Confessions of a Strip Mall Santa

“Just getting ready for another fun-filled day with the little tykes!”

I know what you’re thinking. Oh, don’t worry, I know. You’re thinking uh-oh here he goes on his annual Shitmas tirade. Well folks, you are in for a treat. Now maybe last year I didn’t do the best job of showing how much I love the holidays in this less than ‘Yay People!’ post. True, I was letting the stress of the season get to me, and I maybe wasn’t thinking clearly about all of the great things that go along with this festive time of year. What a difference a year makes! Well, several months actually since not too long ago I was eating pizza pops on a shitty futon in my underwear plotting what turned out to be a Joaquin Phoenix-style ill advised foray into attempted rap superstardom. Out of the blue I met someone great that handily met all of my qualifications for a life partner/financial supporter/identity theft crime accomplice: She wanted me to put my clothes back on because I grossed her out in my underwear (I gross me out in my underwear too!), she sits on the shitty futon and lets me have the comfy chair if I get to it first, and she loves pizza pops as long as I buy them and microwave them and promise that one day she’ll never see another fucking pizza pop as long as she lives.

I know, seriously right?! You can’t make this kind of love story up, it’s just too perfect. You know, unless you were responsible for doing a re-draft on a script for a crappy Jennifer Aniston-Jack Black romantic (?) comedy (?). The story better be pretty good to convince the public about that pairing. In real life she wouldn’t even bang him with your punanny.  So anyhow, I was all aglow this holiday season with positivity about my future prospects with this girl, mostly about the identity theft stuff ‘cause she’s really awesome with computers and shit. I was thinking maybe I should spread some of my manic-phase happy-jones around and try and get a job as a mall Santa to bring in a little extra cash when I saw an ad in the local paper seeking applicants for Santa-wannabes like me to take shifts at our very own local den of capitalist pit vipers. I went down and talked to the mall manager about the position, but he informed me I smelled too much like gin to be a high class center concourse mall Santa, and suggested I try the outlet strip mall out by the overpass, as he had heard they were hiring. Needless to say I aced the interview, due in no small part to the fact that the strip mall manager smelled more like gin than me. Looks like I had picked a great day to not smell like vodka! So there I was, sitting in my folding outdoors chair next to a lovely plastic tree with popping and farting seventies-era lights strung on it and an aroma that could only reasonably be described as “burning” just inside the entrance of the Electronics Emporium Shack of Craaaaazzy Deals ©. I found myself listening to one hard luck story after another from the the underprivileged kids perched on my lap. All at once, I experienced  a Will Ferrell style Thought Bubble! Someone needs to tell these poor kids’ hard luck stories so that we can all learn to appreciate the things most of us take for granted at Christmas! Unfortunately before I could expand the thought bubble a bit, it burst as some kid pissed his pants on my lap and I had to take the rest of the day off to drink away the stress of it all.

One little tyke in particular told a sad tale that really tugged at my heartstrings, and I asked his permission to record his sad story so that others might feel empathy this holiday season for those less fortunate than themselves. Oddly, he refused to have his story captured, but fuck him, I was wearing my mp3 player under my coat next to my flask and I just hit the ‘record’ button as he spoke. The world needs to know this story! I selected excerpts from the transcripts of our conversation to help illustrate to my reader(s) just what I was talking about. I also snapped a quick pic of him with my cellphone as he left. When he got annoyed about it and asked me if I was taking his picture I just told him I was checking a text from a hooker, which he seemed to accept as a reasonable enough excuse for me to point my camera at him. No disrespect intended, but christ underprivileged tykes are fucking stupid. Snippets of our sad conversation are excerpted here along with a picture of the frowny little fella:

Have you ever seen such a sad face on a psychopathic woman beater underprivileged Christmas tyke?

An excerpt from our little talk:

Me: Hi little feller! Actually you’re not so little at all are you there uhh…youngster? What’s your name son?

Sad Little Tyke: I have a hormone problem. And I smoke too much. My name is umm…Smell….Smell Fibson.

Me: Smell! Quite an interesting name you’ve got there! Why don’t you sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what you want for Christmas.

Sad Little Tyke: Well Santa, it’s been a pretty tough year for me. I lost my whole career and got myself involved in a messy situation with a woman, and I got a bit drunk a few times and well, I kind of fucked everything up.

Me: Uhh…how so Smell? It’s okay, you can tell Santa.

Sad Little Tyke: You know, the usual shit, get drunk, crazy jealous, and threaten your midlife crisis baby mama with a beating from a baseball bat and burning her house down with her in it.

Me: Ooookay…that is a pretty bad year alright, and I think you would agree that you’ve been a little bit….naughty. Santa believes even naughty kids deserve a gift though, so what would you like for Christmas Smell?

Sad Little Tyke: I want a guaranteed Hollywood blockbuster headlining career; I want a call back from Ron Howard; I want TMZ to fuck off and I want a magic device that makes any phone I talk into only say good things out the other end. I heard someone talking about it, it’s called a Discretion or a Therapy or a Lobotomy or something. Some Chinese sounding name like that anyway.

Me: Well, that’s a pretty tall order Smell, but Santa will see what he can do.

Sad Little Tyke (whispering): You better make it happen Santa or you’re gonna be eating some good old Louisville Slugger maple while your fucking igloo melts down around your ears. Mark my words douchebag.

Me (hastily): Thanks for coming son, see you next year!

 

Folks I think you can obviously see that there are people out there in the world that went through a heck of a lot tougher year than you and I did, and I hope you think of them when you are enjoying the warmth and comfort of family and friends this Christmas season. Me? I need a drink. I think what bothers me the most is that someone didn’t see this coming and do something to stop it or help. If only someone, anyone, even a stupid dickhead blogger had seen this coming. Sad, so very sad.

