Here’s the introduction to the first installment of a four-part review of Sarah Palin’s bullshit book about the War on Christmas which I went way, way, way fucking overboard with. It starts Thanksgiving morning on The Superficial, with the rest popping up each morning after that, and I figured the people following me here and on Twitter would enjoy a peak.
“They took Christ out of Christmas. We’re not shopping there.”
These were the words out of my mother’s mouth one December when I was around seven or eight as we passed a small family-owned grocery store off Route 611 near our house in Scotrun, PA. You see, the owners had committed the cardinal sin of writing “Merry Xmas” in their storefront window panes instead of the full, godly “Merry Christmas,” and therefore were clearly consorting with the devil to ruin Jesus’ birthday party. As I grew older, I noticed, “Wait. There were only 10 windows. How were they supposed- ah, fuck it,” then filed it away between the times my best friend/neighbor brought a demon into our house with his Metallica T-shirt, and Magic: The Gathering made me lure my little brother into witchcraft. (In her defense, she’s since apologized for getting rid of my He-Mans because God is the only Master of the Universe) Careful readers of similar childhoods who researched the bullshit they waded out of, and promptly had their heads exploded, will also probably know that “Xmas” was an acceptable, religious abbreviation of Christmas for centuries until American Christians decided to lose their shit leading us into the post-911, nationalism-orgy when Bill O’Reilly stoked the flames into a full blown “War on Christmas.” Ironically, this happened as two actual, real live wars with thousands of actual, real no-longer-live casualties were going on by order of a president who was simply following orders from the birthday boy’s dad. Which is kind of funny if you think about it except, no, not at all. We suck. America sucks.
Which brings me exactly to Sarah Palin.
Haha, not really. I can’t believe you fell for that.
For those of you actually following this Tumblr and the Twitter account I have slaved to it - *adds ‘Motherfucking Social Media Jesus’ to LinkedIn profile* - I’ll clue you in on a gestating feature coming up for The Superficial. Namely wading through Sarah Palin’s “Good Tidings and Great Joy” and fart joking all over the horseshit persecution complex known as “The War on Christmas.” Whether I’ll do a weekly recap/book club type deal leading up to the holidays, or just an all encompassing TL;DR post is up in the air.
I did a similar project called "Why Me Not President?" back in 2009 for “Going Rogue” on Bob Cesca’s Awesome Blog where I was graciously allowed to guest blog, so if you want to parse through whatever links/posts still work on that go nuts. Some of them got mangled/disappeared when Bob moved the site over to The Daily Banter, and obviously I’m Redmond not Elvis. (Long story.)
At any rate, feel free to tell me to stick to tits, or that you can’t wait because either way I’m still going to gorge myself on a smorgasbord of low hanging moose-fruit because sometimes the best gifts are the ones you give yourself. Right, fellow porn lovers? Right.
Let the record show that I blow at Tumbling. Blow it right in the dick.
I’m honestly too busy watching every other thread turn into a Klan rally to even possibly think about giving a shit about who thinks who is hot. My shits are special.
Just so you don’t think I bitch out on this question, I’ve literally been thinking about it since I saw it, and there will be a rant for you in the next few days. Have to get through two reviews and a weekend worth of Halloween parties, so probably Tuesday-ish look for me to go nuts on this.
Okay, I did it. Now, where do I put these leftover parts?
Kate Upton’s breasts are great, but there’ll be more like it. Leighton Meester’s ass, on the other hand, belongs in a museum where I’m the nightwatchman and magical things after dark… Consensually! Consensually.
You sassy bitch.
My favorite part is always when we make a joke about how empty and meaningless life is through the prism of our daily lives then get awkwardly quiet for a minute.
That and the poop talk.
Well, since you’ve already bottlenecked this question into modifying my penis for insertion into Lindsay Lohan, the plan is as follows:
1. Turn my dick into Robocop with a Prime Directive of wearing condoms which my human emotions would override because, for real, fuck those things.
2. Probably that killing myself stuff once the burning begins.
Kill: Khloe because her Sasquatch strength is strong.
Bang: Kim so I can tell people I scaled her ass while going, “Oh, so you only climbed Everest? That’s cute.”
Marry: Kourtney because as dead inside as she probably is, she’s still the hot one who likes tiny pretty boys with hands that have never seen hard labor.