THE SPIDERS OF CHRISTMAS Merry Christmas, This year I decided to really try hard to make it a good Christmas, and I'm still working at it, determined to do it. It's my mission; TO HAVE A GOOD CHRISTMAS. Now, I've learned through many years of marriage, that when it comes to The Christmas Tree, my manly role is to shut up, bring my wallet, and be there to carry the tree to the car. Anything else is seen by my wife as an act of treason. Any help I give to decorating the tree is viewed as vandalism. If I hang an ornament on the tree, it will be moved, because after all, I put it in the wrong place. We have had some of our finest battles over tree trimming in the past. I remember the famous "Tinsel Skirmish of 1995," for example, which would have made Sonny Liston cringe like Richard Simmons in prison. There hasn't been a piece of tinsel in my house since. Nowadays I get to be Director Of Outdoor Lighting, and that's it. Okay. I accept that. So Friday I hung the lights on the house... magnificently! Majestically! Saturday, Katie and I took "Mini- Me" down to the Dairy Dome to buy a tree. My mouth was zipped. My wallet was smoldering in my pocket. Like a silent mule-boy I was limbered up and ready to load the tree into the van. Katie and Mini-Me began the careful judgment process, as I stood by like a large frozen version of Helen Keller. After briefly torturing a 16 year old Dairy Dome "Tree Expert," the selection was complete. I was asked what i though of the selection. Though I wouldn't have pissed on this tree if it was on fire, I smiled and clamped my jaw tighter than a pit bull with rigormortis, and silently reached for my smoking wallet. I proudly lugged the amputated bush to the van without a word, even though it's gooey sap had just ruined my brand new coat. Soon we were home, where the majestic lights glowed magnificently! I dragged the giant weed into the house, spraying a wake of dried pine needles down the hall like Handsel and Grettle in a leper colony. We layed down one of those white plastic bags that catch the pine needles, and I held the tree in total silence as Katie placed it into the stand and turned the screws to clamp it into position. Suddenly she screamed. I thought maybe she'd been stabbed or something. WHAT?! WHAT'S WRONG?! "OH MY GOD!!! THIS FUCKING TREE IS FULL OF SPIDERS!!!" 'LET ME SEE!" I looked down at the white bag. What to my wondering eyes should appear? A platoon of tiny evil multilegged spiders were paratrooping from the branches of the beloved Christmas bush! Some of them seemed to be bungee jumping! "OH MY GOD!!!" she shrieked, "THE HOUSE WILL BE INFESTED!!!" I felt my skin begin to itch. She ran into the kitchen howling. MINI-ME looked on in horror. I held my post, and the creepy crab ridden shrub. She came running back into the room with a spray can of some sort. She began spraying from every angle. I could not breathe, but I held my post like a true soldier, until finally the air quality became so bad that I thought I might die...and THE SMELL!!! IT SMELLED HORRIBLE! "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SHIT?" "MEALY WORM KILLER!" "JESUS! IT SMELLS LIKE A BUM'S ASSHOLE!" ...and it did! So we opened the windows to air out the house. In about thirty seconds it was freezing in there and it still smelled like someone had just shit themselves out of their igloo. The furnace was kicking in down cellar trying to catch up. I went out to the front door and opened it to let more freezing air in ,and let the stench of Eskimo Diarrhea out. ...that's when I noticed that my magnificent light show, which had been shining majestically only minutes before, was OUT. Only one bush was lit. An uncontrollable stream of obscenities flew from my mouth. Then I remembered my mission; TO HAVE A GOOD CHRISTMAS. So I composed myself and went back into my Alaskan restroom. We spent the night watching TV in the family room, as far away from the creepy growth as possible. Every time I walked past the room with the tree in it, it smelled like a bum had just wiped his ass on the curtains. The next day, Sunday, the smell had subsided somewhat and I went to work. When I came home from work it merely smelled like the vomit of a baby yak. It was time to trim the tree. The Mealy Worm Spray had defoliated the tree a bit like Napalm, and we began to discuss returning the tree. Katie called the Dairy Dome, and they agreed to take the tree back. I was not in love with the idea, but I knew my role as mule boy, and I was willing to do it. My son, "Mini-Me," who had picked out the tree, was not at all happy about bringing it back and he began crying. This caused a new debate. In the end it was decided that it was better to have a yuletide Yak-Bush that smelled like puke, than to break Mini-Me's heart at Christmas time. I, (mule-boy) went down cellar to get the ornaments and visit the enraged cousins of the former paratrooping bungee-jumping spiders. Katie and Mini-Me began decorating the tree.I hung three ornaments, which were promptly moved for being in the wrong place, and then took on the role of Director of CD Player, and Chief Wine Drinker. This was a much better role for me than Director of Outdoor Lighting, which I had failed miserably, and quit. Soon the tree was decorated. It looked good.Even if it didn't smell so good. Even though it was dying from being Napalmed by Mealy Worm Spray. It looked good! Happily we went to the kitchen to eat supper. The food was good. the family was happy, enjoying our Christmas cheer. Glowing in yuletide satisfaction, when it happened... BANG!!! "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?" All three of us jumped to our feet, ran from the table into the other room. There on the ground, swimming in water and shattered Christmas bulbs, was our beloved crab ridden bum's ass wiped Christmas tree. The sight of it, the shock, the horror!!! It made me forget to shut up! Without realizing what I was saying, I forgot my role as the silent yuletide