Like old favorite ornaments, the seasonal moment has come to haul out the story of the War to End All Wars on Christmas from years gone by.
The tale of a Jolly Old Elf gone mad, and the Dirty Liberal who had to be dispatched to take him out.
So as the day approaches…
My mission is to make it up to the North Pole before the 25th.
There's a Jolly Old Elf up there who's gone insane.
I'm supposed to kill him."
Then, later...
Eggnog, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.And later still...
I love the smell of eggnog in the morning.
Evil Liberal: "Who are all these people?"
Bill O’Reilly: "Yeah, well... They think you have come to take him away. I hope that isn't true."
Evil Liberal: "Take who away ?"
Bill O’Reilly: "Him. Saint Nick. The Big Elf. These are all his Helpers, as far as you can see."
Evil Liberal: "Could we, uh, talk to Saint Nick?"
Bill O’Reilly: "Hey, man, you don't talk to the Saint. You listen to him. The man's enlarged my mind. He's a elf-toymaker in the classic sense. I mean sometimes he'll, uh, well, you'll say hello to him, right? And he'll just walk right by you, and he won't even notice you.
And suddenly he'll grab you, and he'll throw you on his lap, and he'll say do you know that “ant” is the middle word in Santa? If you can know who has been naughty and who as been nice when all about you are getting shitty toys and socks and blaming it on you…if you can trust your elves when all men doubt you -- I mean I'm no, I can't -- I'm a little elf, I'm a little elf, he's, he's The Claus, man.
I should have been a bag of remaindered WalMart Barbies being sold out the trunk of an El Dorado on a dead-drunk Sunday Morning on Maxwell Street -- I mean --
And finally, in a cacophony of “Jingle Bells” and “Good King Wenceslas” and “Here We Go A-Wassailing” (and other affordable, public-domain Christmas tunes, seeing as how we have gone monstrously over-budget) comes the tragic denouement.
The ho-ho-horror.
The ho-ho-horror.
3 comments:
The heads. You're looking at the heads. Sometimes he goes too far. He's the first one to admit it.
But man, you have to understand what they did. Sometimes they'd pout, or cry, they'd be naughty and not nice. It's like, man, he SEES them. Really SEES them, even when they're sleeping and he knows what they did.
I watched a reindeer crawl along the edge of a straight razor...
'...We went into a camp to irrigate some young pines. We left the camp after we had treated the saplings for pine beetle, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there, and they had come and hacked off every irrigated limb. There they were in a pile. A pile of little boughs. And I remember... I... I... I cried, I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out; I didn't know what I wanted to do! And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it...'
Never get out of the sleigh...Unless you're going jingle all the way.
;>)
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