A Christmas Gift For Thee

Wrapper's delight

I did it again.

I tell myself every fucking year that I'll change, and every fucking year I do the same thing.

I go Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.

Why? I knew what gifts I needed to get as early as Dec. 1. Hell, I would have been able to order them online and have them delivered to my goddam doorstep if I didn't suck so bad. Some gift ideas were impossible, since they required time to actually manufacture.

I suck.

So I pushed it back to Christmas Eve, where I had to fight 1,000 other fuckers who are just as lazy as me, plus visit some family, plus find time to wrap this shit.

But I do my shopping fighting a crowd at every parking lot, entrance and checkout line as I go.

My last stop: Border's books, for a book for my mom and my dad. Sounds simple enough, right?

Wrong-o, fuckface.

As soon as I get into the store, I see a line that stretches to the back of the store, and almost to the front again, a full store-length of douchebags, all of whom will be out of this God-forsaken hell-hole before me.

I fight the masses of the great unwashed to find the books in question, and any thought about buying myself a glorious present (because, after all, only I know what I truly need), I get in line.

In front of me: an old lady with a cane, who was buying a bunch of shit from that Twilight movie, pewter bracelets and other baubles for the discerning poser/vampire teenager.

Four people on front of me: a family, that grows from two people, to four people, to SEVEN FUCKING people in the space of five minutes.

Now, by just sitting in line, I have already gone backwards, all because these fucks are breaking the social contract that defines long-line etiquette.

But I keep my mouth shut. Mostly because Yahtzee on my cell phone is stemming the tide of insanity that threatens to break forth in the unsuspecting populace.

The closest I came was when the lady in front of me dropped a bracelet, and was struggling with her weight distribution on her cane while trying to pick it up. I wanted to kick the cane out from under her, just to take her spot and save myself maybe thirty seconds. That's how pissed I was.

But I made it. I bought the books, was calmed down by the saccharine sweetness of the cashier (who also happened to have a great rack), and I made my way to the exit. Next stop: A place to buy a gift bag.

Brief side note: Whoever invented wrapping paper should burn in hell. I consider myself to be a pretty smart guy. I'm good at math, my spatial reasoning skills are a little above average, and I made a B in high-school honors Geometry. But I cannot wrap a gift to save my life.

The last attempt I made was two years ago for my mom's birthday (since she usually wraps for me), and I went through a roll and a half of tape, almost an entire roll of wrapping paper, and it still looked like something that was filled with anthrax at a senator's office.

Back to the now.

As I was walking out, I saw a table of girls that seemed to be heaven sent. No, not for the reason you think, it was a table filled with girl scouts. Okay, now get your mind out of the gutter. I've never statutory raped anyone in my life. Those records are sealed.

No, they were wrapping gifts for people, for free, but donations were welcome. What a great idea.

I dropped off my two books with them, and since I didn't have any cash, I told them I would run to the ATM to get their donation.

It wasn't until I got outside of the store, and was walking to the nearby supermarket to the ATM when a conundrum presented itself to me.

Namely, the minimum amount to withdraw is $20. I'll be damned if I was going to give these adolescent cockteases in their seductive brown aprons twenty of my hard-earned dollars to wrap my gifts.

I had two choices: A) Buy something, like a pack of gum, which would give me several ones and a five, which I could then donate; or B) Just ask the Girl Scouts if they had change, creating a potentially awkward situation with them and their chaperon.

Due to my previously stated love of awkward moments, I decided on option B.

I went back, grabbed my presents, thanked them, and started rooting through their donation jar for change.

"Uh, excuse me sir? What are you doing?" The chaperon asked.

"Don't worry about it cunt, I'm just looking for change," I replied. Okay, not really, but I was at my tipping point, pardon the pun.

"I need change for this twenty," I said.

"Oh! Well, don't you think these girls could use that twenty more than you?"

I almost slapped her in the face. I work hard for my money, and these little bitches deserve my fucking twenty dollars?

