Tis the season, PIGsters and once again, our sanity will be assaulted by the usual suspects who willfully ignore certain doses of objective reality that don't match up with their seasonal delusions. It might help if you think of this rant as the holiday version of "A is still A".
For that legendary pain in the butt, the great America sports-a-holic, this is the time of year when friendships are given the acid test. It's the time of year when brewskie-fortified sports-a-holics get into bellowing, chest-pounding shouting matching over the burning college sports question of the moment: who's number one? There are, as usual, several official answers to this vital sports-a-holic question. Despite the various polls, the only official opinion that matters when it comes to college football is a notoriously dysfunctional, fatally-flawed gem called the College Football Playoff series. No matter which teams end up in the so-called championship game, there are endless arguments over the way this team or that one got shafted by this bull crap. A is still A and the playoff system is still an egregiously flawed way to determine the National College Football Champion. Close, but no cigar.
I can make myself ignore the annual college football championship bovine excrement, but I have a much harder time when it comes to other elements of the holiday hoopla. The one that, invariably, makes me shudder is the horse crap that speaks in glowing, mythological terms about "one of mom's home cooked meals". It's accurate to state that my mother did unbelievable things in the kitchen, on a regular basis. When I say "unbelievable" I'm not engaging in Hambo's patented hyperbole. My mother was a highly intelligent woman who was gifted in many areas. HOWEVER, cooking wasn't one of them. She was, to put in bluntly, the most infamous culinary terrorist since Jeffrey Dahmer. A is still A, so don't hold your breath waiting for this far from fussy eater to get gooey over "one of mom's home cooked meals". Been there, done that, and I managed to survive, some-damn-how.
How many goddamn versions of 'A Christmas Carol' Do we need? Vanessa Williams did one. Susan Lucci did one. George C. Scott did one. Captain Picard (Patrick Stewart) did one. Albert Finney did one. Kelsey Grammar did one. Bill Murray did one (this one has moments). Even Fonzi did one! There were, at last count, well over 200 of the damn things and virtually all them will be shown during the looming holiday boob tube blitz. Isn't it about time for someone to declare that the Alistair Sim version, is THE superior version of this classic and ditch all these pretenders? Do we really need to have someone perpetrate a Porn Star Kardashian-West plays Scrooge epic before we finally put this insane holiday tradition out of its misery? A is still A and Alistair Sim is still the one and only Scrooge.
Christmas songs are cool, especially if they're delivered eagerly, loudly, and cheerfully off-key by some stoned on Santa Claus tykes. HOWEVER, by the time I've heard "Deck the Halls" for the 800th time, in one day, I'm ready to put a whole new spin on "decking". You don't even want to know what I'm planning to do with that friggin holly. A is still A and Christmas songs are fine, in moderation. But if you keep bellowing them at me, eventually, I'm going to snap. You so don't want to go there.
Gift giving is another area where too much of a good thing ruins an otherwise spiffy holiday season. I like exchanging gifts with my lovely bride and that's a fact. I also like finding gifts for selected members of the human population. HOWEVER, we all need to get real about this "butt ugly tie from Aunt Thelma" crap. Gift giving is cool, most of the time, but some gifts test the limits of my meager acting ability. If you threatened me with Uncle Clyde's infamous fruit cake, I would admit that, for many years now, I have engaged in gift recycling. It resolves numerous problematic gift buying dilemmas when the lucky recipient is someone I barely know. A is still A and gift giving is cool, until it becomes mandatory.
It's time to get real about Christmas. It's time to admit that, despite its wondrous elements, Christmas is fully of petty annoyances. You know it's true, and so do I, but I have an idea or two that might put the fun back in your Christmas.
Admittedly, I can't help you with such relentless pains as the 10,000th remake of "A Christmas Carol". There's nothing I can do about the sanity shredding holiday music that gets on your last raw nerve long before the Jolly Old Elf slides down your chimney. When it comes to that stuff, you're on your own, Sparky. You already know what I think of things like that.
