Holy Shit It's FUCKING CHRISTMAS!

You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit bah humbugy this year (BTW, I learned to drive in a 1973 Humbugy, sweet ride, velour seats, power everything, there was this frustrating sound, not quite a buzz, anyway…) but I am god damned sick of Christmas. First off, I live a 3 blocks from The Miracle. For those of you not from the Greater Baltumular region, The Miracle is a block of row houses WHERE EVERY HOUSE HAS LIGHTS? CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT? IT’S A GOD DAMNED MIRACLE!



I must admit, I used to think it was pretty cool. Now there are sausage vendors and, to me, nothing says Christmas like kielbasa from the corner. There are people selling bendy plastic circus lights. Worst though are all the people between me and the bar. HOLY SHIT! IT’S LIGHTS DAMN IT! Why would you take a bus trip from PA to see a block of Hamdpen with a hubcap tree?

Spoiler alert, it’s not a real tree. It’s just hubcaps piled on top of one another. Real trees don’t rust.

I am not going to lie to you. The ball drop on New Year Eve is a blast. Reminds me of when my own balls dropped. Ahh Thursday. There is nothing quite like a surly, 52 year old hairy chubby baby new year making time with the New Years Robot. That borders on a miracle.



But people come from miles and miles and miles and yet more miles to drive down one block, gawk, and get in my way. Tour buses? Who signs up for this tour?



“Where does it go?” inquires the would be traveler.



“Umm,” stammers the travel agent who may have missed his/her calling, “Well, we’re going to go down I-83, then to Falls road where you’ll get a great view of actually $5 prostitutes (I wish I was making that up. Since I learned how much a blow job goes for on Falls Road, my entire mental economy has shifted. “Hmm,” mused I, “I’d like to buy a cheeseburger, but that’s one and a half blowjobs I won’t be getting.” Or “Christ, a new stove is a thousand dollars? Do you realize how much dick I’m going to have to suck? That’s my hole weekend!”), then, we’ll travel down 26th Street or, as the locals call it, “The Avenue!” where you’ll see 13 year olds pushing strollers while their boyfriends through beer bottles at the motor coach. But that’s not all! We’ll sit in traffic for about 40 minutes crawling the final two blocks to make a magical left onto 34th Street and THE MIRACLE! That’s right! an entire city block all decorated and shit! Over a dozen strings of Christmas lights were used in what is the greatest holiday display between York and Glen Burnie. Dazzle at the three dimensional tetris skills used to fit a thirty-five foot inflatable Christmas Raven into a nine-by-nine front yard. Oh, but that’s not all! Prepare to be thoroughly creeped out by the one house of born agains who blow the festive mood with all this Jesus stuff and a blasting sound track out of a Dominican monastery at the height of the inquisition.



Ahh, Christmas! It brings out the best in people. For instance we got a special envelope from our boss this year. In it was a note that assured us (more of those) that the company is doing great, but times are tough and so our Christmas bonus would be a bit light this year. Next was a $25 check stuffed into a tri-fold color glossy cartoon Christmas card with all of the great places the owner and his family have been this year! Oh yeah! Paris, Rome, Orlando (Yeah, they don’t know how to build to a climax, do they? I guess one thought is, Epcot Center is kinda like going to Paris and Rome AND Japan and not having to meet any foreigners.).

Tact. Gotta love it. “Hey, times are tough, so, um, sorry. Here’s a card we blew a few grand on and a cool twenty-five bones, buy yourself a half tank of gas. We’re off to Paree!”


I am going to spend an afternoon when I should be slaving over a hot spreadsheet making my own holiday card to send to the boss. It’s going to be a picture of me eating ramen noodles, boiling old boots into soup and skinning my dog to make an affordable yet stylish parka. (Note to any employers of mine. I’m not actually going to do that. I will actually slave over the hot spreadsheet and think, man, I should be making an awesome Christmas card.)



Merry Christmas!