Tag Archives: santa claus

Monica Duncan, Professional Bad News Breaker: Top Ten Reasons Why Santa Claus is Not Real


By: Monica Duncan, Professional Bad News Breaker

Hello 3.5 readers.  I’m Monica Duncan and when people have bad news they can’t bear to break, they call me to do the dirty work for them.  My highlights include:

  • Informing all 57 girlfriends dating a Milwaukee bartender, Fred Sistack (none of the girls knew about each other) that they may have a long laundry list of diseases, including, but not limited to: herpes, the clap, anal warts, syphilis, crotch rot, vaginal gangrene, and eternal butt itch.  Fred has been paying off my services on a monthly installment plan for the past twelve years.
  • I was the one who told Saddam Hussein that he was about to be pulled out of his hidey hole.  He was very disappointed about it, but he was glad to get a shave.
  • In the 1990s, I told John Wayne Bobbitt that that numb feeling he felt in his groin was due to the fact that his wife had removed his penis with the aid of a knife.  Remember people, if you ever have to tell someone their penis was cut off, always hire a professional bad news breaker to tell them.  You don’t want a man to find out his junk is gone when he reaches for it only to find it is not there.

Alas, I am now here to break some bad news to the children of the world – Santa Claus does not exist.

Nope, he does not exist at all.

Yikes, what bored people you Christians are.  You have a holiday based on the idea that Jesus was the Son of God (umm…well, OK nevermind I’ll talk about that in another column) and that still doesn’t keep your attention.  You still need a tale about a fat man who brings presents.

Let me dispel the many inaccuracies:

#1 – No one likes fat people. 

Even fat people don’t like fat people.  It is impossible for a real fat man to be loved by the entire world, ergo, a universally beloved fat man could only exist as a fictional character.  If Santa were real, it would not matter how many good deeds he did.  He could bring everyone toys, cash money, cures for AIDS and cancer, homes for the poor and everyone would still be all like, “Fuck you, you fat fuck, lose some weight!”  I’m sorry, but it’s true.  You know it’s true.  Think about the nicest fat person you know.  Maybe there was some fat person who did you a good turn, helped you out in life.  Maybe this fat person paid your rent one month to keep you off the street.  Maybe this fat person saved your life.  Maybe this fat person recommended you for a job when you were down on your luck.  You still called that person a fat fuck behind his/her back, didn’t you?  You couldn’t help it.  No one likes a fatty, no matter how nice the fatty is.

#2 – It is not possible for a fat fuck to squeeze down your chimney.

Your fat Aunt Edna knocks shit down with her fat ass because she’s so fat she doesn’t think she’s bumping into things but you think a fat fuck in a red suit can squeeze his fat ass down every chimney in the world?  Bitch, please.

#3 – Reindeer can’t fly.

Have you ever seen a non-winged animal fly?  Stop being stupid.  Oh, and Rudolph’s nose is red because he hits the sauce…hard.  At least he would if he existed, but he doesn’t.

#4 – Why do bad kids get presents?

Kids have pretty short attention spans.  A parent says, “Be good or Santa won’t bring you any shit!” and then the kid will be good for five minutes and then forget and be naughty again.  If Santa really has a naughty and nice list, he must not be paying attention to it, because everyone knows at least one little shit who is making his parents’ lives miserable and yet this little monster is getting ridiculous amounts of loot under the tree every year.

#5 – Why doesn’t Santa give out gift certificates?

You know what?  It is actually, theoretically, possible for every kid in the world to be given one gift a night.  A cash gift.  If you’re Santa, why would you go riding your fat asss around the globe when you can just get one of your elves to click a button on a computer and email every kid a toy store gift certificate?

That’s a lot, mind you, but hey, one of these rich pricks might actually be able to become a real, live Santa Claus.

I don’t know.  Do the math and tell me if it’s possible, nerds.  Estimate how many Christian kids in the world x how much and factor in if there’s anyone that rich.  Even so, I bet that person couldn’t do it every year.  It would have to be a one cent gift certificate.

However, we aren’t talking about the average billionaire.  We’re talking Santa Claus.  If that fat fuck can fly around the world in a night, then surely he could pop a redeem code for 1,000 bucks to every kid’s inbox and then Amazon could do the rest.