"Uh, unless I get to deflower each and every one of these girls before their wedding day, ma'am, there is no fucking way they are getting my twenty dollars."

"Sir! You need to watch your mouth!"

"HOW ABOUT YOU WATCH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, WHORE"

"Please, keep your voice down, you're making a scene."

"YOU AND YOUR LITTLE STABLE OF SLUTS ARE TRYING TO DUPE ME OUT OF MY FUCKING MONEY, AND I'M THE ONE OUT OF LINE? DREAM ON, CUNT!!!"

Not, very Christmas-y, I know, but it had been a long day.

But, I'm happy to report, I was able to compose myself and leave, causing minimal damage.

Read: I picked up their donation jar, and flung it across the store, leaving a trail of quarters and ones all the way back to the Manga section, creating quite a scene.

Luckily, I was able to escape in my car, and avoided any potential repercussions from "The Man."

And with this, I leave you to your own personal yuletide celebrations:



Merry Christmas you filthy animals.

Hot chicks with foreign accents

It's time I let you people in on a little secret of mine. Though it fills me with great shame, I don't think my flaw is all that unique.

Hot chicks with foreign accents can make me do anything.

She could come up to me and say, "How about ve firebomb zat orphanage, yes?" and I would be mixing molotov cocktails so fast your head would spin.

So the following should come as no surprise.

I went to the mall the other day, the Saturday before Christmas. If you haven't done that before, you should just save yourself some time and give yourself a frontal lobotomy with a butter knife. It would probably be less painful.

The people that piss me off the most are the fuckers who poach parking spots. They follow you as you're walking out of the mall. They're trailing 50 feet behind you at all times, just waiting for you to click your keychain, and reveal to them the spot you are about to vacate.

God forbid that you would sit in your car for a second and go over your purchases, or put a CD in the player or anything like that. These pieces of shit are hovering, and some of them even have the nerve to honk at you to hurry up.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's no limit to the amount of time you can park in a mall, as long as it's not overnight.

Once I find my vacant spot and pull in, an unwritten social contract is now in effect that states that I may have that spot until I want to leave, regardless of whether or not I am actually in the vehicle.

Say I'm wandering through Macy's doing my Christmas shopping (like I would ever do that, that place is expensive as balls), and as I'm passing through, I catch a lingerie poster.

Now I'm all hot and bothered, so I retreat back to my car to rub one out, so I can finish my shopping with a clear head. I should be able to do that in peace without a poacher sitting on my ass honking.

Believe you me, it's awful hard to climax when a horn is honking. I've done it, but the chafing lasted more than a week or two, I don't mind telling you.

Glorious masturbation aside, I hate going to the mall around this time of year. But I did it because I'm an idiot, and I haven't finished my shopping.

So I'm wandering through the mall, trying to make it to the bookstore and maybe the cigar shop for my brother (and myself), when this gorgeous chick with a foreign accent approaches me.

My first thought is that maybe she needs my help, maybe someone (Jason Bourne?) is after her? My second thought is, will she still bang me if I get severely beaten by whoever is chasing her?

Luckily it never came to that.

She asks me if I've got my Christmas shopping left. I reply in the affirmative.

Now, if she wasn't extremely gorgeous, rest assured I would have not responded politely, but probably something like, "No, I'm just in the mall because I hate myself, you skull-faced cunt!"

But she wasn't skull-faced in the least, and thought she probably was a cunt to some degree (they all are), she hadn't shown me that side of herself.

She asks me if I've got any ladies on the list left to shop for, and I reply with, "Oh yeah, lots of ladies. Lots of ladies to give presents to."

Idiot! I thought to myself. She's not going to take you in the stall of the men's room and have unprotected monkey sex with you if she thinks you're involved somehow.

So I mention something about needing to get my mom a gift.

And she immediately starts extolling the benefits of her hand lotion (yyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeaaaaahhh) and some stupid nail file that has three sides to make your nails the shiniest.

