Christmas is about Saint Nicholas' helpers, all of whom are black and named Peter, whupping you fiercely on December 6 and taking you off to Spain in a gunny sack to sell you as a slave. Then everybody celebrates with marzipan and chocolate.
[I'm fairly certain the proceeds of the sale mentioned above go into St. Nicholas' pocket. After the Spanish government takes their cut. Probably explains why Spain wasn't a member of the Common Market for so long.]
The last xmas tree I had I forgot to get rid of till July. It took an entire afternoon with a hacksaw to reduce it to garbage-baggable pieces. Any part of a celebratory tradition that's a pain in the gand gets axxed. That was twenty six years ago and I haven't had a tree since.
Sad, because I would like to celebrate the birth of Brian.
Egg nog, rum punch, cigars, and hot oil poured on festive off-key carolers from the parapets, are NOT what the season is about. But add inestimably to it never-the-less.
It's quite safe. No one has died yet.
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