Whipped with guilt over my limitations when it comes to the Christmas Season's many petty annoyances, I am locked and loaded with ideas about one especially annoying element of this "joyous" season. I refer, of course, to the most pernicious element of Christmas, buying gifts for people who, routinely, get on your last, raw, nerve. If you're like your devoted PIG perpetrators, you approach this pain in the butt with a mixture of grim resolve, laced with a generous dose of dread. It's time for you to dump that evil frame of mind like a bad habit and let me show you how to have some fun with your gift buying for a change. For the purposes of this exercise, you might as well call me Hambo Claus.
Christmas shopping is an exercise in psychological warfare, which, if you perform this annual ritual properly, can afford you countless hours of fun on Christmas morning. It might help if you think of it as playfully PIGish form of payback. It's a small way to get a badly needed outlet for all the stress you endured at the local mall, where you were forced to rub elbows - and assorted other body parts - with every form of mutant, retard, moonbat and wingnut in the known universe. Hambo Claus-style gift giving can make you shake off that damn Christmas elevator music and put some "Ho, ho, ho" back in your Ho, Ho Holiday.
I know what you're thinking and that's no way to speak about Hambo Claus when there's a reasonable chance that he can hear what you're saying. Actually, in this instance, Hambo Claus gift giving has its bright side. Imagine the thrill your knee-jerk liberal brother, uncle, friend or neighbor will feel when he opens his gift and sees a PIG sweatshirt bearing the phrase "Insensitive Liberal Bashing? You Bet, and Plenty of It" He'll want to kick your butt, but under the venerable Christmas rules of engagement, he's required to smile, act delighted and thank you, because the whole family is watching. Your response is much more sincere: that annoying smirk you've been practicing for this glorious occasion.
Do you have a friend, acquaintance or family member who is driving you crazy with their foaming at the mouth Elephant Clan carping? Do you wish that once, just once, he, she, heshe or it would talk about something, anything, else? Why not make a modest donation to Demoncrat Party in the annoying pest's name? Better yet, make a donation to Bubba Clinton's boondoggle, uh, Presidential Library. That will put them on the mailing list for every liberal group from sea to shining sea. It's the gift that keeps on giving and you'll have a front row seat to all the fun when the lucky recipient blows a gasket.
Is someone on your gift recipient list a diehard, card-carrying union loving dweeb whose tirades against those evil bastards at Wal-Mart get on your last raw nerve? Why not test their mettle with a gift card from Wal-Mart? Be damn sure to keep your camera handy, because the look on their face will make great wallpaper for your PC.
Do you have a friend, acquaintance or relative that is being a pain-in-the-butt about their non-negotiable eating regime? Is Aunt Blabby running off at the mouth about her "blankety-blank" vegan diet? Are you itching to hit him, her, himher or it where they live? Why not buy them a gift card for the FSOP's favorite burger joint, Dr. Jon's Heart Attack Grill?. I strongly suggest that you give them a gift card for the king of all burgers, the 8,000 calorie behemoth, the Quadruple Bypass Burger. Take a brief moment to imagine how much fun you'll have describing that gargantuan gastronomic gem in lavish detail. That's Hambo Claus gift giving at its best.
Do you have a brother, uncle, aunt, cousin or friend who never saw a gun they didn't want to ban? I have the perfect gift for you. Sign them up for a National Rifle Association membership. It's a gift that keeps on giving, because it will put them on all those 'save the Second Amendment', gun lover, mailing lists. He, she, heshe, or it, will be getting that stuff in their mailbox, month in, month out, for YEARS.
Is one of your gift recipients a Stoned-On-Old-Ka-Boom, salvation monkey who can't resist trying to share the "joyous news' despite the fact that you've found your own path to a Celestial reward in the hereafter? Do they get on your last raw nerve with their relentless religious fervor? I feel your pain and have a suggestion. You need to give them a free pass to Hell. It's not THAT Hell, Sparky, I'm suggesting that you buy them a gift certificate from those paragons of Kiwi incorrectness, the devilishly clever dudes who run Hell Pizza. In addition to the joy you'll get from the recipient's shocked expression, you'll get that extra special bonus of knowing that they'll never get to use it since the nearest Hell Pizza outlet is in J.O.E.
