Step Away From the Flack

 Stay frosty bitches, Red Frosty

"Look, I  can see it in your eyes. You're starting to get all worked up. Every year we do the same thing. Buy people a bunch of shit they don't need. It is not my fault - I did not invent Christmas - so back off and don't give me a lot of flack"

"Yeah, well, Flack You!"

So with that little confab the wife and I started planning for the holiday season. Right now I'm watching the kids while She is out bankrupting us. Doesn't she know that the last election was precisely about this kind of out of control spending? Does she want us to end up like Ireland or Greece? Someone needs to stand up and say "Enough! -Stop this madness!". I mean someone, not necessarily me. I won't step in front of a runaway truck either. I do like decorating, though. Check out this year's award winning entry above. Repeal and replacing Frosty's guts was not easy.

O Captain, My Captain

Don Van Vliet (1/15/41-12/17/10)

Aquarius Tavern - Seattle Washington - Nineteen Seventy Somethingorother- Greatest concert in the history of the Multiverse.

Not Even Close

Got a letter from my brother yesterday. Yes, a letter. Weird. He sends them to me when he has something to say. Which is not often. His missives are elegantly constructed and obviously from the heart. Unfortunately his handwriting renders them virtually illegible. My responses, on the other hand, are incomprehensible fragments of word salad rendered electronically. But you can read them. I'm mean you can't read them, they're private. But he can. I'm sure that when he gets more technologically comfortable he'll upgrade to a speedier mode. I expect this next year:

Greetings STOP Have a Merry Christmas STOP Happy New Year STOP Hope all is well STOP We are fine STOP

 Anyway, in this letter I mentioned he makes the absurd claim that the Great Garloo (pronounced Gay-loo) could take Robot Commando (pronounced awesome) in a full on family room death match  Silly, I know. I blame myself. Must been all the times I bounced a rock off his cranium or shot him in the face with an arrow. Normally I would let this pass, Robot Commando has nothing to prove to anyone. But this shall not stand. Contrast the two clips above and judge for yourself. To summarize:

Robot Commando - throws bombs with either hand - shoots missiles - has whirly eyes
Great Garloo - nothing under the kilt - claps his hands - plays with dolls

If I had a $1000 to spare I'd buy a couple and prove to the world what I already know. Robot Commando would whirl those arms so fast he'd bitch slap that stupid grin right off Garloo's face.  Good thing Garloo can bend over cause when RC is done with him that's the position he's gonna be in. Crying for his mommy.

This Could Have Ended Badly

While my wife and I were talking on the phone about what we were planning to have for dinner, she overheard one of my retarded coworkers shout out "tuna tacos". When I got home from work she asked me if we really liked to eat those. Now I don't often get fed such a perfect straight line but I played it square and explained the concept to her. I was afraid she was going to wander into Taco Bell and ask whether they served tuna tacos. That would have ended very, very badly for me.

Now I have to explain smoked hoagie before our next trip to Subway.

It's a Disappointing Life

The Easter Bunny was the first to go. That whole idea didn't make much sense. Even to a 4 year old. Followed closely by the Tooth Fairy - even then we knew where the money came from and then Santa and a few years later the Virgin Birth and Jesus rising from the dead became too counter to actual experience to be real. God the Father faded away, followed by the dissipation of the hallucinogen aided Spirit of Everything. Now I'm knocking on the door to the Hall of Eternity and no one's answering. Maybe only a little of my own echo. Me? Depressed this Holiday Season? No way, man. Fa la fuckin la - la la la laaaa.

But having Santa wrenched out of my life was bad, worst junior year ever. Every year mom and I would ride the train into Philly to go Christmas shopping at the big department stores downtown - Gimbels, Wanamakers, Strawbridge and Clothier - the works. And then we'd have a fancy lunch somewhere. Just me and her.

The train had barely pulled from the station when she dropped the S Bomb on me. Apparently the parents weren't able to come up with a Robot Commando and mom felt it was time to disabuse me of the notion that Christmas would ever be fun again. Ever. You see, my brother and I had it all planned out - we were going to have awesome battles between The Great Garloo , a green wheeled monster with a punk hairdo that could bend over and pick up stuff in his claws, and Robot Commando, who could throw stuff and fire missiles to boot. Of course, come Christmas morn, the little fucker had his Great Garloo and I had a stupid robot tiger named Bengali who would walk 2 steps, roar and fall over. I kind of had my suspicions about Santa but finding out like this made if far worse. Not only was I not going to get everything I wanted in life I found out that sometimes I was going to get what I didn't want.

To top it off, I wasn't allowed to tell my brother because that would "ruin" the "magic" of the season. Why spoil Christmas for an innocent little boy? Why indeed? So I told him.

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