Today marks the longest night of the year. No, not the solstice -- that was a few days ago, and was technically the longest night -- but the festival segment known as "greedy anticipation".
All over the country, little children will secretly steal the instant coffee, so that they can stay up past midnight and ambush the fat man.
Whether or not he survives the ordeal is dependent on how well their parents reared them, but what is certain is that his big bag of goodies is theirs. Maybe the cookies and milk are laced with mom's psycho pills from the medicine cabinet, to stack the deck.
But the big boy is going down!
They've waited.
Given that I consider red an unsuitable colour for corpulent gentlemen (imperial purple is SO much better!), and both he and his reindeer can't seem to find my house with their damned eyes closed, I do not have a dog in this fight. Or a deer in this headlight. Knock yourselves out.
Waterboard the old sot for all I care.
But no witnesses!
If no one knows what happens, it will keep the dream alive for at least another year.
To all my Christian friends: Merry X box.
To all crass materialistic people: ditto.
To Krampusites: you need help.
To my Jewish friends: have a good night, filled with lots of Chinese food and chess. Everything will soon be normal again.
To all other ethnic and spiritual traditions out there who have been curious about a cult that worships a tubby lardbut with a beard, and spends themselves into the poor house religiously: count your blessings.
Enjoy the lentils and tofu.
To the Cossacks: PLEASE don't borrow the station wagon for a late night jaunt to Bayonne. You're drunk, just like last year, and in no condition to drive. You'll crash the vehicle, or overturn it in a snow bank. We love you too much to let that happen. Plus you're likely to leave something on the stove, and trust me, absolutely nothing smells worse than burning cabbage soup and carbonized kasha.
Let it go.
Turn everything off, and take the bottle to bed with you.
To all plump and juicy roast-worthy fowl: this time, take off the safety when trying to fire that thing.
Good luck.
Happy holiday, y'all.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
THIS POST ISN'T ABOUT WOMEN
There are several artists rolling over in their graves right now. One or two aren't dead yet, but never mind. Rolling. Among them Frank ...
1 comment:
I am waiting for Zwarte Piet to climb up my chimney.
Post a Comment