While I don’t keep a running religion inventory in my head, I think that most Wordsmokers fall into the categories of Jewish, Christian or Atheist. Regardless of which God you do or don’t claim, this is the time of year for giving. The retailers have mandated it. If you don’t participate, then you’re just some selfish prick who is hurting our economy.

For the last few years I’ve been buying the Advent Calendars from Starbucks. They are very cute contraptions that have boxes for each day that you pull out, take the chocolate out, turn the box around, put it back in, and as the days accumulate you create a picture of winter. It’s a secular Advent Calendar. You should know that I am a secular person raised by secular parents and I myself am raising secular children.

It’s the motherfucking holiday season, y’all. At least that’s what my TV is telling me.

What gets me is that I used to love the holidays, and now I’m a fucking cliché. Now I just furtively get really fucking drunk on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even when I was a kid, and my dad was a complete ass 99% of the time, I still looked forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas, because all his toxicity could be negated by the presence of the rest of my family. Then he stopped coming to Thanksgiving, and then Christmas. For one shining year in my family, the holidays were pleasant and full of love.

So it’s Christmas Eve and I have to do that thing. You know what thing. That thing. That which is regarded as the most heinous, odious, sacrificial, Pagonistic ritual of all things on Christmas Eve. One that may leave you drained of corpuscle elasticity, depleted of mental dexterity, the bringer on of homicidal thoughts, a true act in self-mutilation, and ultimately the harbinger of lameness so acute it has no determined name to describe its loosening of bowel function sense of impending doom.

I mean, of course, going to the frickin mall.

One of the earlier memories I have of Japan took place during an “orientation” seminar I attended as a part of the first exchange program I participated in, which was designed to brief us on general rules of behavior and the like so as to avoid at least the most obvious embarrassments. Scattered amongst the customary warnings about proper chopstick usage and the wisdom of bringing your own supply of tissue to public toilets came the puzzling warning, “Don’t ask someone what he or she is doing for Christmas. You’ll be misunderstood to be making a romantic proposition.”

Click to enlarge your holiday spirit.

A Very Brady Christmas (1988) Why? Greg is a gynecologist, one can marvel at the new Cindy and they make Alice carry all the suitcases at the airport. Be impaired. Very impaired.

Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town (1970) So you can have the lyrics “Put one foot in front of the other and soon you’ll be walking ‘cross the floor…” to sing it to yourself while returning Christmas presents if you were lucky enough to get a gift receipt.

The Star Wars Holiday Special (1978) Diahann Carroll, Art Carney, Harvey Corman and lots of Ewoks.

Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964) As Johnny Carson said, while hosting the Academy Awards, “If this room were to blow up, Pia Zadora would be a star.”

The Smurfs Christmas Special (1982) Because they are Belgian.

Did you know that one of the most popular holiday songs in this country contains a rather textbook case of date rape? If not, I submit that you don’t fully understand what rape is and that you are probably guilty of it yourself.

I’m not talking about Deck the Halls or Mary, Did You Know?. I’m talking about a song which packages date rape as something “sweet”, “playful” and “not unethical at all”. I’m talking about Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

by Eric

I need some advice on Christmas card design, and I hope you can help in the comments.

[I am being paid for this? Right?]

First, is a friend’s kid’s thing with me transferring a lot of stuff in the new year.

Merry

Christmas.

Let