Seriously.  Bezos would have taken over Santa’s operation by now.  Maybe he already has.  You parents out there, where’d you kid those kids you’re slapping the fat man’s name on?  A site that starts with “A” am I right?

#6 – Your parents slap Santa’s name on gifts.

They work hard all year, selling their souls to employers who provide them no personal satisfaction, then slap a fictional fat man’s name on the gifts bought with the proceeds of their slave labor just to make your childish fantasies come true.  God, you little brats make me want to puke.  Somebody staple my uterus shut.

#7 – Santa could never be married.

Because, remember, no one likes a fat fuck, even a bitch as fat as Mrs. Claus is dreaming about losing weight and getting spit roasted by a duo of hunky male dancers.

#8 – Elves aren’t real.

You think any large group of workers would work that much for free…without organizing a union?  Bitch, please.

#9 – Intellectual property

You really think Bill Gates wouldn’t be suing Santa into oblivion for giving out free X-Boxes?

#10 – It’s impossible to fly around the world in one night.

Have you seen all the cell phone shot videos on the news lately?  People can’t fly across the country without some crazy ass fight breaking out and delaying the flight, but you think a fat man can fly around the world and stop at every house in one night?


Sorry to break it to you, kids, but Santa isn’t real.  Was it hard for me to tell you this and ruin your childhoods?  No.  Because I’m a professional news breaker.  This is what I do.

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Who Was Mommy Kissing in the “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” Song?

3.5 readers, drop everything you are doing.  Seriously, I don’t care if you’re in the middle of brain surgery, either performing it or having it performed on you.

Today, we are, once and for all, going to figure out who Mommy was kissing in the song, “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”


The year was 1952.  The baby boomers were booming and everyone liked Ike.  Sock hops and malt shoppes were frequented by youngsters and every woman’s middle name was “Sue.”  Becky Sue.  Peggy Sue.  Annie Sue.  You get the picture.

A young lad by the name of Jimmy Boyd records a song written by Tommie Connor.  The song is a hit and an instant Christmas classic.  It is unlikely you’ll get through the holiday season without hearing it at least one time.

But forget all that.  Is Mommy having an affair with Kris Kringle?

I’ve got to know.

The lyrics:

I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
She didn’t see me creep
Down the stairs to have a peep
She thought that I was tucked up
In my bedroom, fast asleep
Then I saw mommy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy white
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.


#1 – Mommy Kissed the Kid’s Father, Who Was Dressed Like Santa Claus

Once in awhile a father will go the extra mile and don a Santa suit to surprise his stupid little children.  So perhaps this kiss was innocent.  Perhaps Mommy was kissing Daddy.


  • “Then I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus, underneath his beard so snowy white.”

Hmm…inconclusive.  Maybe it was a fake white beard and Mommy tossed it up to give Daddy the old tickle action.  Or then again, one would have to move Santa’s beard in order to tickle his belly.  Who knows?

  • “Oh, what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.”

This line is typically cited as evidence that that Daddy was just dressed up like Santa.  The songwriter may be trying to give the listener a clue where the listener goes, “Oh OK this was just a stupid kid who saw something he didn’t understand and then basically accused his mother of being a whore under false pretenses.”

Personally, I can buy this, but I would like to know whether the husband was known to work late or be out late and whether or not the couple was having problems.

Were other holiday icons known to frequent the house late at night?  Did the kid ever see his mother kissing the Easter Bunny or engage in lesbian kissing with the Tooth Fairy?

The song just doesn’t give me enough info.

#2 – Mommy Cheated on Daddy With Santa

So, the kid is pretty convinced this is Santa.  Kids are stupid.  I can’t condemn Mommy just on the word of a little kid.  Yet, it is noteworthy that the kid does seem pretty sure. Yet, due to his youthfulness, he doesn’t appear to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Oh what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Clause last night.”

Ahh.  So sad.  The words of a little mush brained child who doesn’t understand how the world works.  No, Daddy would not have laughed to learn that his wife was unfaithful.

I’d like to know if the kid told Daddy about this.  If Daddy laughed then, ok.  Daddy’s in on the joke.  Daddy dressed up like Santa and he laughs because the kid didn’t realize what was going on.

If Daddy doesn’t laugh upon being told this information, then he’ll surely question Mommy as to who she was kissing.

