December 22, 2008
Late last week, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute shopping
done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the Christmas
season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking lot as I was
loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I noticed that I
was missing a receipt that I might need later. So mumbling under my breath,
I retraced my steps to the mall entrance.
As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years
old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill. Oddly enough, he
was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand. Thinking that he had gotten
lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He had
three brothers and two sisters. His father had died when he was nine years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed to
save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas presents. The young
boy had been dropped off on the way to her second job. He was to use the
money to buy presents for all his siblings and save just enough to take
the bus home.
He had not even entered the mall, when an older boy grabbed one of the
hundred dollar bills and disappeared into the night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked. The boy said, "I did." "And
nobody came to help you?" I wondered. The boy stared at the sidewalk and
sadly shook his head. "How loud did you scream?" I inquired. The soft-spoken
boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
So, I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
57 ELM STREET BETHLEHEM, PA. 11:51 P.M., DECEMBER 24TH
Mulder: We're too late. It's already been here.
Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.
Mulder: Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated, mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine; halls decked with boughs of holly; stockings hung by the chimney, with care.
Scully: You really think someone's been here?
Mulder: Someone or some THING.
Scully: Mulder, over here -- it's fruitcake.
Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.
Scully: It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's naughty and nice."
Mulder: It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.
Scully: Who? What are you talking about?
Mulder: Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and punish its disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.
Scully: But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents to frighten children. Surely, you don't believe it?
Mulder: Something was here tonite, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive -- and in a hurry.
Scully: It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been completely drained.
Mulder: It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.
Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?
Mulder: Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.
Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.
Mulder: Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.
Scully: Wait a minute, Mulder. If you are saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down the chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get through there.
Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions.
Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?
Mulder: Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father.
Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW I WANTED A MR. POTATO HEAD.
Scully: I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what you are saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files.
Mulder: Scully, listen to me: It knows when you are sleeping. It knows when you're awake.
Scully: But we have no proof.
Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a Condition Red.
Scully: But that was a meteor shower.
Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, then the public would stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully,they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.
Scully: Mulder, I --
Mulder: Sh-h-h! Do you hear what I hear?
Scully: On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter.
Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.
And here's one that you won't want to see.
December 18, 2008
December 16, 2008
Barbie's Letter To Santa
Listen you fat little troll, I've been helping you out every year,
playing at being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing
suits in frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea
parties, and I hate to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAY
BACK TIME! There had better be some changes around here this Christmas,
or I'm gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won't
wanna be around to smell it).
So, here's my holiday wish list for 1998, Santa.
1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweatshirt.
I'm sick of looking like a hooker. How much smaller are these bathing
suits gonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon
and velcro up your butt?
2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. What
bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to
my skin?!? It looks like cellulite!
3. A REAL man... maybe GI JOE. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me-Elmo over that
wimped-out excuse for a boy toy Ken. And what's with that earring anyway?
If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me)
4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp
away once he is anatomically correct.
5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to twist,
just get it done.
6. A jog-bra. To wear until I get the surgery.
7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. How
about a systems analyst? Or better yet, a public relations senior
8. A new, more 90's persona. Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a
miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a
bag of chips; "Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own paint gun,
fitted with a fake fur coat, bottle of spray on blood and handcuffs;
or "Stop Smoking Barbie," sporting a Nicotrol patch and equipped with
several packs of gum.
9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.
10. Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years-I think I deserve it.
Okay Santa, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, I
don't think these requests are out of line. If you disagree, then you can
find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas. It's that simple.
Ken's Letter To Santa
I understand that one of my colleagues has petitioned you
for changes in her contract, specifically asking for anatomical and
career changes. In addition, it is my understanding that disparaging
remarks were made about me, my ability to please, and some of my
fashion choices. I would like to take this opportunity to inform you
of some issues concerning Ms. Barbie, and some of my own needs and
First of all, I along with several other colleagues feel
Barbie DOES NOT deserve preferential treatment - the bitch has
everything. Along with Joe, Jem, Raggedy Ann & Andy, I DO NOT have
a dream house, corvette, evening gowns, and in some cases the ability
to change our hair style. I personally have only 3 outfits which I am
forced to mix and match at great length.
My decision to accessorize my outfits with an earring was my
decision and reflects my lifestyle choice.
I too would like a change in my career. Have you ever considered
"Decorator Ken", "Beauty Salon Ken", or "Out Of Work Actor Ken"? In
addition, there are several other avenues which could be considered such
"S&M Ken" , "Green Lantern Ken", "Circuit Ken", "Bear Ken", "Master Ken".
These would more accurately reflect my desires and perhaps open up new
markets. And as for Barbie needing bendable arms so she can "push me
away," I need bendable knees so I can kick the bitch to the curb.
Bendable knees would also be helpful for me in other situations - we've
talked about this issue before.
In closing, I would like to point out that any further concessions
to the blond bimbo from hell will result in action be taken by myself and
others. And Barbie can forget about having Joe - he's mine, at least that's
what he said last night.
So what happens? Does Rudolph finally have enough of the bullying and dons a trenchcoat, listens to Marilyn Manson and mows down his enemies? No, Rudolph goes off on an adventure. He escapes his problems instead of confronting them. When you think about it, running away on adventure isn't so bad, as he could have turned to a life on the streets, doing "favors" for old barflys in exchange for salt licks.
I really missed Michele's blogging during her absence. And her post put me in mind to repost an old image:
December 12, 2008
Another study by the American Medical Association found that Americans drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.
This means, on average, Americans get about 41 miles to the gallon.
Kind Of Makes You Proud To Be An American.
December 02, 2008
To any and all who read this: last weekend while out and about, I heard a bit on the radio which I supposed could be called "The Shatner Before Christmas". Actually, I don't know what it was named, I'm just guessing. Anyway, it was a comedian spoofing Shatner's inimitable delivery doing a Star Trek: TOS version of The Night Before Christmas. I've searched around the Intertubes and haven't been able to find the audio yet in any format. Here are some particulars of the bit:
- "Kirk" does the whole narration, mentioningg Uhura, Spock and Bones by name
- Klingon C(K?)laus makes an appearance
- Kirk's gift is "a girdle with a message that said 'Just your size'"
- Kirk then blows Klingon Claus to smithereens with photon torpedoes
No, I can't remember which radio station I was listening to, as I was busy trying to avoid commercials. If I knew which station it was, I could call the station and ask. Anyway, has anyone else heard this? More to the point, does anyone know what it's actually called and where I can find it?
December 01, 2008
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