jersey Shore.

We’re lucky we don’t have an army of pissed off Ents storming this country each holiday season in revenge for their murdered brethren.

Anyway, I have a few ideas about what “Have A Safe Holiday” must mean in terms of avoiding any holiday mishaps.

  • Wear proper protective clothing at Christmas Bear Baiting parties. No one needs to lose a limb with all that wrapping needing to get done.
  • Dont fuck an Elf without a condom. Safe interspecies sex keeps us all healthy.
  • Take a night off from the Oxy. You know you’re going to be drinking a lot, right? Why chance respiratory arrest on the holiest of holies? “Hey Mom, guess what Santa left under the tree? Daddy’s cold lifeless corpse.”
  • Check twice under the car for explosives. You have enemies in the Mafia. Who doesn’t? Statistics show that December is the busiest time of the year for car bomb assasinations and it’s a bitch of a month for travel, too. Check twice, don’t get iced.
  • Three words: No Naked Tobogganing. Not that it’s not fun, trust me, it’s just that we live in sick times and you don’t want to put yuorself out there as an easy target for Toboggan Bashers.
  • Finally, don’t do anything stupid during the Running of the Christmas Caribou. Not that you’d be the first person who’s last sight was a pair of mossy antlers but the Northwest Territories are a hell of a place to die.

    They can’t even put you in the ground ’til the thaw.

  • Merry Christmas, Fuckers!


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    3 Responses to “The Christmas Ugly”

    1. Cullen Says:

      Fuck you and your “safe holidays,” buddy. I just got out of the hospital after a disastrous incident involving wrapping paper and paper cuts in very sensitive areas.

    2. Horatio VonDarkfaulker Says:

      Yet again does Ken’s sublime diatribe bear the fruition of obvious and powerful truths: Save the Paper & Keep the Reciepts!

      Year after year of receiving incomparable gifts whished upon me by the adoring masses, (and other various lunatics who listen to what I have to say from time to time,) I have learned not to tear and rend the thin, decorative sheets of lovely-patterned paper that enfolds the juicy presents given to me at Christmas; instead, I save them and re-gift them to others as wrapping paper.

      That’s right. And why-the-hell not?

      What better plan could one have at Christmas than to break out the Scotch tape and surround a traditional, unwanted bottle of Old Spice or Stetson with motley shreds of wrapping paper to re-gift them to anyone who would appreciate it? (I’m not sure who that might be, but I’d like to also suggest giving such an item to those you don’t care much for, ({Theoretically, one could also piss in the bottle and no one would ever know the difference… except it might not smell quite so badly.))

      Well, hell. Don’t get me wrong: Christmas rocks-ass. But Stetson sucks.

      Conclusion: I think I speak for every man when I say: “I’d much prefer a generous gift-certificate to the local massage parlor. And/Or a cold beer.)

      This is horatio signing out~

    3. Ken Socrates Says:

      Yeah, I knew you bastards felt the same way as me about the holidays. Bitter, resentful and itchy as hell in all the wrong places.

      But thanks for the bottle of Old Spice, Horatio. Seriously.

      I drank it last night.

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