#3 – Mommy Was Kissing a Random Obese Bearded Man (Or, Mommy Might Be a Biker Bitch)

The kid doesn’t say he saw a red suit or any reindeer.  Sure, a long white beard and a fat stomach is Santa’s signature look, but it is also the look of your average, run-of-the mill, unfriendly neighborhood motorcycle gang.

Do we know for sure that while Daddy is out working to support the family, Mommy isn’t making out with random bikers who look like Santa in exchange for her meth fix?

I’m not saying this is happening, but I’d like to know more.

#4 – Mommy and Daddy Were Role Playing

Daddy dressed up as Santa, not to spread holiday cheer, but because Mommy and Daddy are perverts who work costumes into their perversions.  Today Daddy dresses up like Santa and asks Mommy to sit on his lap.  Tomorrow Mommy dresses up like an Amazon warrior princess and gives Daddy a spanking.

Huh.  Now I know why the 1953 sequel, “I Saw Daddy Getting a Spanking From an Amazonian Warrior Princess” was a total flop.

#5 – The Kid’s a Liar

Maybe he’s just a little turd that was naughty so Mommy sent him to bed without supper and so the kid got his revenge by recording a hot track in which he falsely accuses his mother of infidelity.

#6 – Daddy’s a Cuckold

Daddy knows Mommy kisses Santa Claus.  Daddy likes to hide in the closet and watch.

#7 – The Kid Dreamed It

Maybe the kid isn’t a liar per se but maybe he has a wild imagination.  Maybe he ate too many cookies before bedtime and the sugar rotted his brain.

#8 – Mommy Kissed a Bearded Woman

I’d have to know if the circus was in town at the time to be sure, but Mommy may very well have been kissing a portly bearded woman.

#9 – Daddy Looks Like Santa Claus

Maybe Daddy is also fat and has a white beard.  Maybe this is an older couple who had kids late in life or maybe Daddy is like Trump and Mommy is like Melania where you have a couple with a large age difference.

And finally…

#10 – Mommy is Straight Up Kissing Santa Claus Behind Daddy’s Back

Maybe Mommy’s a shameless floozy.  Maybe Daddy is a jerk and has been denying Mommy his affections so Mommy sought comfort elsewhere in the form of an obese, bearded holiday icon.  Perhaps Daddy has been giving it to Mrs. Claus on the regular so Santa and Mommy conspired to seek revenge and this is the best they came up with.

All I know is the kid seems pretty sure about what he saw.  That’s all I’m saying.

Who was Mommy kissing in the “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” song 3.5 readers?

Discuss in the comments!

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An Interview with Krampus, the World’s Most Notorious Ancient Germanic Yuletide Demon

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

So, as you know, I’m a hostage of the yeti, but he is allowing me to interview my next guest because he is such a fan of his work.

I’m not a fan per se but, you know, the blog must come first and I need the clicks.

Without further ado…Krampus.


Krampus: Vile Ancient Yuletide Demon/Denier of the Power of Facial Scrubs

BQB: Your Evil Hornyness, welcome.

KRAMPUS: Thank you, BQB. I’d say it’s good to be here but I’ve been thrown out of places much classier than your pitiful blog.  Hell, I had way more than 3.5 followers in the olden days when computers hadn’t even been invented.

BQB:  Right.  So, can you tell my 3.5 followers who you are?  I don’t mean to be rude.  I’m just not sure that they have heard of you.

KRAMPUS: That’s cool, bitch.  First of all, I am hella old.  I date back before pre-Christian times.  Second, I’m the antithesis of everyone’s favorite fat man, that rotund wishy washy do-gooder Santa Clause, or as I call him, “Old Saint Dick.”  See what I did there?

BQB: Yes.

KRAMPUS:  Because he’s really Old Saint Nick but I called him Old Saint Dick because I think he’s a dick.

BQB: Punny.  But we all know what Santa does.  He brings toys to all the good little girls and boys of the world.  What do you do?

KRAMPUS: Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone and stop the presses, Cochise.  Santa does not bring toys to good girls and boys, so let me just straighten out your bent propaganda there.

BQB: He doesn’t?

