Month: December 2013

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Drew Rosenhaus

So immediately after Santa delivers the toys, he sends Rudolph – who is a CHILD, by the way – back out into the horrible blizzard BY HIMSELF so he can eventually cross a vast desert and ride a time traveling whale to a dinosaur island to find the baby New Year, who has been abducted by an evil giant monster bird in an attempt to stop time and achieve immortality? Are you fucking kidding me?? He’s a baby reindeer with a light up nose, not the fucking X-Men! Santa Claus is a dick.

Also, after saving his fat ass, Santa not only made Rudolph work on Christmas, but made him work out of town in places where his life was in danger. That fat bastard needs a beatdown. What an asshole.

I’ve seen suggestions that the reindeer unionize, but I respectfully disagree. Rudolph needs to go free agent. Break away from Kringle and those eight dirt bag reindeer who held him down. Any number of the big holiday players would snatch him up in an instant. The Jews have been needing a big Hanukkah star for about 5000 years now. Rudolph The Hanukkah Reindeer? Any good PR man could make that work. And Rudolph could be rolling in some sweet holiday shekels. It’s a win-win.

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More Of This, Please

When you base a society on barbaric religious traditions that promote the abuse of half your population, expect acts of barbarism. Just don’t bitch when the acts of barbarism don’t go the way you expect.

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The Old Pie-In-The-Windowsill Trick

“I guess you forgot about the time you and Bravo company left my black ass for dead, huh? But I remember. I remember everything. I remember Vietnam like it was yesterday. I remember that village in Tainan that we cut down. It was a massacre. All the dead Chinamen we left in our tracks. I remember the faces, the children. This one child I’ll never forget. Poor little bastard was still alive. His little Chinese legs were blown clean off. Still see his little shins and feet hanging from the ceiling fan across the hut. He was charred from his head down to his little Chinese knees. He tried to get up, but he fell over when what was left of his right leg broke off. As he laid there, flat on his face, he looked up at me. His little Chinese eyes burned right into my stomach, deep into my soul. He said something to me in Chinese like, ‘Boo coo sow!’, sounded like some cartoon shit. But I understood it to be a question that he was asking me. And I don’t have to know how to speak Chinese to know what that question was…”

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I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes…

“Hiya, kids. Here is an important message from your Uncle Bill: don’t buy drugs. Become a pop star, and they give you them for free.”

I’d love to tell you I watch Love, Actually once a year, but when Christmastime rolls around I end up watching it about a dozen times. Every second Rowan Atkinson is on screen is pure magic. I eat chocolates with a goofy ass smile on my face and shake my ass during the Prime Minister’s dance scene. And I say in my head, “Dude, go after her!” every time the writer watches his housekeeper walk away, and it always breaks my heart just a little. Basically I turn into a big hairy girl for about an hour and a half.

“Oh, this isn’t a bag, sir… This is SO much more than a bag…”

“Okay, Dad. Let’s do it. Let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by love.”

“There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus?”

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If you look for it…

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed. But I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge. They were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love, actually, is all around.”

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Love, Actually

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed. But I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge. They were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love, actually, is all around.”