Rightfully So

Today is being called “Cyber Monday“, the day when, apparently, instead of fighting the malls, everyone uses time at work to visit Amazon.com and Walmart.com. It’s sometimes called Black Monday, as if for the holiday shopping season the stars align and cast the Earth into the shadow of a solar eclipse.

While I applaud anything that keeps people off the streets and out of my way, I question the logic of shopping online. It’s way too easily to get distracted. First you do search for icelandic thermal socks, and then Google calls you and idiot, because you should be searching for iceland thermal socks. On this page of search results you see a link to an Irish Times article. Fondly, you recall last March, how you were the hit of the bar while drinking green beer and hitting on the ladies (when in reality you were passed out on a table while a waitress named Hilga was slapping you around trying to wake you up). You decide to read the article, which is all about staying warm.

After this, you realize that it’s 11:30pm, time for lunch. Another successful morning behind you.

Every year, the Christmas lights seem to go up a little earlier than the year before. The stores bring out their Holiday merchandise before the average temperature even drops to 60. No sooner have we put away our barbecue grills and patio furniture than we are bombarded with catalogs hawking Yuletide savings.

With Christmas sales accounting for a sizeable chunk of a store’s yearly revenue, retailers have continually moved up the start of the holiday in hopes of drawing more shoppers through their doors. In doing so, many Americans have become so caught up in Christmas that they forgot to celebrate Thanksgiving.

“We just freakin’ forgot it,” says Jane Wildbush of Topeka, Kansas. “I had this sense that we were missing something, but the family was so caught up in Christmas, what with all the decorations and stuff being up the day after Halloween. Then one day I was standing at the freezer, wondering why I had a 16 pound turkey taking up all my space, when it hit me.”

Pumpkin pies piled up on store shelves. Cornucopias rotted away in warehouses. Picture books portraying Pilgrims and Indians sharing a banquet instead of hacking each other to pieces were never even shipped. By trying to capitalize on one holiday, America had forsaken another. That is until last week when Congress finally stepped in. In a rare bipartisan effort, a bill was passed combining Thanksgiving and Christmas into “Thanxmas,” a new month-long holiday orgy of food, spending, and liberal vacation day policies.

“We want America to continue hemorrhaging its hard-earned dollars to our nation’s retailers at Christmas time, but we don’t want them to forget to celebrate the day that the pilgrims defeated the Indians in the country’s first football game,” said Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum. “By combining the two, we can preserve our cultural past while ensuring our economic future.”

Some religious groups protested the combination of holiday names, claiming that “Christgiving” would be more appropriate as it maintains the emphasis on our lord and savior without whom there would be no football to give thanks for. In response to the charges, members of the House Holiday Reoganization Committe issued a statement saying they would give the matter serious thought, and might even propose changing the name to “Christgiving” just as soon as America’s churches ponied up enough dough to trump the check written by the pumpkin pie manufacturers and paper turkey centerpiece makers.

Visit your local shopping mall or Wal-Mart citadel and you would think today is December 22nd, not November 22nd. Like the monster The Blob from the movie of the same name Christmas is growing and consuming everything in sight. Every year more days on the calendar are gobbled up by the holiday season the same way I gobble up Peanut Butter M&Ms. Up until now Thanksgiving had been the concrete barrier keeping the lava from the Christmas volcano from destroying the city of LA. But just like the Tommy Lee Jones movie Volcano, that concrete barrier couldn’t hold forever. Thanksgiving has become a casulty. It has been pushed aside to make room for prelighted Christmas trees, Hallmark limited edition ornaments and dancing snowmen.

We should not let Thanksgiving go down this way. It was 500 years ago that Christopher Columbus discovered America and shared the first Thanksgiving with the native people called “Indians”. He led a group of people called the Puritans who fled England because they were tired of being taxed for their religion. They forged a friendship with the Indians who were led by Tonto and his wife Pocohantas. The Indians taught the white people that corn could also be called maize, which was crucial the Puritans surviving the harsh winter. However, the peace between these two peoples would not last forever. The Indians got upset that the Puritans were naming their sports teams after them and retaliated by throwing all the Puritans tea into the bay. That is why Americans no longer drink tea to this very day.

So before you head to the store to buy your kid Barbie’s Dream Brothel or Show Me On The Doll Where He Touched You Elmo, take a minute to give thanks for all you have. Thanksgiving is part of our history and should not be forgotten.