KRAMPUS:  No, he doesn’t.  Oh sure, he’s got you all hoodwinked with all the, “He sees you when you’re sleeping” and the naughty/nice list but really, honestly, truly, we all know that shit is a scam.  That fat bastard will bring a toy to a kid no matter what and he does not give a shit whether or not that kid has been naughty or nice.

BQB:  Really?

KRAMPUS:  You know it, bitch.  Look, parents love to get their misbehaving little turds to straighten up by warning them that they will get jack shit when Santa finds out all the heinous shit they’ve done, but Santa doesn’t care enough to actually cross-reference a naughty/nice list of every damn child in the entire world.  And you think the elves are going to help him do it?  Those little freaks are union.  They have like nineteen smoke breaks a day and the fat man is lucky if he can get those pointy eared butt goblins to do a half-hour’s worth of work in a day where he pays them for eight hours at a rate of fifty bucks an hour.

BQB:  Wow.

KRAMPUS: I know.  If I were that fat ass crushed red velvet suit wearing diabetes patient, the first thing I would do is send all of those Keebler cookie rejects packing and ship the entire North Pole operation to China.

BQB:  I think we’ve gotten off topic.  You still haven’t told my 3.5 readers what you do.

KRAMPUS:  Well, nothing right now, but back in ancient times, I did Santa’s job.

BQB:  Oh.  So you delivered toys to good little girls and boys?

KRAMPUS: Say what?  Bitch, please.  If a kid was good, I walked my demon ass right on by that kid’s house without giving him a reward.  You’re supposed to be good and to channel my inner Chris Rock, you’re not supposed to get a “cookie” for doing something “you’re supposed to do.”

BQB:  Oh.  And the bad kids?

KRAMPUS:  Beaten with chains.

BQB: Umm…

KRAMPUS:  Yup.  “Hey Gunter and Greta,” all the ancient Germanic parents would say.  “Be good and do your chores and clean up the cave and wipe all the moss off the rocks and don’t talk back or else Krampus will throw you in his sack, beat you with his chains, then drag you off to Hell.”

BQB:  This interview has taken a turn for the worse.

KRAMPUS: Oh please, don’t feed me that namby-pamby bleeding heart shit.  The ancient holiday season was fun.  Ancient folk would even sing songs.  “Krampus Carols” we used to call ’em.

BQB: Please don’t sing one.

KRAMPUS: “Jingle chains, jingle chains, Krampus has got his chains…”

BQB: Stop.

KRAMPUS: “Over the river and through the woods and into Krampus’ sack we go…”

BQB:  Stop.

KRAMPUS: “…it’s slung over his back and down through the cracks of the earth and into the underworld we go-ah-oh!”

BQB:  We get the picture.  So obviously, you don’t do that anymore.

KRAMPUS:  A shame really.  So many children deserve a good in-sack, chain beating.

BQB:  Wow.  OK, just for the record and not just because my lawyer is advising me to say this…I do not condone or approve of violence against children in any way, shape or form.

KRAMPUS:  Fine, fine.  We can nix the chains and the sacks and the dragging naughty children off to Hell now that we live in quote unquote modern “enlightened” times.  But at the very least, that little shit that keeps pulling his sister’s hair and treats his parents like cash machines and personal servants should not get a present from the fat man, don’t you agree?

BQB:  Eh…kids are kids.  Sometimes the worst kids grow up, realize the difference between right and wrong and live good lives despite youthful naughtiness.

KRAMPUS:  Yeah, and like I said, no more sacks, chains, and/or draggings off to the underworld, but maybe instead of a new bicycle, Tommy can pay his penance for bullying all those nerdy kids at school by being forced to watch a week’s worth of incredibly dry documentaries.  “No Tommy.  No presents for you.  No trip to Grandma’s house to play with toys and stuff your face with cookies.  You will now watch programs about how wicker furniture is made until New Year’s Eve.

BQB:  I’m not really for it but I guess it is way better than the chains and the sack and so on.

KRAMPUS:  I’m a hip demon.  I get with the times.  I can find all kinds of new age punishments that twenty-first century hipster millennial parents will be down with.  “What?  You didn’t do your homework?  No presents for you until you eat this bowl of vegan, gluten-free tofu.”

BQB:  I think I know the answer already but I have to ask.  Why aren’t you as well-known as Santa?

