Monday, December 24, 2012

Khristmas at Kmart

Given the shocking, some might even say deflating (lol), events of this past November, most of you likely assume that our family won’t be celebrating the holiday in our usual extravagant, over-the-top manner this year. Well, you would be wrong. Dead wrong. (Just like the vote counts in Florida, and Ohio for starters; and let me just say that I am SO over Massachusetts.) 

No, with the foreign infidels again ensconced in the White House, free to pursue their godless, heathen agenda of destroying all that is sacred and holy about the season, it’s more important than ever that we stand up for the family values that make Khristmas, (may as well get ahead of the naming curve before the inevitable laws are passed), the annual big-spending free-for-all that keeps the economy of our country strong, and provide those who might otherwise have so little an endless trove of useless gadgets, joke pajamas, novelty underwear and seasonal trinkets to fill the empty spaces on their selves and, need I say, in their emotional lives, all year long. (And which, I might add, can be re-gifted indefinitely.)

I’m sure you’ve all heard that I locked myself in my room and cried for days after the so-called election and was so immobilized on Thanksgiving that the family was reduced to take out turkey for the traditional feast. Well, hello! Imagine months of being paraded around the country like a show horse, hounded to exhaustion by liberal television hacks, and actually having to allow yourself to be touched by the common hordes. Then, after it all goes to h-double-hockey-sticks, you realize that you are nevertheless going to be expected to prepare a five course dinner with all the trimmings for a family of 30 plus, (and God knows how many stragglers and hangers on). You’d probably lock yourself into the bedroom suite of your second or third home, have yourself a hissy fit, and down a couple of bottles of Xanax too. Besides, it was free. (Thank you Boston Market. You rock!)

As usual, the left leaning media got it all wrong.

Remember that story about my shopping at Costco? Well, those of you who really know me know I’m the kind of snob who wouldn’t be caught dead in a discount store. That was another one of Karl’s lame-brained schemes. “It worked for Diana," you know, the ‘People’s Princess,' and all that. Well turns out the only people who ‘believed’ it were a few fair weather faux friends who spread the rumor so far and wide that it was hard to hold my head up at dressage practice for weeks afterwards.

Likewise, although there’s a Kmart just a few blocks from our Los Angeles home, tucked away in a pathetic little strip mall behind the Prada Superstore called Towne Plaza Shopping Centro, (or, as we like to call it,"Beverly Hills for Housekeepers); I make it a point of pride that I don’t go there either.

So, you can imagine his surprise when I called my driver one day last week, asked him to bring one of the Caddies down, and told him we were going to Kmart! Once he picked himself up off the elevator floor, (I think my disguise - at right - had him going for a moment), I begged his indulgence in my last ditch effort to find gift paper with horses on it, (If you have to ask “why horses” you haven’t been paying attention), the help having totally failed to locate and procure the de rigueur seasonal wrap this year. 

Once there, however, it occurred to me that there’s no time like the present to start saving money, especially given the upcoming Great Obama Recession. Then, when I saw that Mrs. Santa herself shopped there, (she was in disguise too, but the hat was a dead giveaway), I pulled out the debit card and my Khristmas list and began checking it twice.

For the fabulous Koch brothers: "Who's Your Santa?" Yes, you are, and we know it! Thanks billions, guys!
I'm also thinking pajamas for our dear friends Dick Cheney, (a cute smiley face camo print) and Grover Norquist (money, honey);
and for our own eye on the spies, General George Petraeus, who, unfortunately, Santa was indeed watching.

For his sporty little Paula, a sporty little sports bra (wink, wink); and as for you, Holly, well, it's time to up you game, girlfriend!

Now that's what I call magic underwear!! There's even a little number that you might say has my name on it! (Can't imagine how they found out he likes for me to tie an arm behind my back and pretend I'm an amputee, but my bet's on that sassy little daughter of Cain, Robin Roberts.)