Faced with the setbacks of the insurgency with the Iraqi war, the army is looking at using the arch nemesis of commuters everywhere, the orange construction barrel.

The orange barrels have been great in slowing down commuters and impeding process, while allowing Department of Transportation workers a much needed rest. These can be used in Iraq, slowing down the hard working insurgents.

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I happen to be out on Friday evening. This was a quirk all by itself. But that was just the beginning of my Odyssey. Evidently the Christmas season has started and a few thousand people decided to check out the mall last night.

Some folks may have a little trouble understanding the wonder with which I observe the happenings of the season. You see usually, I get my shopping done online or I get my wife to do it. Obviously, I take my kids out sometime near the Christmas holiday and we shop for Mommy’s presents, but this is well into December and I expect that it will be a long and arduous process. This is the one outing that I am willing to put up with that. Luckily birthday shopping is not during a season that brings folks out of the woodwork.

I will admit that I have seen this phenomenon before. Back when I was young, I might have been seen on multiple occasions out shopping. I would see little kids crying about being tired and hot. I would see mothers, daughters and sisters comparing deals. I would hear the tinkling of bells and the sounds of Christmas songs. What I saw last night was barely related.

First of all, this is clearly outside the official mob season. The way the world is supposed to work is that the day after Thanksgiving, a bunch of crazy people all meet up at 5:00Cm at their local commercial establishments and fight over material possessions that no one wants. For approximately one month, crazy people continue to flock to these stores. A few days after Christmas sanity breaks through and people begin to return things that they don’t need. In the mean time, every one in America gains 10 pounds (which they may use as a resolution one week later).

What I saw last night was weird. I fought for a parking spot 3 blocks away and started my hike to the store I was ordered to go to. As I emerged from the parking area I heard the clip-clop of hooves. A horse was pulling an open carriage with a couple taking a ride. I thought this was quaint and went about my business. As I progressed through the streets, I saw 2 more carriages. This actually put a smile on my face. I thought that was just a part of history, but it turns out, a little bit of the quiet life still continues ($10 a piece or $15 per couple).

Then I got into the store. There were people of all ages walking around and smiling. I was at one particular retailer and got quite a surprise. A young gentleman was interested in purchasing a video game. The merchant behind the counter, instead of just mindlessly bagging merchandise, decided to interact with the public. The merchant examined the prospective game and saw that it is required that a person be over 17 to purchase. He actually asked the kid for an ID. When the kid sheepishly said no, the merchant kept the game and told the kid he wouldn’t sell the game.

Here is another oddity. I went into a techie store and saw as many women as men. In fact, I saw entire gangs of estrogen roaming the store testing out the gadgets and pondering purchases. This is a bit awkward question to ask, but does this mean that there are attractive women geeks who are now socially acceptable? Does this mean that we man geeks are now safe to show up at the dance clubs? I think I fear change.

The evening was not all shock and awe. In fact I noticed one change that I found quite pleasant. There was more cleavage than I remember, and rightfully so.

In case you were wondering, I am, in fact, the world’s biggest geek.

One of my co-workers is always showing off his 00ber-techo handheld Palm Treo something-or-other. It has it all: cell phone, camera, bright color video, wireless internet, built-in mic, and scads of software. He has his entire MP3 collection on that thing, as well as transcoded DVDs, and an SSH client for logging in to computers for work.

So, the other day, this guy is showing off his newest discovery: MAME. MAME stands for Multiple Arcade Machine Emulator, a software package that allows you to play old coin-op video games on modern computers. He cycles very quickly through some menus, and launches something.

Immediately, the screen fills with the wacky, colorful garbage, as the ROM cycles through its boot-up code. Without thinking of the consequences, my mouth hijacks my conscious thought process, and says, in my own voice without my permission:

“Ooooooo! Is that Galaga?”

My associate looks simultaneously doubtful and awestruck.

“Yes,” he says, somewhat sheepishly.

Within a few seconds, the ROM self-test completes and Galaga bad-guys swirl around the screen in their characteristic geometric patterns, while the text flashes “Insert Coin.”

“How did you know that??!?” he demands.

How, indeed. I have no idea. My best guess is that I am, in fact, the biggest geek ever.

When the Revered Jerry Barnes passed away last Thursday, he began his ascent to heaven leaving behind a loving wife of 51 years, two children, five grand-children, and a devoted congregation he’d served faithfully for over four decades.