KRAMPUS:  Ah.  Where do I start?  Rumor has it that Hitler had me banned.  I can’t confirm or deny that because we evil demons have to stick together, but between you, me and your 3.5 readers, I was such a shit heel that even the dude who was all like, “Hey, maybe shipping off six million people to their doom isn’t such a bad idea” heard about me and was all like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Krampus!  Enough with the chains and the sack beatings already!”

BQB:  So it was Hitler?

KRAMPUS:  Eh, you could say that but really it was commercialization.  The gift and card industry.  Those advertising pricks on Madison Avenue.  I mean, really, around this time of year, whose face do you want to see on your box of cookies, or on your soda-pop bottle or on your television?  Me and my jagged razor sharp teeth of Fatty McGoody-Two-Shoes, what with his chubby angelic cheeks and his professor glasses and his red suit and his warm smile and his overall aura of, “Hey, you all do your best, so here’s some free toys and shit and you know what?  I’ll even let you naughty kids fool yourselves into thinking you were nice all year long because that’s just what the Grandpa of the World does.”

BQB:  Well, when you put it like that…

KRAMPUS:  There’s just no way I can compete with that adorable walking “Before Jenny Craig” model.  I might be getting soft in my old age because there are times when even I want to let bygones and bygones and give old Fatty McManTits a big hug.

BQB: Why don’t you?

KRAMPUS:  Eh, Mrs. Claus and I used to date.  Santa is kind of a dick about it.  It’s all very awkward. I’ve said too much.

BQB:  It’s cool.  Only 3.5 people read this blog anyway.  So what do you do with all your free time now that you have hung up your sack and chains?

KRAMPUS:  Oh, let’s see.  What don’t I do?  Yoga.  Knitting.  A little bit of crocheting.  Spin class.  Pottery Barn.  I can’t even get within five feet of a Pottery Barn without destroying my credit rating, let me tell you.

BQB:  They do have some nice stuff at Pottery Barn.  Krampus, that’s all the time we have and I’d like to thank you for this interview, but I won’t, because it was truly awful and will no doubt give my 3.5 readers nightmares, which they don’t deserve because they are all nice people.  Before you go, do you have any last words?

KRAMPUS:  Don’t be good because an obese, raging pizza addict at the top of the world will give you a free video game if you do, because he will give it to you even if you’re a total asshat anyway.  Instead, be good because you’re supposed to be good.  And if you’re good for the right reason, then good things will come to you throughout your life.

BQB:  Wisdom found in a surprising place.  Thank you for reading, 3.5 readers.  Good night and Merry Christmas.

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Saturday Night Live – Sump’n Claus

I’ve always laughed at this sketch.  Even if you’re too naughty for Santa, Sump’n will get you a little sump’n:

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Things That Really Frost My Ass – Christmas Edition


Happy Holidays from Uncle Hardass

Ho Ho Ho Ya’ Lousy Degenerate 3.5 Readers.

Uncle Hardass here to put some much needed coal in your mental stockings.

Now, I know what you hippies are thinking. “Oh, Uncle Hardass! You’re not going to take a dump on the joyous holiday season are you?”

Yes!  Yes I am!

