Santa's Little Giving Disorder

From: HellPope Huey <synthmeister@excite.com>

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Fling open them doors and stand back, here comes Chrismuss, yee HAW! Charging headlong into the punchbowl of egg nog after a drunken round of touch-barfing with a football and spousal embarassment on the front lawn, no doubt. I agree with Michael Nesmith, Christmas is way too white. It reminds me of the punch I made for my birthday crowd in '84, every liquor I could think of that wasn't schnappes or saki plus orange juice, fruit punch, orange slices and cherries. Beautiful, lilting drink, not at all liquor-heavy in taste, yet so potent, it made strong men propose to footstools after just 2 Dixie cups of it. Guy lit a cigarette, burped and made a little blue fireball. So when I confront the oncoming holiday juggernaut, I feel somewhat like the Indians must have felt when they saw all those idiot white boys riding right down on them, stomping all peace and sense flat in the rush to acquire gold, cheaper booze and an ostrich farm so the ladies could have more fetching hats. Ho ho.
Along with the wonderment of the season comes the mysteries: Why am I here, ESPECIALLY Here? Why is Nirvana so revered? Whadda buncha noise. Is Skippy in Heaven or just in the dump like mean old Mr. Scroggins next door says? If I take the time to love my fellow man enough to give a wino $10 for a hot meal, will it go for quarts of Wild Irish Rose instead? Is providing that ersatz relief a good thing or a bad one? How do I tone down my tendency to bitch and become a better pal? Can I morally justify giving a toy drum to the young son of the really annoying woman two doors down? Is it only a misdemeanor if I run in and messily pie a weathercaster who is doing that moldy "tracking Santa by radar" shtick on Xmas Eve? Are these new pills going to do any good this time or simply make me stagger, barf & decay further like all the others? Will Dan Rather will me his hair, I mean, its been through a lot, its tough and I'd take good care of it. Will I live long enough to see the Spider-Man movie? Will the new Goober-In-Chief cause the NASDAQ to do sinister acrobatics? Whatever happened to all the love in the world? I can sort of smell it from time to time, but I haven't actually seen it for a while now. If I lie flat on the Earth and press my ear close to the ground, will Gaea whisper to me the location of a place where people aren't yet trying to get into the Guiness Book for the World's Largest Disposable Diaper Mound?
Christmas sports so many varied ancestors & aims, it has more odd relations than a family reunion at a cathouse. By the time I've separated the Druids from the debit cards and peeled the damned fruitcake off the wall where Betty threw it, all I really care about is why they never show that "Bloom County" Xmas cartoon anymore. Bastards. I do enjoy aspects of the season, in much the same way that I like cats & dogs: love 'em, but glad to be able to set aside their flummery and go home. I don't need an official holiday to feel enhanced by Life writ large in a good book, an excuse to tell a woman I don't even know that her hair looks nice, a special motivation to send a friend some bizarre yet cheering mail. I'm not Scrooge-y about it, I just give an imperious sniff when they repackage Billy Bass with a hat & beard and replace his chip with the Xmas carol model. Guess I'm just "weird," like that was up for debate.
Maybe I'd prefer to listen to some Pablo Casals and let the cello drown out every other thing. Maybe I just want to mull over how FDR managed all of that from a wheelchair, or why that face on Mars isn't sticking out its tongue. All that shallow elf crap gives me the willies. If they don't stop bringing back the Fifties, Xmas cartoons & all, I'm gonna have to karate chop someone in the neck. There's so much more than inflated holidays. "And now she sleeps, breathing oh so slowly, a silk flag in my arms and I think to myself 'mere satellite pictures seem so small, compared to red gloves, white roses'... And we will be forgiven our absence, the mess and all that there's...no time... to think of...The echo of flight over water." Robert Dante.

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Message: 2
Date: Thu, 23 Nov 2000 12:52:39 -0500
From: "Merryiad Rode" <merryiad@hotmail.com> Subject: Re: Santa's Little giving Disorder

Ya know what, Hell Pope, under all that gruff you're kinda likeable. . .a kinda intimidating until actually sat down and talked to kinda guy. . .scary someimes, though, isn't it. . .goes back to all that intermittent(sp?) reinforcement that screws so many of us up and the pink-taught need to conform to the norm. . .

. . .give the son a toy drum? Chuckle. . .that's just rewards for an annoying woman! Rat-a-tat-toooey all day long. . .Wheeeoooo! Revenge is sweet, ain't it and the son will love it! Or are you talking turning the other cheek? Either way, it's brilliant and hellpopish.

B-Alien

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Original file name: Huey Xmas - converted on Friday, 29 June 2001, 22:32