Since we're getting this close to home, I should mention that we always give each of the boys a special ornament for their Khristmas trees. This year, with two amazing Elvis keepsakes to choose between, Jailhouse Rock Elvis or GI Blues Elvis, I was stumped at first. Then it dawned on me that athough none of my men ever has or ever will serve in the military, there still exists a possibility, albeit miniscule, that one or more of them might yet end up in jail! (Shhhhh, don't anybody say "Bain Capitol.")

Speaking of ornaments, here's a whole box for you, Karl Rove, and, yes, some of them are broken, like all the promises you made to yours truly, (not to mention to entire Republican party); and a shop worn Mickey Mouse with a fake smile and a missing (can we say "deaf") ear. Remind you of anyone?

What's wrong with THIS picture?  (It does say WHITE House, doesn't it?) Guess which WHITE House" Barbie my granddaughters will find in their stockings this year?

Did I say stockings? Well, here's a big one for you Chris Christy (though you probably still couldn't get your fat foot into it even if you did take it out of your mouth for long enough), and a pair of "Vote for Joe" pajama bottoms, which should be self-explanatory.

We know who our real friends, the real Americans, are. And for you, the Tea Party faithful, we will be flooding evangelical churches, tractor pulls, wrestling smackdowns, monster truck events, NASCAR racetracks, Neo-Nazi rallies, Senior Citizens Centers, and gun clubs everywhere with thousands of copies of a double feature dvd selected especially for you. To get your free gift dvd, just tell them you're a friend of Ann.

And God bless our gun clubs, and the NRA. Wayne LaPierre, we've got your back, and a nifty little Wii gun grip for a fast, fun fix when nothing but a trigger will do.

John Boehner, you sexy beast, this dog's for you! Maybe I should pick one up for Rick Perry too ; )

For our steadfast side-kick Paul Ryan, his dreams ("Really Ripped Abs") in a bottle...

and, of course we can't forget the ladies! (It's just that the men always eat first, you know). Michele Bachmann, so sorry you came up a little short this year, (well really every year since you're only 5'2"), but, never-the-less, you'll always be a star in our book. (The bra is for Marcel.)

Condi, I saw this adorable Khristmas t-shirt, and, begging the obvious, thought of you. (Just a little better next year, lol.) Also found a perfect holiday t-shirt for Jan B. out in AZ, and for Nicky Haley, something about snow, because it's the only one I had left.

There are many others who dedicated themselves to our mission, (you know who you are), but wish to remain unnamed for various reasons including, but not exclusive of, financial improprieties, conflicts of interest, voter suppression, race baiting, hate-mongering, tax evasion, bigamy and non-payment of child support. Each of you very special people will find a very special package from your grateful GOP family under your tree on Khristmas morning.  (And no, that most certainly is not Albert Brooks. )

Make no mistake people, you had a choice, and one that would appear quite clear; Chia human or Chia black cat. How you people got it wrong is totally beyond me, 100% of America's billionaires, and most of the 'real Americans,' that is to say all those stubbornly determined to vote against their own best interests. The rest of you can rot in h-double-hockey-sticks.

But are we bitter?  Of course not, and in the spirit of bipartisanship, both Hillary and Bill will receive of our largess this holiday, (and I think you'll know which pair was meant for who).

As for the usurpers residing on Pennsylvania Ave.,  I have selected thoughtful and appropriate tokens of our esteem and respect for each of them personally. Barack Hussein, you've got to love Bodman's 'Black,' a fragrance created for men just like you. (Paul R. likes it too ; ))

Michelle, a little monkey told me you were redecorating the Lincoln bathroom!

I realize that Malia is quite the young lady now, but, trust me, a girl's never too old for a talking sock monkey!  And these adorable pink pajamas have Sasha all over them!

Well, gosh darn it, looks like it's going to be 'My Little Pony' wrapping paper again this year. (Whatever happened to tradition?!!)