She even uses a sample nail thing to buff my right thumbnail. And no, she didn't notice my spontaneous orgasm. At least, she was professional enough to pretend not to notice.

Now, throughout this whole thing, I'm thinking: A) I wonder if the men's room stall would give us enough privacy; and B) How am I going to get out of this without money on anything but condoms and lube?

So she continues her spiel, and I find myself becoming increasingly horny and late, but she won't shut the fuck up. Granted, she still is gorgeous and still speaking in that hot accent, but it's slowly wearing off.

Finally a manage to get away from her, while only buying one nail lotion/file pack for $50. God, I hate myself.

I at least talked myself into the fact that I could give it to my mom, before I found out that my mom gets her nails done every few weeks, so she doesn't need that shit.

God damn you hot chicks with foreign accents. You'd think a pity blowjob in the bathroom would be in order once every now and again.

And if you're wondering if I have a public bathroom monkey sex fetish, you are correct.

So now my nails are always impeccably shiny, I am out $50, and I hate myself even more than usual.

Pretty standard pre-Christmas weekend actually.

A run in with charity

It's the holiday season, and you know what that means.

Those Salvation Army people incessantly ringing their bells are in front of the grocery stores, standing next to a red bucket filled with change.

I'm not opposed to donating to charitable paramilitary organizations, but as a twenty-something in the twenty-first century, I rarely have cash on me. So I usually do a despicable thing when I pass these people, I avoid eye-contact, and pretend to be talking on my cell phone. God, I hate myself.

But I was at the store today, and I found myself with six dollars (a five and a one) and several receipts in my wallet, and I figured I would toss a buck in the bucket.

At the very least, it would make me feel less guilty about masturbating later that night.

So I grab a bill, and walk to the front door of the supermarket. It's not until I'm about three steps away, that I realize that I've got the five in my hands. So I slow my pace, and have to dig through all of the old receipts to find my crumpled up one-dollar bill.

The guy with the bell was a small (as opposed to large?) Asian man. He was watching me the whole time, and probably knew exactly what I was doing. That I wasn't willing to give four extra valuable dollars to people less fortunate.

As I found the one and dropped it in, he gave me the most sarcastic, "Well, thank you" that I've ever heard.

But it doesn't end there, ladies and germs. No, this rollercoaster is just beginning. Well, not really. I'd say a little more than 40% done.

So I get my groceries, and I must have come to the store at an odd hour, because apparently there was a shift change, and a wiry bearded man wearing a Santa Claus hat was working the ol' bucket when I came out of the store.

I'll be god-damned if I was going to donate twice. But this guy looked at me even more condescendingly than the other guy as I walked out.

I still had the five, but if I wasn't going to give them five, I wasn't going to give them six dollars.

For some reason, I felt the need to explain my apparent selfishness.

"You know," I said, "I gave to the guy before you."

"Oh, I understand sir," the guy said.

I didn't like the tone in his voice. All condescending and shit. If I wanted to be lectured by some homo with a bell, I'd head to the annual "Faggots and the Bells They Ring" lecture series at Villanova.

"Seriously man, I gave twenty bucks (!) to the guy before you, it was all I had."

"It's no problem sir, you have a happy holiday."

So I decided a different tack. I decided to crack a joke, so maybe he wouldn't think I was scum. Maybe it's just a personality flaw I have, I don't like random bell-ringing homos to think I am scum. Weird.

"OK, I didn't donate before. I'm sorry, it's just that I want to make sure that my hard earned money won't go towards helping any dirty jews."

Well, that didn't go over as planned. Instead of the vacant, uncaring stare he had given me before, suddenly he stood six inches taller, and had a real fire in his eyes.

"Excuse me SIR, but I happen to be Jewish," he informed me.

I was absolutely stunned. Why didn't I pick up on this? He was a wiry, bearded man, like a stereotypical Jew. He was wearing corduroys and a brown sweater, and a.............Santa hat.

A Santa hat?

"You're not Jewish! Why are you wearing a Santa hat?" I yelled in his face, dismayed that he caused me a brief moment of shame.