Where do I start?  I’m not sure what spoils my eggnog more. Maybe it’s…

  • …the fact that Christmas gets celebrated earlier every year. Everyone takes off their damn Halloween monster masks and puts on a Santa hat. The last three months of the year are Hooray for Death in October, Hooray for Stuffing our Fat Pie Holes in November, and Hooray for Running Up Our Credit Card Bills on Shit We Don’t Need December. Before you know it, people are going to start celebrating the next year’s Christmas on Dec. 26.
  • …that I have to say nonsense like “Happy Appointed Nondenominational Religiously Neutral and Atheism Inclusive Festivity Day” just to avoid offending an unwashed hippy who should toughen up and get a job at the Salt Mines.
  • …people who post pictures of their Elf on the Shelf drinking a beer, puking in the toilet, smoking a cigarette next to a Barbie, or some other obnoxious pose. We get it. You’re very lonely and the likes you get on social media are your only means of contact with the outside world. Go on. Put the little guy in a pink Barbie car and have a police officer action figure pull it over, you scamp you.
  • …that I can’t get candy canes all year round. I love candy that tastes good and makes my breath smell like an elf fart. I should be able to buy candy canes in August. Oh wait, I can because CHRISTMAS STARTS EARLIER AND EARLIER EVERY FREAKIN’ YEAR!
  • …that people expect me to wrap presents. Why do you want me to wrap your damn present? Fancy paper does not bring any additional enjoyment to whatever useless piece of garbage I got you. If anything, it prevents you from getting to the useless piece of crap earlier. There is a delay in your ability to enjoy the crap equivalent ot the time it takes to unwrap the crap. The environmental hippies might be onto something here. One day when the Earth is doomed, the aliens who move in next will say, “It was because the humans had an entire season when they bought useless crap for each other AND chopped down entire forests just to cover the useless crap with paper that delayed their access to said crap.”
  • …people who a) wear ugly sweaters b) put their hideous pets in ugly sweaters and c) color coordinate their outfits with their pets. One day your home will be foreclosed on and you will wish you had all the money you wasted on outfits your dog did not want to wear.
  • …mistletoe. If you wanna kiss, then just pucker up. I’m a man, damn it and I don’t need a sprig of a plant that’s otherwise unseen the rest of year just to play tonsil hockey with some random bimbo at a party.  Sorry Gertie, but I’m dead now and I did say “Till death do us part.”
  • …Santa tracker apps. Inevitably, some jackass at the party will whip out his Santa Tracker and gush like an idiot, “Whoa boy, Santa’s flying over X third world country!” No, no he’s not. Santa’s sleigh doesn’t have an anti surface to air flare system and that fat bastard doesn’t want to get shot down when he’s mistaken for a military combatant.
  • …that people leave cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer but they never leave anything at all for the elves, the only people in the entire organization that actually break a sweat slaving away in Santa’s toy factory. Just like everywhere else in the world, the working man goes unappreciated while dirty hippies enjoy the fruits of our labor.
  • …that people still insist on looking at Ebenezer Scrooge as the bad guy. Look clowns. Just because you start a business does not mean you are required to buy fat ass geese for all of your employees and fix all of their kids’ problems. They should consider themselves lucky you gave them a job and those three hippy ghosts should go occupy Wall Street or something. Shit, I’m a damn ghost myself and I have half a mind to visit Scrooge and tell him to keep up with his oppression of the downtrodden Victorian London era masses.  It’s good for them. Oppression builds character, I always say.

Maybe one of the aforementioned grievances frosts my ass. Maybe they all do. But 3.5 readers, do you REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHAT FROSTS MY ASS?


Congratulations. You’re a parent. As if the world didn’t have enough to worry about, now the world has one more mutant spawn to suck up its precious resources.

You work all year. Well, some of you do. Most of you are just writers who scribble a bunch of nonsense then act like your memorialized thoughts and opinions matter to this godforsaken world, but I digress.

You worked and you saved your money. You went out and bought your little whipper snapper the latest toys, gadgets, and gizmos. You enjoyed doing it. You paid attention to what your kid wants and you went around to ten different stores to track down whatever piece of crap he wanted. With tender loving care, you wrapped all the toys up and placed them under the tree.

In short, you put a lot of work into making your kid happy.

So can someone please tell me why, WHY is it that I will be able to walk into any house in America and listen to the adults, who have gathered to watch the kids open their presents, say shit such as:

  • “Oh wow. It must be nice to have X piece of crap. I was NEVER lucky enough to have a nice piece of crap like that when I was YOUR age.”
  • “Oh, aren’t you spoiled? Look at all these presents.  Do you really need all this crap?”
  • “You got Y piece of crap too?  Sheesh, you got X piece of crap AND Y piece of crap. Do you know that when I was a kid my parents only got my brothers and sisters and I ONE piece of crap and we had to share that piece of crap and we considered ourselves lucky to have it?!”
  • “Look at that!  That is one top of the line piece of crap!  They hadn’t even invented crap like that when I was a kid. Oh I bet you don’t even appreciate all this crap ya’ little twerp.”

Look, 3.5 readers, and keep in mind this is coming from a guy named Uncle Hardass, so you know what you’re doing is f%&ked up.

Stop it with the passive-aggressive comments on Christmas morning about how your kids don’t deserve all the crap you got them. Even if you think you’re just talking to the other adults, they can hear you.

