Blow up Christmas decorating is lazy. These are essentially the steps you take: 1) Drop wad of multicolored nylon about eight feet from the house. 2) Plug in. Then, while your electric motor spins around thanks to the short ton of bituminous coal you just bought through a middle man that answers to a board of directors in Germany, all the ice melts away from the poles leaving Santa with his train stuck in the mud. Meanwhile, and because we are a nation addicted to cell phones, there is no money to be had through pay phones anymore so the only one in town gets ripped out without even the courtesy of removing the rest of the corporate litter that held it above the ground. That of course means that Santa can't call out to tell some undeserving little brat with a sense of entitlement that he's not going to get Mega Death Four under the spruce fir that was cut and trucked in from 500 miles away from somewhere near Peoria because he, Santa, has been delayed. Delayed? Hell...he's stuck. And with CO2 levels going higher, not lower as everyone keeps imagining as a possibility without doing anything to make it so, there isn't a snowballs chance in hell he will ever deliver toys by train again. Ever. And since the reindeer all came down with that swine flu thing...hell, it's bad out there. Bad I'm telling you. Worst chance for a merry Christmas ever.
That's what Christmas means to me.
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