"Well, the Salvation Army is associated with Christmas, so I wear it to help the cause," he told me, still visibly steamed.

"Oh, surprise, surprise! A Jew lying to get money! Way to not be a stereotype." I don't know where I lost control of the situation, but I think it was somewhere around here.

We argued for a few more minutes, him calling me rascist, and me saying that I thought he was just going to steal the money for himself, and quite a crowd had gathered around us.

My legal counsel has advised me to end this story here. Merry Christmas.

Die Hard: The Greatest Christmas Movie Ever

As mentioned before, Christmas is here at last. I've taken you through some music, and today we'll examine the best Christmas movie.

Coming soon, we'll discuss Christmas tastes (egg nog) and Christmas smells (egg nog farts), before winding this up.

Die Hard is the greatest Christmas movie of all time, and one of the top five greatest sequences of light and words to ever be put to celluloid.

It boasts a great soundtrack of Christmas tunes, ranging from the previously mentioned "Christmas in Hollis" by Run DMC, to the classic version of "Let it Snow" by Vaughn Monroe.

There is the theme of redemption. Just as the world was redeemed when Christ was born on Christmas, Sgt. Al Powell was redeemed by gunning down a half dead German terrorist to save the life of John McClane and his fair lady, a true tear-jerker ending.

Unlike the path that action movies of our day have taken, this is not America vs. the middle east, with a sassy, attractive woman and a dumpy, mixed-race jerk spewing awful shtick all over the place.

No, this movie brings us back to the 80's when we didn't know Iraq existed, Saddam Hussien was one of our best buds, and most people thought Red Dawn was a documentary.

But Die Hard is not a political movie, it's just two hours of the working class American shooting, punching, and blowing up filthy Eurotrash.

Cue "My Country 'Tis of Thee."

The plot of this movie is as intricate as a fine Swiss watch. There are no extraneous details or wasted camera shots. Example:

At the beginning, a man tells McClane that the way to avoid jet lag is to take off your shoes and make fists with your toes (catchy blog name perhaps?). McClane tries this just as the terrorists attack, leaving him with no shoes throughout the movie. Hans notices this upon meeting McClane, and this leads him shooting out the glass in an office, leading to McClane becoming gravely wounded, leading to his emotional talk with Al Powell, finally leading to the aforementioned redemption.These are just two examples to show how this masterful plot is as complex and beautiful as a family quilt.

The movie is also very funny. Not the lame-ass comic relief that has infected today's action movies, but good old fashioned grisly humor. McClane utters many a one liner at the person he has just killed.

My personal favorite: "You should have heard your brother squeal when I BROKE HIS FUCKING NECK!!!"

Karl and Cleo also make a good natured bet on whether or not Hans will have to kill the CEO of Nakatomi, Mr. Takagi.

Don't believe me that it's good natured? Look at the movie. Cleo only takes one bill, which means is couldn't have been more than $100. Take into account the fact that they are trying to steal hundred of millions, and it sounds pretty light hearted to me.

Endings have been the fatal flaw of many an action movie.

Some sappy shit about the man going back to his loving wife/girlfriend/child, even though mere moments before he was slaughtering terrorists like it was his job, which it in fact, is.

Die Hard fools you into thinking the schlock is imminent.

When Powell and McClane meet for the first time, there is much to be said between them. It looks like they are about get all sappy on each other, when out of nowhere the brother of the first terrorist McClane killed comes back to life, and is blown away by Powell, the very same Powell who says that he has never drawn his gun since killing a kid by mistake.

Hold on, uhhh...I......I got something in my eye.

Let this be a lesson: sometimes gunning down someone's enemy as they are about to be killed speaks louder than words.

Let's take a look at the Characters:

John McClane - Probably the best, most human, most fully complete action hero this side of Macbeth. We know what motivates him (his wife), we know his values (he's a cop), we know how he responds to adversity (bullet-riddled corpses). He is like a hero out of the old west (yippie ki-ay) transplanted into the 80's in a skyscraper.