If you're not snarky enough for those classically Hambo notions, why not go for some plain vanilla mind bending with some deliberately hideous gifts that can't be returned? Or, why not use your imagination and give them an utterly useless set of items that mirror certain memorable (ones you remember and they might want to forget) episodes in the recipient's life. Hambo calls this a "This is Your Life" gift pack. The idea is quite simple and very inexpensive, since none of the items need to cost more than $2 or $3. The best part of this is the hours of big time fun you'll have finding the right item for each memorable moment. Once you have all those memorable episodes represented, you pack up the whole mess then wait for Christmas Day when you get to explain each item's significance in front of the whole family.
The bottom line on my PIGish gift suggestions is this: gift giving can be perversely fun, for you, if you approach it with imagination and a sense of humor. I feel compelled to warn those who want to follow Hambo Claus into the dark side of gift giving that it requires some acting ability and a poker-faced "sincerity". Some of you might think that my suggestions reek of "revenge", but I categorically refute that allegation. I prefer to think of Christmas gift giving as a once a year opportunity to bestow some enlightenment on certain richly deserving family members, friends, acquaintances and co-workers. On your mark, get set, go forth and spread some PIGish "joy".
I know what you're wondering, and the answer is a provisional 'yup'. Yes, Sparky, the FSOP had its own close encounter with prankish gifts.
It happened, when some never identified PIG staffer - Agent Oink was suspiciously furtive and smirky - left a gift-wrapped Hooters hottie under the PIG bunker's Christmas tree. We were THRILLED, until Spike removed the gag and Hooters hottie gave us an earful of differently-joyful verbal abuse.
We don't get in a lather over anyone's method of enjoying this festive season, so why, we ask, are so many people trying to rain on our parade? Our enchanting Hooters wench's lawyer bitch really hurt our feelings at the arraignment when she kept using the term "hogtied". We're still getting her nasty grams - f-ing restraining order spawning shyster bitch. We're thisclose to having our legal eagle, Sleezy Sid, sue that lawyer bitch.
I will smack the shyster bitch if she sneers "hogtied" one more time. But I digress.
As far as I can tell, Christmas has evolved into a one-size-fits all holiday that has something for just about everybody. It's a time of year that means different things to different people. Its meaning, for you, depends on your viewpoint.
For Cross Cultists, like my friend, PIGster J, it's a time of year when they celebrate the birth of a savior.
For this pagan scribbler, it's a time of year when a 'Jolly Old Elf' sets a new single night record for house breaking, while ingesting enough milk and cookies, in one action packed night, to last the population of the Big Apple for a lifetime. He atones for his 'crimes', by leaving toys for little girls and boys.
For Killjoy Atheists, plus assorted other hypersensitive secular pests, it's a time of year when they keep a shyster on standby, ready for immediate deployment.
For capitalists, it's a time of year when they make the year profitable by selling manger scenes to Cross Cultists, lights and other Santa related decor to Jolly Old Elf fans, body armor to killjoy atheists, plus wide screen TVs and iPads to low information voters.
Ideally, everybody should step back, and take several deep breaths. Ideally, we should each honor this multifaceted holiday in the manner that thrills us spitless and give other sovereign individuals the space to do the same. If my neighbor puts out his manger scene and honors the birth of a savior, that's his right. If another neighbor is working 16 hour days at his outpost of capitalism, raking in those profits, that's cool too. I won't paint a bull's-eye on their manger or cash register, but I would appreciate the same consideration about my veneration of a Jolly Old Elf.
If you put a gun to my head and demanded my opinion - as if anyone ever had to coerce an opinion from Hambo - I would opine that a something for everybody approach to Christmas is utterly, classically, American. Nobody is coerced into accepting one manner of celebrating this holiday. Instead, each individual is allowed deal with it as he, she, heshe or it sees fit. For PIGster J., Jesus is the reason for the season. For Hambo, Christmas is a time of year when he, like many others, brighten up their neighborhood with twinkling multicolored strings of lights, a tree decorated with tinsel, lights and ornaments, plus depictions of Santa's jovial self. For capitalists, it's a time to reduce that inventory and fill their cash register by selling PIGster J. the decorative elements that flesh out his holiday, and selling more Santa stuff to Mrs. Hambo. These highly individual approaches to the same event are the essence of this great nation.