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

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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?

CONCLUSIONS

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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Kid Fat Shamed By Santa

Did you hear about the kid that went to see Santa and was told by the Jolly Old Elf to “layoff the cheeseburgers and fries?”

Check out the CNN story for more.

So many things at play here, 3.5 readers.

First of all, isn’t it kind of ironic for Santa to call anyone fat?  That’s the pot calling the kettle black, right?  The man is literally famous for being a super fat fatty.

Really, Santa?  You want to tell a chubby kid to lay off the burgers?  OK.  Howsabout you don’t eat a plate of cookies and drink a glass of milk AT EVERY HOUSE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD every Christmas Eve?

Sheesh.

But ok, so this story opened up the can of worms that is the ongoing fat shaming debate.

Here’s my two cents.

It isn’t healthy to be overweight.  However, overweight people should be free to go about their lives without being insulted, name-called, treated like crap.

That’s pretty reasonable.  Like most issues, the debate collapses when both sides huddle to their extreme corners.

On the one hand, you have people who say fat shaming helps fat people so feel free to say nasty things to them and treat them like crap.  It’ll motivate them to lose weight.

Yeah, no.  It’ll just make their lives more difficult and the harder their lives are, the harder it is to lose weight.  If you wouldn’t want someone pointing out your problems every time you step foot out into public, then don’t do it to other people.  Mind your business and stop bothering people.  Pretty simple.

Then on the other side of the debate, you have some people who are fat and they say dumb things like being fat doesn’t cause health problems, its ok, people who don’t find me attractive and don’t want to date me are shitty, whatever.  That’s the other side and that’s equally silly.

Is this kid chubby?  Yes.  Is he still a little kid?  Yes.  Should his parents help him out and get him involved in sports and get him eating right and exercising while he is young and his body can easily bounce back and he’s got the energy to lose weight and build muscle and turn it around so he can live a happy, healthy life?

Yes.

Is that easier said than done?

Yes.

Should a little kid be able to sit on Santa’s lap and not be criticized?

Yes.

Here’s why:  Because this kid probably has no shortage of kids at school who will gladly call him fat and make fun of him, so maybe, just maybe, while his mind is still young and he’s able to still feel a childlike sense of wonder and enthusiasm about the world, he should be able to sit on Santa’s lap and not be told that he’s fat, especially when Santa is also fat.

I mean, come on, being a Rent-a-Santa is like the only job where being fat and having gray hair and a beard gives the candidate a leg up for the position.

In conclusion, my advice to the world:

  • Fatty Haters – keep it to yourself.  If the the portly person is minding his own business, you don’t need to make fun of him.  Don’t be a dick and then try to pass it off as you are a nice guy trying to help him realize he has a problem.  He knows.  It isn’t a matter of him not knowing and needing someone to point it out.  It is a whole perfect storm of DNA, environment, emotions, self-control, addiction and so on.  This person feels bad 24/7, so don’t worry, he’s not going to feel great if you give him a pass on the shitty insult you’ve cooked up in your head.
  • Fat Activists – No, fat people shouldn’t be treated like crap, but don’t put out misinformation and try to convince people that weight issues don’t cause health problems.
  • Santa – You’re fat.  Stop calling kids fat and lay off the cookies.

 

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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

BY: CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE

‘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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