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Monday, December 21, 2015

Look, there is no meaning of Christmas, ok? Right. Now, let's get our Griswald on.





This Christmas I decided it was time to go Griswald.  If you do not know what I mean by that, you are obviously not of this world, but ok  you can  go here to become enlightened.   LINK

Ok,ok  I didn't exactly decide this on my own.  See I was out driving around and discovered that a bunch of people from around these parts have gone Griswald and so I thought I'd  join them.  Ok maybe it wasn't something they decided to do just recently.  Maybe these people have always gone  Griswald and I just didn't get the memo. Anyway, There are lots and lots of old school Christmas lights out there once again, and apparently the new fangled lights are a bit more energy efficient and not only that, they are great in an old school, really tacky way. As I rode past house after house of giant blow up monstrosities displays, I suddenly found myself spinning around wildly inside the Wayback Machine, back to to my childhood and into  my Christmases Past.

Yes ,there I was, back in the living room pretending to shoot the blow up reindeer and watch my brother pull the plug to deflate it so that it could fall down very slowly and painfully.  I watched  it slowly lose its life force as it collapsed on the floor while my siblings and I pissed ourselves laughing at the cruelly awesome display. I was back watching the cat run through the house with tinsel decorated poop hanging out of her ass.  I was back looking under the tree, wondering what kind of cheap knock-off present I was going to get after I worked my ass off  studying the Sears Christmas Catalog and making a long wish list of brand name suggestions.  I was once again in the kitchen wondering  when my Dad would start his Christmas whistling while he got the turkey ready  (It was a strained faux happy whistle, but it helped him keep his cool until cocktail hour.)  Oh, the memories. 

Anyway, back to me.  I actually didn't go SUPER Griswald this year, but. well,  baby steps, Man. baby steps.   Don't worry.I am going there.  Yessireee.  Sooner or later.  I mean it.  I will rebel.  Starting next year there will be no more pretty tasteful scenes, cause  I remember the 90's when all that country decorating ruined Christmas.  Suddenly there were no more blow ups. No more flashing lights.  Just wooden ducks and calico and  barn red or antique blue wooden signs with "just believe" printed on them.  Wooden sleighs, cut your own trees. Plaid ribbons. What the fuck?  I mean, really.  Right?  This is Christmas for god's sake.  Time for all things big, bright, cheap, loud and tasteless and way too much work for one lousy holiday. YES, my friends, a big fat bearded man is going to come to my house and squeeze his giant ass down the chimney looking for his milk and cookies  chips and beer and I am not going to disappoint him because I have been really really good this year.  Yep.  My Christmas decor is going to scream Griswald in a major way soon enough, and you don't get any gooder than that my friends.  And I am not going to let  one of those politically correcct mall santas with all the background checks come to my house.  No sireee.  He's gonna be a drunk 1960s Santa with bad breath and way too touchy feely.  He's  gonna leave  me a whole sack full of goodies and I'm not gonna share,.  Yes, I am going to eat way too much sugar and I'm not going to sleep a wink and then on Christmas morning  I'm going to bite and scratch and beat the shit out of anyone who goes near my stuff,  then I'll throw another tantrum for no apparent reason and fall back  asleep with my mouth open.

Merry Christmas.


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