Oh, and the quivering, naked altar boy he’d been violating when he died.

“God’s not gonna like this,” Jerry says nervously, looking back over his shoulder as the earth slowly disappears beneath his feet.

As a Protestant, Jerry and his ilk had largely escaped the scorn and shame that has recently befallen his Catholic brethren. After all, Protestants are free to marry and raise families. His disgusting urge to piddle altar boys should have been sublimated through his regular, permitted sexual release, right?

Jerry shakes his head and stares nervously down at his still aroused “staff of Moses.” “Lots of us Protestants were into it,” he says. “I don’t know, after so many years of being Mr. Nice guy, I guess I finally just snapped.” His speech becomes more impassioned as he tries to defend himself. “I mean, can you imagine what it’s like for everyone to think you’re so perfect all the time, to expect you to always do the right thing and never lose your temper? Who do you people think I am, Jesus?”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “I just wanted to do something bad, to get back at all of them, show them I can cut lose every once and awhile too.”

But why sodomy? For that he has no answer. He only turns to look up at the sky.

“The worst part is that God knows us before we’re even in the womb, which means he knows everything about us. He knew I was going to end up like this.” He shakes his fist at the sky. “How about a little warning, huh? Would it have killed you to give me a signal that maybe I was on the wrong path? Thanks for nothing, bastard!” He buries his face in his hands and bursts into tears.

After awhile Jerry’s sobs subside enough for him to say that the only reason he’s even going to heaven is so God can kick him in the balls before casting him into hell. “It’s well-known among the priesthood. I get one swift kick square in the nads, and all the other priests get to laugh and spit at me. You know how much it hurts when you get kicked in the nuts, right? Imagine when God does it.”

As we near the pearly gates, I ask him if he believes it’s fair for a man whose crime was having sex with boys to spend the rest of time among the likes of Hitler, Stalin, Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy and George Burns. Jerry’s fear is so paralyzing, however, that he seems unable to contemplate incomprehensible agony as one of the Godless forsaken in the inescapable bowels of Satan’s soulless void. And perhaps that’s just as well. ‘Cause brother, it’s gonna suck.

Thanks to the earth shattering journalism from the Associated Press and CNN, we finally find out the answer to the question that has been bothering the world for five years, what does Bush keep in his pockets?

As the leader of the United States, it seems that President Bush really doesn’t need to worry about anything. His staff buys him anything he wants, aides handle his phone calls, and apparently the secret service are nothing more than fancy chauffeurs:

He doesn’t need any cash, since his staff takes care of buying anything he might need. He carries no cell phone, either, since he is surrounded by aides who take care of dialing his calls. And why would he need keys since every door is held open for him and his car comes with a driver trained by the Secret Service?

This must be the hottest question since boxers or briefs, and me, being the responsible will do my part to list the contents of my pockets.

1. pocket lint. Actually, I don’t know what kind of lint it is, but since it came from my pockets, I’m going to assume it is pocket lint.
2. sixty eight cents. I should dig up one more penny. Sixty nine has such a better ring to it.
3. keys. Nothing remarkable here, except that I probably don’t need to be carrying the key to a house I lived in 5 years ago, and the keys to a car I no longer own.
4. one wallet. It’s contents could be used as the basis of a line of articles, containing my entire sexual history along with some highlights of the 90’s

For their next investigative article, I’d love to hear what Bush’s aides buy for him, and what kind of calls he gets….

OK, so there are a few sad things that you might learn from this article. I get most of my tv comedy and all of my tv news from the Daily show. Perhaps this is not the way things ought to be but it is the way things are. The Daily show can go from high brow political humor to making sophomoric jokes about the male anatomy in one fell swoop. They can get Mike Wallace or Gweneth Paltrow to come on their show to pimp their latest book. They can inform me about the electorate without causing deep depression. I am a Jon Stewart/Daily show junkie.
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I heard that there were riots in a place called France, so I decided to investigate further.

During my research, I saw one of the newsdroids on CNN discussing the African-American involvement with the unrest. I was shocked. I had no idea that African-Americans were so concerned with French social and political matters.

I thought that the one issue that unites all Americans, be they Christian or Jew, black or white, named Ed or not named Ed, is that we all give our collecitve middle finger to France. Yet, here they were, African-Americans, in France, trying to effect change.
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