Hans Gruber - A cold, calculating villain. Everything that Bruce Payne in Passenger 57 wishes he could be. Gruber is the icy calm to McClane's fiery passion, and the scene where they meet is brilliant.

The subtle psychological interplay between these two is like a well-played chess match.

Advance pawn ("What did you say your name was?"), Knight to Queen's 6 ("Clay, Bill Clay"), check, ("Put down the gun cowboy, and give me my detonators"), and finally checkmate ("Whoops! No bullets. You think I'm fucking stupid Hans?").

Absolutely scrumtrilescent.

Holly - Bonnie Bedelia in her one role. She is the perfect rational foil to Willis' McClane. I'm pretty sure I'd take on a building full of terrorists to rescue her, but then again, maybe I'm just old fashioned like that.

Ellis - Where to start with the greatest ratio of gold to screen time in the history of cinema? The greatest soliloquy in film:

"Hey, business is business. You use a gun, I use a fountain pen, what's the difference. To put it in my terms, you're here on a hostile takeover and you grab us for some greenmail, but you didn't expect some poison pill was gonna be running around the building. Hans, boobie....I'm your white knight."

The ultimate in eighties, coked-out smarm Ellis is the icing on the proverbial cake.

If Die Hard had been made today, Ellis would have had three spin-offs by now, where him and The Rock would have banded together to outsmart an evil consortium of smugglers deep in the everglades, and we would have never heard of Judd Apatow.

In conclusion, Die Hard is the greatest Christmas movie of all time. I recommend a family viewing every Christmas Eve around a nice roaring fire and plenty of Evan Williams eggnog.

Always remember this: when the stinger missiles of tyranny destroy the Armored Personnel Carrier of freedom, sometimes a man must strap plastic explosives to the office chair of justice and hurl them down the elevator shaft of liberty.

Amen.

A guide to Christmas Music

Ah, Christmas. Noel. Yule time. Big.........snowy.

That time is here again, and it's time to spend time with family, enjoy the simple pleasures, and imagine what could have been if those dirty Jews hadn't killed Jesus.

But that's besides the point. The best part about Christmas is the music. So I'm here for you, the loyal reader, to show you the best of the Christmas music that is out there.

Elvis Christmas

A great compilation featuring 1957's Christmas Album and 1971's The Wonderful World of Christmas, this is a must-have for any fan of Christmas and music. The album opens with the underrated "Santa's Back in Town," a bluesy stomp of a Christmas song that makes me want to beat the shit out of the Easter Bunny. The album covers traditional Christmas standards, and gets towards the Gospel side of Elvis in the middle. That's not my favorite Elvis, but it's appropriate. If you don't weep for mankind when you hear Elvis sing "The First Noel" then you do not have a soul. It's that simple.



Christmas With the Beach Boys

If there was a single popular music group to put together a dynamite version of "Auld Lang Syne," it was the Beach Boys. Their version of the traditional New Year's song is downright heavenly.

Hopefully, Coca-cola hasn't ruined "Little Saint Nick" for you with their soul-crushing marketing, because it is literally one of the best Christmas songs ever.

Add standards such as "White Christmas," "Merry Christmas Baby," and the completely underplayed "We Three Kings of Orient Are" and you've got audio sex.



Christmas Island

This is Jimmy Buffett's Christmas Album. Jimmy Buffett is the artist that you only need one album from: his greatest hits. Play it in the summer, drink tequila, fuck some bitch that doesn't treat you right, it's all good.

Well make that two. You must own this CD. His version of "Jingle Bells" is phenomenal. He breaks it down with the soul singers and steel drums, and it sounds great.

The title song is also good, and he's got a few other originals on there that are pretty good.

A cover of John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (War is Over)" puts this one over the top.



Christmas on Death Row



Need I say more?

Bonus tracks:

"Christmas in Hollis" by Run DMC.



"Christmas With the Devil" by Spinal Tap.