Toss a few dozen boxes of Little Debbie Tree Cakes into the shopping cart to give to the help, (not that they really deserve anything, but never let it be said our family isn't generous to a fault), and I'm done!

From Us to You, (and we all know who we are),

Merry Khristmas, everybody!

P.S. Can any of you people tell me what this 'layaway' means?

Saturday, December 24, 2011

What War on Christmas?

December 24, 2025

Dear Friends,

What war on Xmas?! I know that after the Liberal Elite Party took over in 2016 and President Nancy Pelosi declared all Christian holiday celebrations illegal, most people think Xmas went to hell, literally. But you wouldn’t know it if you spent Solstice at the Toler/Bourgeois household this year! (Brief history lesson for those of you who went into The Great Hiding: Solstice won by popular vote over 'Festivus' and 'The People’s Sale-abration' in the special election of 2017.)

Nosiree, the spirit of (wink, wink) Xmas is alive and well inside these walls, where our Solstice Bush burns bright, the stockings are hung by the chimney with care (well, most of them, we had to turn the one with the angel on front around so she didn’t show), and the chestnuts roasting by an open fire go pop, pop, pop. (And, no, that’s NOT the sound of gunfire from the Second Amendment Shooting Range a few blocks away -- the only place guns are still allowed in California.)

In accordance with local and state ordinances requiring that we replace the venerable tree-top angel with a secular symbol, we chose a Cheshire Cat tree fairy this year (acceptable under the Anthropomorphized Representation of Divine Iconography Exception Act of 2021), and yes, that’s right, you DO see an image of Saint Nick on one of the stockings. We found out that childless couples, and empty nesters who can prove they are estranged from their grandchildren, can get a waiver for one Saint Nicholas each Winter Solstice season, and Tommy got his paperwork in just in time.

Our annual holiday card complied with federal regulations and featured the family pet(s), a tradition said to originate with The Father of Solstice, former President Barack Obama, (although it really dates back much further).

And, in keeping with the custom that every family gets to choose their own subject of seasonal veneration, (provided said subject is a secular, apolitical, deceased entertainer, sports figure, or obsolete object of note, taken from a list of approved venerates issued by the government each July 4th)), we chose Hank Williams, basically just because he’s dead and we’ve already gone through all of the approved venerates we actually gave a shit about. (Keith Richards 2019. Now that was a celebration!)

Our next door neighbor Mohammad, (He’s Muslim. Aren’t they all?), came by the other day while we were decorating the Solstice Bush, expressing concern that he’d heard Christmas carols wafting from our windows. When we assured him that what he heard were winter folk chants of the Celtic Isles, and thus representative of our heritage as white Anglo Americans, and that, in fact, this particular recording of them was made by an all-Lesbian choir, he feigned relief. Mohammad pretends to be our friend, but, personally, I suspect he’s an informant for the PC Ops.

When he saw the nativity scene on the entry table, I thought his turban was going to unravel, but once we produced the document certifying it as indigenous Haitian art, he seemed satisfied. However, just so there’s no misunderstanding, I replaced the baby Jesus with a hound dog puppy.

When I think back on Xmas past, I marvel at our naivete. Remember how we all laughed at Little Johnny when he asked Santa for an 'Army gun' so he could fight the godless heathen hordes when he grew up?

Well, as you probably know, we lost Little Johnny at the Battle of the North Pole when his entire company defected to the dark side and signed the pledge to replace Saint Nicholas (AKA Santa Claus, Saint Nick, Kris Kringle, Father Xmas, The Jolly Fat Man With The White Beard), with Frosty the Snowman. But then what can you expect from a generation of infidels educated in public schools that teach that intelligent design is only a ‘theory?’ Or maybe it was just so effing cold up there that he just wanted to get it the heck over with and come home. Whatever. Most people made the adjustment easily once it was a fait accompli; and once they realized it was just as easy to explain to kids why Frosty didn’t melt when he came down the chimney, as it was to convince them that reindeer could fly. Let’s face it, the little bastards don’t really care who’s driving the sleigh as long as they get presents.