mule-boy! Katie asked "How could this happen?" Without skipping a beat, forgetting my vow of Christmas Tree Silence... I uttered the words I would soon regret; "Ask a woman to do a man's job!" Foolish! Stupid! WHAT HAD I SAID? HOW STUPID CAN A MAN BE? Thus it became... A silent night. Men everywhere, take heed! Duct tape your mouths! Remember; Silent is the Yuletide Mule-Boy! Merry Christmas! Kenny Hogan Director of CD Player, Chief Wine Drinker, (former director of outdoor lighting) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SHOPPING INCIDENT ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wish you all a merry Christmas, and I know that you've all completed your Christmas shopping by now. If you haven't, well don't feel bad, just be happy that you aren't me... Yesterday I did a few errands and decided to treat myself to a nice lunch. Nothing fancy, just a burger and some fries and a Guinness, at The Ground Round. Then I went Christmas shopping. I was in this Kitchen store at the Redstone shopping plaza when it happened: I was walking around the store pushing my shopping cart when I began to feel a slight stirring of seismic activity within me. There were many holiday shoppers around me. Fearing an impending toxic release, I looked for an uninhabited section of the store. I felt the pounding pressure from the half pound of Ground Round ground beef, as it ground around in a labyrinth of Guinness in my stomach. I headed up the spatula aisle to the casual dinnerware section in the far corner of the store. No customers...Good! Somewhere near the Santa plates, I lifted one foot and released a lateral blast. A mammoth quake with a 6.0 volcanic force erupted causing the cups on the shelves to jingle. I had expected some relief from this Congo eruption, instead I was horrified as I felt a surge of lava flow instead. Soft clay and acidic ground water were threatening the delta! Mustard gas rose, seeping around me in a toxic shroud. I felt the danger of an unauthorized scud launching. I knew was in trouble! The U.N. inspectors were entering my intestines looking for weapons of mass destruction. Shopping was over. I had to stand very still to avoid the impending discharge of the secret burger missile. I stood frozen in muscular paralysis hoping and praying that this threat would pass. Should I abandon my purchases and run from the store leaving a brook of fudge behind me? I listened to the Christmas music..."Silverbells," interrupted by a price check at register six. I could not move. There was a seepage, a slow hazardous seepage. I was forced to stand motionless, holding on to my shopping carriage, like a terrified fudge filled statue, as the other shoppers moved freely about the store. I prayed that they would stay away from me. (Don't make me move! Please! I have a bomb!) How long would I have to remain frozen? I wondered what the hell those bastards at the Ground Round did to me. I pictured some greasy cook laughing his ass off as he put pop-rocks into the hamburgers. I decided that If I shit my pants, I would go back and kill him. That greasy bastard! Suddenly the doors to the employee stock room burst open behind me. A lady pushing a cart full of boxes came out. I was blocking the aisle! I had to move! I turned my head to look at her, and even that slight movement caused a seismic disturbance in the weapon factory. The countdown had begun! I stepped to her left to get out of the way. There was an enormous gurgling sound. A dangerous animal growled. Some squeaky valve opened somewhere. Alarms went off, followed by more terrible seepage! The smell of an opened grave! She was heading straight for it, pushing the cart through the invisible wall of death! There was nothing I could do to save her. I watched the pleasant face of the nice lady convulse into a mask of torment as she inhaled the poisonous emissions my colon had created. I felt the guilt. How many more innocent people must suffer? She glared at me with a stunned mix of shock and blame on her face, and staggered forward, desperate to escape. I wondered if she was gong to tell somebody. Security? Then I felt a rumble and a surge. I picked up a fondue dish and pretended to look at it. I figured that I could clang the lid down on the fondue dish to disguise the sound of the steam blast that was about to occur in my pants. Instead a sound came out of me like a Canadian goose being ironed. Heads turned. A baby cried. The picture of Emeril seemed to be frowning on a box nearby. But something had changed! There was a shift in the fault line or something, and I could feel danger subsiding, the weapons inspectors had diffused the bomb in my colon. Maybe I could make it after all! Should I dare to enter the checkout line? Should I risk the lives of innocent shoppers? I waddled to the front of the store and got in line, hoping for the best. I was gonna make it! Sure, I had to stop shopping, but at least I would make it out with what I already had... if I could get out in time. But what if I shit my pants in line? That would be far worse than fudging myself in the spatula aisle! There would be witnesses! Word might get around. I could become famous in Stoneham as that guy who shit his pants at the Kitchen Store! The thought of it terrified me so much that more pop-rocks went of in the floating burger bomb inside my stomach. I had to hold on! I clenched. I began to sweat. I waited. What was taking this bitch so long at the cash register? Come on! The pressure was building again! I felt a new nuclear threat. Where were the inspectors? Finally "Pokey" the salesgirl scanned my items. As I handed her my credit card there was more seepage! Invisible death gas had escaped! Could she smell it? No doubt. This was some sort of very powerful gas. It may have been helium, because her voice came out squeaky and high pitched as she gagged out, "Thank you, have a nice day." "Merry Christmas," I grunted. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |