Did ya miss me???

Americans are such a bunch of phonies.

Americans will run you over and kill you for the last cabbage patch doll. They will nearly drive you off the road and throw you the finger when you beep your horn. They will shoot you dead in a mad rage because you took a parking spot. They will beat their children in the back of SUVs and throttle them into brain damage. Or forget about them in the back of their cars. They will sue you because you made the coffee too hot. They'll blow their snow into your driveway because their dog pissed on your lawn. They'll flatten your tires because you broke up with them. They'll have affairs on their spouses and beat up faggots for being faggots.

But when a huge tragedy hits the world, such as the Tsunami, or 9/11, or the OKC bombing, suddenly Americans are loving and generous and compassionate. They'll send their old clothes to the Red Cross, write huge checks, feel this overwhelming need to get on a plane and go to the location to "help in any way". Suddenly they're magnanamous.

Charity begins at home, people. And when I say "home", I mean in your heart, in your character, in your everyday actions. Not just when the shit hits the fan.

They say that character is what you do when no one is looking.

By request...my Christmas story from last year.

I know it's a little late for this, but what the fuck. Oh, and it's not true.

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Never send a bitter lesbian out shopping by herself during the peak of Christmas rush...

Well, it all started when I was out serving papers in the area of a certain mall, so I said I may as well pick up that one item I need. So I went to the BIGGEST mall in two counties. The particular item I was looking for today is a kitchen accessory. I suppose those of you who shop regularly at malls like normal people already know this, but the damn kitchen accessories in EVERY department store are in the utmost remote section of the store, regardless of which entrance you come in.

As I said, I was looking in department stores, which I suppose you also know are those "anchor" stores, which mean they are at the VERY ENDS of each tentacle of said mall, and of course, I had to go to every last store to find what I was looking for.

So I had walked the ENTIRE mall, and by now my blood sugar was dropping, and I'm remembering how I hate this Christmas pressure obligation bullshit called holiday "giving" and I'm watching people glide along the mall like zombies which, except for the Goth couple I saw, they're not supposed to look like. So I suppose it was all that combined that made me lose it at last.

I was walking by the Santa area with all these pasty-faced parents saying "how cute..." when I saw this little boy tugging on Santa's beard and saying "gimme this and gimme that and I want I want!!!!" and he's yelling at Santa and calling him names and throwing a tantrum and nobody's saying anything. And I'm looking at Santa and he's looking at me helplessly. And they're all snapping pictures.

So I go up to the kid and I say, "Hey! Shut your mouth you little ingrate and be glad for what you have! And show Santa some respect! He's SANTA!" Then I turn to the mother and say to her "And you should be ashamed of yourself letting your child act like that and not disciplining him!" And the mother tells me "Go To Hell!" And I say, "I'm already going to hell because I'm a big dyke and I'll be you and your kid's guide down there!!" And someone yells "Security!" and the kid is cowering behind his mother now and Santa is giving me the ol' thumbs up like "Thank you!"

I see the dudes in the gray uniforms getting closer but I feel like I haven't finished my mission, because they're all still standing there waiting for me to go away so they can continue torturing Santa, as if I'M the crazy one, so as the guys are clasping the handcuffs on me I yell "Santa's not real! And the sooner you all realize that the sooner you can all be prepared for the bitter realities of life that await you! And underneath Santa's pasted-on beard and pillow-stuffed red suit, he's wearing ladies underwear!"

Well, that did the trick, because it was that last part that made all the parents look sideways at Santa and pack up their kids and leave the Santa area and go home. And I'm thinking, darn, now that they're all leaving I could be shopping in less crowded conditions, but I'm going to jail now, how's that for irony? An hour later I'm sitting in the Ontario County Jail contemplating whether I should call an attorney or a shrink, when who but Santa should appear. With bail money.

And he looks at me with his twinkling eyes and his little red cherry nose as we're leaving the jailhouse and he says "That's the first time anyone has done anything for me. It's always been take, take, take, until today. Thank you." And we go to Pickering's Pub and he buys me a few cold ones. Of course the topic turns to women, and I promised to keep our conversation private, but suffice to say, turns out that Mrs. Claus is one hot tamale in the boudoir. Who knew.

We finish our beers and with a wave of his hand, he's gone and I'm suddenly sitting in the food court shoveling down a Tom Wahl's burger and fries, with my kitchen item all wrapped up in a Bon-Ton's bag.

Now that's a Christmas story!