Yeah. I'm A Scrooge. Deal With It!

You're probably saying to yourself, "Didn't you just write an article, Chester? What are you doing writing another one?" Well in case you haven't figured it out yet, Dex and I are the only ones who do anything around here. That hussy, Beulah Snodgrass, is always out gallivanting around the town like she's Britney Spears and that Gomy Dinkman is just a huge gob of useless protoplasm. Besides that, I've got something important to say about the holiday season.

Christmas is here again and all I have to say is Bah Humbug! Let's not act like this is a surprise to anyone. I'm sure you could have guessed from my previous articles that I'd be a Scrooge at Christmas and dag nab it, I am! So deal with it! Christmas has lost its true meaning. Not that I'm upset about the Christian aspect of the whole thing. I'm actually a Pagan. My celebration of the season consists of dancing around a fire in my back yard, on the day of the Winter Solstice, wearing only my tighty whities and antlers on my head. No my complaint is that Christmas has become so commercialized. I'm all for the spirit of giving and good will toward your fellow man but corporate America has completely bastardized this holiday.

Nowadays, the Christmas season begins in October. People start putting up their lights and shopkeeps start hawking their Christmas wares as soon as they put their jack-o-lanterns away. I remember when I worked as a seamstress in the garment district in New York City back during the depression. I worked 20 hour days at the Plutocrat Mills sweatshop making fashionable gunnysack dresses for the women in the Dust Bowl. We worked continuously until our supervisor, Horatio D. Hibblesnit (the D stood for Dick), stopped us and told us it was Christmas. He then gave us some eggnog and cookies and gave us a ten minute break. Then it was back to work. We didn't go shopping for umpty nine days in fancy smancy malls. We didn't have time to decorate every square inch of our property with our red pepper lights, wire mesh reindeer and inflatable sex toys on the lawn. No we got ten frigging minutes!

The Christmas strategy of today's business man is clear: he has to get a leg up on the competition. It's the proverbial pissing match that I've ranted about before. If that means starting the Christmas shopping season a week earlier every year, than so be it. If that means shoving Santa and his elves down our throat as football season is starting, than so be it. If that means blaring Bruce Springsteen's Santa Claus is Coming to Town during the Labor Day Weekend, than so be it. The idea is to grind your business opponent into the ground with a 'Ho, Ho, Ho' and a 'Merry Christmas!' So much for a warm holiday glow.

I mentioned the fancy smancy malls earlier. That's another thing that rubs by rutabaga raw. These malls, which seem to sprout up every mile or so around these parts, have got the same crap in 'em everywhere. I mean does the Cactus Corners Mall Bath and Body Works have different fragrances than the Scottsdale Fashion Boutique-A-Rama store? No! How many Gaps, Old Navys and Abercrombie Fitches do we really need? None, as far as I'm concerned! I do all my shopping at Lenny's Old and Crusty. They've got some smoking sansabelt trousers and the best in dark knee high socks for when you're wearing shorts. And their white belts are to die for!

Well, I've got to go. I've got to get my antlers spruced up and wash my underwear for my fire dance. One thing's for sure: my nuts will be roasting on an open fire. Hee Hee! That's about as Christmassy as I'll get this year.

Oh, what the hell! Seasons Greetings to all and to all a good night!