When it comes right down to it, there are some definite positives to not celebrating Xmas. I’m not even Catholic, but who wouldn’t be relieved at not having to go to Midnight Mass on Xmas Eve (or sunrise services at Xaster, for that matter, which I can certainly attest to). And any of you who ever had to participate in an Xmas pageant at church or, back in the day, grammar school, knows what a pain it was to stand on your feet, or kneel, for Pup’s sake, for hours on end in a drafty auditorium while some fat kid from the second grade did a painful recitation of the what seemed like the entire second chapter of Luke. (Or in my case the life-changing injury I suffered from the tinsel halo that went with my angel costume. Damned thing rubbed my forehead raw, gave me a rash that lasted through the summer, and I’m almost certain it was responsible for my self-esteem issues later on; but that’s between my therapist and me.)

Oh, I used to miss going caroling, but after some deep soul searching, (Some say we sold out, but they don’t know this family!), Tommy and I joined a Solstice choral group. We perform at auto malls and Best Buy locations all over Southern California during the season, delighting secular humanists everywhere with our renditions of such winter classics as Sleigh Ride, Winter Wonderland, Over The River and Through the Woods to Grandmother’s House We Go, Jingle Bells, and, of course, the ever popular Solstice anthem, Frosty the Snowman. Mohammad claimed he could hook us up with an underground group who still sang the old songs in an undisclosed location out in the Mojave somewhere, but we decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

Tomorrow we will celebrate the Solstice feast with friends, toasting Hank Williams (and the 1965 Volkswagen Beetle – our friends had their first date in one) with French Champagne and enjoying a forbidden appetizer of Foie Gras, (illegal in the US since PETA instigated the web-footed fowl uprising of ’12), imported from somewhere in China. (Keep it quiet, but if you need a source, email me privately.) We will toast old friends and new, and those who are no longer present. It hasn’t been the best of years. It hasn’t been the worst of years. But the Solstice always comes, and we always celebrate, because that's just what we do.

May your holiday, whatever you call it, be merry and bright. May your new year be new, your troubles few, and your days sunny, funny and long. I love you all and wish you peace.

(Paying our respects to Father Winter, and Frosty, in Yosemite last year – a place where you can almost believe in Christmas again. SHHHH.)

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Annoying Christmas Newsletter, 2009

I know what you're thinking. 2009 was such a sucky year let's just be done with the holidays and get our game on into 2010. Well, in the interest of being a glass-half-full type of person (one of my New Year's resolutions from back in January when we still had some faint hope a of a year that didn't suck), I've determined that some things which, on the surface, seem to suck, may have the proverbial silver lining, and there are still a few things that don't necessarily suck at all. So, here's my list of things that didn't suck in 2009.

The Recession - Suddenly it's a lot easier to find a parking spot at the mall. Awesome.

Unemployment - As one of the millions who has enjoyed being unemployed for a good part of the year, I'm here to tell you that having a job is entirely over-rated. Sure a paycheck is nice, but what could replace the quality time we gain to cruise the internet, make new "friends"on Facebook, watch daytime TV, go on pointless job interviews, and bond with our pets? And what a wonderful opportunity to hone our people skills, fending off bill collectors and smoozing the folks over at the EDA. Seriously, it's all in the spin.

Stonehenge - Sure it's just a big pile of rocks, and it was wicked cold when we were there one day last winter, at sunrise, but it didn't suck.

