Alan Sidney Patrick Rickman, February 21, 1946 – January 14, 2016
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.
“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?”
“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.”
The Ugliest Christmas Tree In The World – November 28, 2011 – December 19, 2013
It is with great sadness that I must report that The Ugliest Christmas Tree In The World is no more. The ravages of sun, time, and water damage were simply more than he could bear. Rest in peace, you magnificent pink bastard. It won’t be Christmas without you.
It comes down to this: if someone wishes you “Happy Holidays” and the first thing that enters your mind is to take offense, then you are a cunt.
Quite possibly the greatest Christmas song written in my lifetime. Or anyone else’s.
“Forgiveness does not turn chicks on like Old Spice shower gel.”
So I opened the mail today and this happened…
And now I’m all smiles.
First Christmas present of the year. With lights AND sounds. Jealous, bitches?