In the true spirit of Christmas, Mr. Derby exclaimed, “And a Merry Christmas to you!” accompanied with an extended middle finger. You would too if you were soaked to the bone by a car purposely driving close to curbs in order to splash unsuspecting pedestrians with slush. Depending on which side you’re on, it’s either hilarious or painfully tragic. In Mr. Derby’s case, it was the latter. In retrospect, it was the perfect ending to the worst day of his life.
It was Christmas Eve and Dad came home drunk as if it were yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. Long story short, Dad was one of them functioning alcoholics. None of this mattered to me. I was eight years old and I needed to know one thing: What is the meaning of Christmas.
In two days, Jesus Christ would have been 2,018 years old. If he were still alive, I wonder how he would explain Krampus, Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, Frosty The Snowman, Hardrock, Coco and Joe, and the overall decline of human civilization. My guess is he would be miffed. In other words, Jesus is coming, hide the bong.
And now, a Christmas mash up.
Santa Claus woke up in a cold sweat from disturbing dreams in where he was visited by the spirits of Christmas past, present and future. Each vision warned him of the perils of continuing his path of gratuitous benevolence. At first, he thought it may have been the dessicant, a hygroscopic substance used as a drying agent, he accidentally swallowed while eating packaged seaweed.