Honestly. You loved your kids enough to spend your time and money on getting this crap, you gave it to them so there’s a part of you that WANTS them to have it but then all you do is shit on them for having it.

You’re taking all your work and flushing it down the drain. If it really pisses you off that your kids have nicer shit than you did as a kid, then there’s a simple solution. Don’t get them the shit. Sorry kid, I didn’t get shit as a kid, so you shouldn’t get shit as a kid.

Sure, they’ll whine about it now but as adults, they’ll probably be more mentally secure people then the kids who grew up thinking, “Gee, I wonder if I deserve all this crap?”

Either that, or just be happy that you, despite the odds, obtained a level of success great enough that you can afford to buy shit for your kids that your parents weren’t able to buy for you. Call up your parents and laugh at them. Send them pictures of all the shit you bought for your kids and rub it in that you’re a better provider than they were.

Hell, if you even like the shit that much and are jealous of your kids for having it, then just go ahead and play with all those toys and shit while they aren’t looking.

Better yet, play with the toys with them. It might actually make you AND them happy.

What? You didn’t think your old Uncle H was capable of providing such heartwarming advice?

Just goes to show what you don’t know could fill an empty Salt Mine shaft, 3.5 readers.

So Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and listen, make a resolution to stop reading my dumbass nephew’s blog in 2016, will you?

Every time one of you losers gives him a hit he thinks he’s going to make it big and his ego just doesn’t need that kind of unmerited support.

Peace on Earth and goodwill to men, losers.

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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – Expert Analysis and Commentary

Hello Noble Readers,

As the end of the year draws nigh and old man winter spews forth his icy breath, its time to think of all the special people around us – like the 305 followers of my blog, or the 1,810 followers of my twitter handle, @bookshelfbattle  (which honestly, if you haven’t followed yet, what’s stopping you?)

To thank you all, I got you all a gift – iPads.  Yes, I purchased over 2,115 iPads to give to my blog and twitter followers, my way of saying thank you for being with me at the beginning, putting up with my eccentricities, and keeping the faith that one day, I might actually review a book.

Unfortunately, the iPad truck was hijacked by the Yakuza.  Also, that was a joke.  I never bought you any iPads.  Also, the thing about the Yakuza was a joke.  Yakuza are known to read book blogs often so I don’t want to offend them.

I did get you something even better than an iPad.  “Blackberry Playbook?”  What?  Who said that?  Jesus, why don’t you just ask me to get you an etch-a-sketch or a stone tablet and a hammer and chisel?  No, what I got you is even better.

I got you all the following free recitation of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.  Originally published in 1823 by Clement Clarke Moore, his copyright status has dashed away, dashed away all.

Fun Fact – this poem was originally published with the title – A Visit from Saint Nicholas, but eventually came to be known as ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas because that’s the first line of the poem and people are stupid.

Yes, I see a hand.  Do you have a question?

“Do you always have to be so jaded, Bookshelf Battler?”

Yes.  Yes I do.

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy as I share a Public Domain work and pretend like I actually did something.  Full text below, interspersed with my world renowned literary analysis:



‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

ANALYSIS:  Aren’t you happy to live in a time where vermin aren’t considered lovable house guests?

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

ANALYSIS:  Mmm.  Yummy.  Plums.  A sugary fruit that gave you diarrhea was the most the youth of that time had to look forward to.  No wonder the Nineteenth Century was consumed by so many wars.

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

ANALYSIS:  Fun Fact: People used to dress up for everything back then.  Going to a moving picture show?  Put on your best three piece suit.  Off to bed?  That’s no excuse for looking like a bum.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

ANALYSIS:  Cue scary music from those Jason movies – “Chee chee chee…hah hah hah”

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

ANALYSIS:  Shutters.  People used to have like, these wooden doors on their windows, you know to keep out murderers, monsters, bill collectors, and various other forms of riff raff.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

ANALYSIS:  I find it odd that this poem is considered one of the definitive accounts of what Santa Claus is like, since it describes him, his sleigh, and his reindeer as being small.  Personally, I prefer my Santa to be fat as hell, his sleigh to be the size of a Cadillac Escalade, and his reindeer to be steroid loaded bucks, because frankly, they’d have to be to pull all that around the world in one night.  I’m sorry, but the reindeer juice.  Everyone knows it.  Get your head out of the sand.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, Dasher!  now, Dancer!  now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet!  on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!