Barack Obama’s ‘Merica

Winter. The season of discontent, malaise, and flagging administrations performing stupid human tricks to capture the bored and housebound minds of a fickle voting public in the run-up to springtime electioneering. Now I don’t want to beat a dead horse but…well what the fuck, it’s dead anyway. The Obama Miracle is slowly but surely morphing oh-so-painfully into the Obama Debacle. One could maybe compare it to Joan Rivers’ morphing from semi-amusing, little bit whiny, harmless GrammaComic to grating beyond-the-grave-plastic-marionette-escaped-from-a-shallow-grave-zombie-cyborg-idiot. Not a very appealing transition. The Obama Nation has truly become an Obamanation. The poor bastard can’t seem to get no love from bank-bailout weary, government stimulus shafted, unemployed, foreclosed and shitting-their-pants-about-how-to-pay-for-Christmas-insanity voters.

And now this. By this, I mean Sarah Palin’s Alaska. Just when the public could not possibly feel more out of touch with the wacky spending, Zegna suit wearing, economic rescue flubbing Democrat White House, along comes Sarah. There she is, larger than life, pullin’ fish out of the net with her kids, wearin’ gumboots around town, making dinner and preaching the value of hard work and determination being the keys to life success. Throw in a little bit of Halibut clubbin’ and Reindeer blastin’ and you are looking at the fixin’s of a recipe for a big public perception headache on the horizon for the Trillion Dollar Baby White House Gang. Never mind the part where Sarah gets choked up trying to articulate her hopes and dreams for her youngest son, who was born with Down’s Syndrome. Voter connection alert! Despite objections from longtime Beltway insiders who considered such things beneath them, the Obama administration has produced a sort of “reality TV rebuttal” to the Sarah Palin TLC series called Barack Obama’s ‘Merica aimed at the reg’lar folk and their all important votes. We here at Oh for ****’s Sake, given our stature in the world of fabricated expository journalism, have obtained advance copies of several episodes of the new series aimed at reconnecting with a disenfranchised segment of the voting public in America: Everyone but the Obama administration and Wall Street douches. Let us have a look at one of our favourite episodes and see how they did, shall we?:

Episode 2: Campin’, Pt.1

“Act brave kids, these common folk can smell fear.”

Episode 2 is part 1 of a two part story arc that begins in a fashion many regular Americans can easily relate to: The Obamas decide to embark on a family vacation to explore one of the nation’s many amazing and wondrous national parks. In the opener, Michelle and Barack Obama are seen having a candid, apparently unedited conversation over a breakfast of foie gras and white truffle quail’s egg omelettes in which they discuss which national park might be their best destination in order to meet the most dirty unwashed regular American voter folk. Although Barack seems set on going to DisneyWorld, Michelle finally convinces him a trip to Yellowstone Park might be more appropriate because it is out West where there might be some voters that haven’t heard of him before and it has the added bonus of sounding “ethnic.” The Obamas are then shown in a typical American family wacky pre-camping scenario, trying to search in vain through their wardrobes for “hayseed” clothes for their trip. Ultimately, they end up sending an obviously harried White House staffer out on a government Lear jet for a quick trip the the Manhattan Bloomingdales “outdoor adventure” department to purchase much needed camping clothes. Barack shows he is ahead of the game however, and in a move that will undoubtedly foster a feeling of kinship with voters, produces his favourite navy blue camping blazer, waxing sentimentally about how he once wore it to a philosophical debate in the wilds of the University of Wyoming. The viewers can feel his awe and respect for the natural world as he describes his nerve wracking outdoors experience walking from the limousine to the campus auditorium at the university. At night, no less!

The rest of the episode plays out in a fairly predictable fashion with the family piling into their private jumbo jet and flying off to Yellowstone. Along the way, they participate in the usual family activities to break up a two hour flight that I think we can all relate to from our own childhood. They have a little champagne (non-alcoholic for the kids of course!) and brie, and learn a little about their destination, useful fun filled holiday factoids like “There are a lot of redneck crackers there” and “Don’t start any conversations with a Republican Idealogue.” Before the plane touches down, the Obamas are treated to a special “Wild America” style briefing from the head of their Secret Service security detail, that instructs the Obama family about what to do in the event of a “Bear and/or Hick Attack.” Viewers will be surprised to learn that the steps are eerily similar with the exception that the last resort, playing dead, might be unlikely to work on the hick who has already become accustomed to kicking, punching, and torching limp lifeless Wall Street effigy dummies. Episode 1 fades to black with the Obamas exiting the family minivan (Air Force One), filled with excitement about the adventure to come over the scheduled three hours set aside for their National Park vacation. Rumour has it that Episode 2 contains a quick visit by Barack to a local landmark known as “The Real Old Faithful,” a storied local outhouse with a glory hole where Vice President Joe Biden is said to have worked the graveyard shift while he was trying to put himself through law school. Viewers will feel an instant connection to Obama as he places his hand on the cracked wall of the faded, fallen into disrepair hut of anonymous "oratory" and looks off into the distance, his voice almost a whisper: “Joe, this nation needs you now more than ever.” Powerful stuff, sure to create a real sympathy with viewers who are also in a tough bind in their own lives.

Episode 4 showcases another quintessentially American past time, the family fishing trip, a screenshot of which is shown below. If it has one-tenth of the amount of “just reg’lar folk” vibe that the Yellowstone camping trip episode contains, Barack is almost guaranteed ride an upswell of voter sympathy that should cause him to lose the election in 2012 far less dismally than most pundits would have forecast.

“This is just like I remember fishing trips with my Dad. And our Butler, Jeeves. He always did such a great job of feeling my excitement for me, as a good fishing guide should.”