Global Warming - So just what's wrong with wearing flip-flops and shorts all year long?! And, no down jackets forever! Besides, the jury's still out on that one, isn't it? At least that's what George W. Bush asserted about evolution a few years back, and I'm pretty sure the same principle applies to global warming.
Sarah Palin - OK, you're right, Sarah Palin totally does suck. And the fact that she may run for President in 2012 and is making gazillions on that fake "memoir" she "wrote" sucks too. But, if it weren't for her we wouldn't have Levi Johnston, who has proven to be an endless source of
entertainment and bemusement for all of us Pop Culture freaks, or pearls of wisdom like this: "It is as throughout all Alaska that big wild good life teeming along the road that is north to the future." (Extolling the virtues of Alaska in her last speech as governor, July 26, 2009.) This woman is truly a national treasure.

Canada - We went there in August. Went zip lining in Whistler. Survived. What's not to like, eh?
The Health Care Crisis - Just like having a job, affordable health care is entirely over-rated. Who needs health insurance when you can always sell your house, your car, and maybe a kidney to pay for that appendectomy! And besides, IF you somehow manage to make it to 65, it's free anyhow! So just settle back in that wheelchair and chill awhile. You'll be able to get that hip replacement you've been needing on-the-house before you know it. (What? You're only 39? Damn, that sucks.)

Death Panels -- Death panels don't suck because they don't exist. Think LSD babies, they didn't exist either, though back in the sixties they tried to scare us out of tripping with tales of our progeny as pin-headed monsters with fangs and tails. (On second thought, maybe that could account for my stepson.)

I haven't received a single cat calendar this year and it's already Christmas Eve -- Not that cat calendars suck per se, it's just that last year I got five of them. Nobody needs five calenders of any kind unless they're suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder, and even then it's highly probable that least one of them will be a dog person.

Medical Marijuana -- As if the weather alone isn't reason enough to move to California

Norwood Young's Christmas Display - Not one to let the recession dim his enthusiasm for the season, or the lights on his lawn, Hancock Park neighbor Norwood Young once again dazzles with an over-the-top extravaganza of tasteless excess and shameless self-promotion. This year's tableaux features, in addition to the usual African American Santas and festively fastooned naked "David" statues, an idealized, larger than life cutout of the man himself, looming over his domain. And did I mention there's a snow machine?

The Countrypolitan Kitchen - Speaking of shameless self-promotion, check out my food blog, The Countrypolitan Kitchen, which does not suck unless you're on a diet. Dieting definitely sucks.
Santa Claus -- OK, I know some of the elves might not agree with me, especially the ones who got laid off, but Santa Claus does not suck. Sure, it was a rough year at the Pole, cuts had to be made, and Mrs. Claus got a bundle after the big guy got caught with that bar hostess in Orlando, (not to mention how much it cost him to repair the sleigh), but how can you really hate a guy who still gives little kids guns for Christmas?!

Little "Johnny" from Georgia wants an AK-47, and I'm betting he get's it, especially since he's holding the teddy bear hostage.

Christmas at The Grove -- It kinda sucks that they didn't have the Top Hats dancing girls troupe back this year.
But then, who needs the Santa Sluts (RIP) when over at the Farmer's Market you've got Victorian Carolers and a Po' Boy sandwich?
Pet Photo Night at Santa's Workshop -- As the old saying goes, a picture really is worth a thousand words.

The U. S. to New Zealand currency exchange rate - At $1.40 NZ to every $1.00 US it's not as good as it used to be, but it doesn't suck either. That's our excuse for spending the remainder of the holiday season in the Cook Islands. That and the fact that we celebrated our 15th anniversary this year and want to return to where we spent our honeymoon. So, while you guys are freezing your butts off New Year's eve back east, up north, down south, or wherever you're parking it these days, we'll be soaking up the sunshine on a blue lagoon in Rarotonga. Which brings me back to why global warming may not suck so much after all.
My Posse -- friends, family, and pets; you are all, quite simply, the best. And if any of you sucked at all this year, (Hank, you SO ripped that hole in the back of the sofa), I didn't notice, or at least pretended not to, because I love you so much.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! Shalom. Peace. May your days, be merry and bright, and I hope your new year doesn't suck.