A CURMUDGEON'S MUSINGS ON CHRISTMAS



MR. POTTER



I don't like Christmas. I know that is not a warm and fuzzy thing to say, but then again I have never been accused of being warm and fuzzy. I am mean as a snake, in fact I make  mean slithering snakes look like cute little puppies.  The only thing I like about Christmas is when Mr. Potter says:

" You see, if you shoot pool with some employee here, you can come and borrow money. What does that get us? A discontented, lazy rabble instead of a thrifty, working class."

 That is a great line! ( It really warms my heart).

Hey Kid, Go Play In The Freeway

About the only thing fun about Christmas is telling little kids there is no Santa Claus.  I guess you could say I have a strong independent streak. I don't like being like everyone else.  If everybody else is being nice and syrupy, I am going to be mean and grumpy. What's more, I hate being told what to do. The 4 times I have actually done something nice for someone else ( 1977, 1986, 1990 and 1997), I did it because I felt like it, not because someone told me to. If you ask me politely to take the trash out, I will do it, but if you TELL ME to take the trash out, I am going to dump it all out on your kitchen floor and walk out. Sorry, that's just the way I am wired and by the way: EAT ME!

Doc, Why Does Santa  Hate Me?

I have given Christmas a lot of thought and frankly we Americans  have really screwed Christmas up and in the process caused all kinds of (lifetime) psychological damage to generations of children. Christmas is excessive; it is TOO much. It ain't healthy. No doubt, Christmas is a magical time for an 8 year old. The problem is, as adults we expect to FEEL the same way at Christmas as we did when we  were 8. Children grow up to be adults with unrealistic expectations of what Christmas should be. As a result, it seems that depression, family squabbles, undue stress and many other dysfunctions  reach their zenith at Christmas. We try to assuage all these ills by making Christmas "bigger," instead of realizing that it is the "bigness" of Christmas that causes all these problems.  
 

My Recent Haul From Dinner Party

While I am woeful sinner, a first rate scoundrel and  always up to no good, I do know a thing or two about Christian theology. Such knowledge comes in handy. For example, no host of a fancy dinner party would ever expect you of stealing their  silver if you are pretending to be pious and waxing eloquently about the Babylonian  Exile or the Doctrine of the Trinity. If you are at a bar and meet a babe and start talking about the Synoptic Gospels or transubstantiation, the woman will trust you and almost always tell you to watch her pocketbook while she goes to Ladies Room. (Of course when she gets back, you are gone with enough small bills to keep you occupied a few hours at the local, uh,....dance club).




Dude, let's get some Munchies
 after the pageant !!!

All kidding aside: I have a serious point to make. As much as I know about Christian theology, I never really understood what Christmas was "truly" about until a few years ago. I have attended 100 Christmas pageants where  the local 15 year old "stoner" recites the familiar "Christmas" passages from Luke. ( By the way, I have always been a little pissed at my parents for not naming me Caesar Augustus instead of Rob). One Christmas Eve, I attended the midnight Messiah service at my church, St. James Episcopal in Richmond. The music was beautiful and quite frankly I was moved by it. I listened attentively to Handel's lyrics. As the service ended, the  choir processed under the candle light onto  the portico and stood among the massive Corinthian columns and sang Silent Night in German. ( I haven't even mastered Pig Latin, so naturally I was impressed).   As I and everyone else quietly walked to our cars in the brisk,  cold air, it SUDDENLY HIT ME. 

JESUS
Ok, I couldn't find a current photo
of the real Jesus

 Christmas of course is  not about toys or material things. However,  it is not really about the birth of Jesus. Christmas is about the GIFT of Jesus to a broken world to heal and reconcile us with each other and with Him. No rancor, no bitterness, only joy.

Now, that I think about it: I DO LIKE CHRISTMAS!!!

Joy. It is a damn good gift. ( Much better than a fruitcake).

Joy to the World and Merry Christmas!

MEN LIKE TO PEE OUTSIDE

I Wonder If I Can Kill
This Rose Bush?

12/01/2011

I'll be the first to acknowledge that as smart and brilliant as I am, I know nothing about women. Indeed, it is impossible to "study up" on women, because the answers to the exam questions are always changing. However, men never change, we are always the same. With this said, I am always surprised at how little women know about men. For example, we like to pee outside.

Women are always trying to get men to behave in certain ways that are totally contrary to our nature: like peeing indoors. We like to pee outside, preferably on something. I'm sorry, but if your prize daffodils are in a big clay pot, we are going to pee on them, we can't help it. When I was growing up, my boyhood dog, Moonshine used to pee on the tires of all visitors to our house: not just one tire, but he would meticulously conserve his urine and pee an equal amount on all 4 tires. Moonshine was a man's man kind of dog. God, I love that dog.

Keep The Toilet Seat Up America!

Recently, I was chastised by a lady pal of mine for not putting the toilet seat down after peeing. I am a nice guy, and I try to get along with folks, so after about the 83rd reprimand, I began to get it. The other day while visiting, I peed, I took several steps, remembered,  and then walked back into the bathroom to lower the toilet seat, and to my horror, I had involuntarily without any conscious thought already lowered the damn thing. Aghast, I thought to myself, ... I have been domesticated, I am now a "Stepford" drone of a man, life is over as I had known it. The gulag awaits. I felt as though someone had taken an oyster knife, excised my testicles and I was now First Soprano for the Vienna Boy's Choir.......... I wasn't going to take it, I had to fight back!!!  I promptly walked back in the bathroom and raised the toilet seat. I did this for America. I WILL NEVER LOWER THE TOILET SEAT AGAIN!!!!

Do We Want This Kind of America?

The idea that men should lower the toilet seat (much less pee inside) is anathema to the rugged individualism that made this country great. I have no doubt that the toilet seat expectation began to gain traction about the same time that we started to enroll our sons into youth soccer programs. Think about it. Boys should play sports where they throw a ball. How are they ever going to be able to throw a hand grenade with any degree of accuracy at our enemies if they grow up playing a Euro-Socialist sport like soccer?  I have no doubt that soccer is another leftist, Saul Alinsky plot to undermine America. I am sure it is all there in the first chapter of the Community Activist Handbook. (Comrades, get the American children to play soccer: workers unite!).

Or This Kind Of America?

Women of America, if you care about your country, you need to drop this silly toilet seat expectation. What you are really doing to your man is telling him that he is a loser and  he must give up on all his aspirations and dreams, wear a cardigan sweater and be consigned to a lifetime of only being able to read the "Lady's Home Journal." We didn't conquer the West, defeat the Nazis and win the Cold War by lowering the damn toilet seat!

You androgynous chumps go ahead and listen to Betty Lou, but as for me, I love America,  and I am going to walk outside right now and pee on Mrs. Johnson's Chrysanthemums. Men of America, you are either with me or against me. Charge!!!!