ANALYSIS:  OK, sit back and think about the gravity of this for a minute.  This author named the reindeer.  When you’re with your kids and you’re all like, “Hey, let’s leave out a carrot for Dasher!” that reindeer got his name because of Clement Clarke Moore.  And he actually put some thought into naming the reindeer.  He didn’t just half-ass it and go, “On Eugene!  On Fred!  On…uhh…Marvin?  Yeah, what the hell, Marvin the Reindeer, that sounds good.”

To the top of the porch!  to the top of the wall!

Now dash away!  dash away!  dash away all!”

ANALYSIS:  Keep in mind, this takes place in a time long before space travel, where families gathered round and said to each other, “You know, I bet some day man will crack the porch barrier.  Imagine it, men soaring through the air, reaching the tops of walls…”

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

ANALYSIS:  Well, shit.  Now I have to start doing scientific experiments on leaves during hurricane season just to determine whether or not a beloved children’s poet is full of crap or not.

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too –

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

ANALYSIS:  Can you guys get the hell off my roof?  Do you know how much a roofer would charge me to repair reindeer damaged shingles?  And you know he’ll tell me he’s coming in a window between 9 and 6, then call me at 6:15 to tell me he’s sorry he can’t make it and can we try next week…

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

ANALYSIS:  And thus began the Christmas tradition of telling children that an obese man will commit a felony level breaking and entering into their homes.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

ANALYSIS:  I mean, honestly, if you know the guy is coming to bring you presents, the least you can do is have a cockney chimney sweep run a brush through the thing.  Common courtesy.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.

His eyes – how they twinkled!  his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

ANALYSIS:  Yes.  Santa hit the pipe.  Hard.  Fairly certain it was just tobacco though.  Crack would not be invented until the 1980’s by Sir Isaac Crackington.

FURTHER ANALYSIS:  Look, kids!  Cancerous carcinogens in a festive holiday shape!

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

ANALYSIS:  Dude, seriously.  The man is here to bring you shit.  You don’t have to dump all over him.  OK, yeah he’s fat.  But you weren’t winning any beauty contests either, Beloved Christmas Poet Clement Clarke Moore.

A wink of his eyes and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

ANALYSIS:  If it’s one thing I always appreciate in a home invader, it is a sign that I have nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk.

ANALYSIS:  And thus began the timeless Christmas tradition of parents taking the money they’d worked all year long for, using it to purchase presents, then giving all the credit to a mythical fat man.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

ANALYSIS:  To lay one’s finger on the side of one’s nose, an old gesture akin to a wink, or to indicate a secret jest to another individual, as in “Hey Buddy, I just invaded your home.  You know it.  I know it.  Let’s not make a big deal of it.”

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

ANALYSIS: Fun Fact:  The reindeer and a sleigh full of presents remain on the roof the entire time Santa is in your house.  Is your roof structurally sound enough to carry such a hefty load for an extended time period?  I know mine isn’t.  I don’t know about you, but every Christmas Eve, I get a little nervous when I think about how the only thing standing between me and a contingent of 500 pound Nordic animals from falling through my roof and onto my friggin’ face while I’m sleeping is the craftsmanship of the incompetent, cost cutting, crack at the top of his pants general contractor who put in the lowest bid to construct my home.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight –

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

ANALYSIS:  It’s Seasons Greetings, you politically incorrect hatemonger.

FINAL THOUGHTS:  Fellow bloggers, I hope you enjoyed this equivalent of a blog based Christmas Special.  I’ve busted on Mr. Moore quite a bit, but I give the man some credit.  He originally wrote this as a heartwarming tale to tell his children, but it was later published and became the basis for much Christmas lore.  I apologize to him that I am such a malcontent that I was not able to reproduce his poem as is, without offering my mean spirited comments.

In fact, his ghost just appeared in my office and we had the following exchange:

MOORE:  You just made fun of my poem?

ME:  Yes.

MOORE:  Yeah, well, at least I’ve been published in a mass market, bitch!  (Then he pretended to drop a microphone, turned his back on me, and walked away.)

I hope you’re enjoying this holiday season, followers!  Let me know in the comment section if there are any other holiday classics you’d like me to analyze with my expert commentary!

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