Friday, December 28, 2007

The Andy Rooney Holiday Special

"The Holiday Report"- Andy Rooney
Normally, I would not waste the time that I have left to me by writing holiday crap and bending your ears with the musings of a grinch like old fart, but my confidante and possibly illegitimate son "Cheddar" called in a favor. And what the hell kind of name is Cheddar anyway? Does anyone reading this buy the fact that someone's parents would so blatantly name their child after a dairy creation? And if you do believe that, are you part of what's wrong with society? Or is the fact that you can believe it at all, actually what's wrong with society? Think about it.

The holidays. In the Rooney household, during the days of my youth, Christmas was celebrated in abject poverty. Our parents saved all year to provide me and my six siblings each with an orange and a freshly darned pair of socks. Notice I did not say knit, I said darned. That's right. They were last years socks patched up. We had not heard of Tickle me Elmo, Beanie Babies, Cabbage Patch Kids, and Virgil's prison playset complete with droppable soap. Even if we HAD heard of them, the Rooney kids would have been eating their oranges in freshly repaired socks; watching all the other kids play with their yearly fads in disgusting earnest. Suffering was a badge of honor in the Rooney household, and you wore it proudly. Of course, being inexperienced in the commercial gadgetry of Christmas, does leave me with several lingering questions.
For instance, what is a "furby"? It was always my understanding that this was a slang term for female genitalia, but the next thing I know all the kids are getting them for Christmas. Either there is a pedophilia related orgy going on in this country, or my definition is somewhat mistaken.
Speaking of orgies, where did this whole mistletoe thing originate? Some group of horny guys hung foliage over their heads and demanded foreplay in the name of holiday spirit? If that actually worked, why don't we see it tried more often? The President's day Mistletoe, the Colombus day mistletoe, the flag day mistletoe. Don't just go for the gusto in December boys, go for the freebie all year! After all, there is cameltoe all year, why not mistletoe?
And why does every doll a girl gets these days have to wet itself? Just walking down the aisles looking for a present for my granddaughter, I saw box after box of plastic baby proudly proclaiming it's incontinence. Are we preparing our little girls for a lifetime in nursing the elderly? Making them think that wetting oneself is "cute"? Believe me, when I mistakenly saturate my trousers, no one gets in line to buy me. Or fights over the right to dry my "whoopsy". What kind of statement are we making here?
And then there's New Years. As if the gluttony of a Thanksgiving feast, christmas cookies and fudge, the christmas goose, numerous office luncheons, and spiked egg nog isn't enough, we feel compelled to finish off our overindulgence in one final bender. Pop open the first bottle on December 31st and still be sleeping off the hangover on January 2nd. Are we dedicated to bringing in the new year in an alcohol induced coma because we know the year can only get better from there? Or do we embalm ourselves only to forget our transgressions in the year past? And is it any wonder we feel the need to make hollow resolutions after the 6 week period of gluttony from Thanksgiving to New Years? During this period, many asses grow to the size of swollen Halloween pumpkins, and we feel compelled to diet so that we may repeat our self abuse next year. Why don't we all save some time and just resolve to continue our self abuse in a consistent manner? Or resolve to try bulimia?
All in all, as the song says, it's the most wonderful time of the year. On display is blatant alcoholism, gross dietary irresponsibility, thoughtless comsumer spending, and self serving college bowl games that only the alumni of podunk state care at all about. It is the time for dysfunctional families the world over to get together in tension laden situations and share barbs of sarcasm over holiday punch. It's the time to watch the moral collapse of society while smugly sipping your eggnog and fondling your plastic tree. Happy Holidays America. Why not enjoy an orange in your trailworn socks in honor of yours truly?

Btw, Cheddar. I hope this puts paid to our debt so that you can stop spamming my email box and calling my home. At my age, I just want solitude. Keep up the pestering, and the next thing you'll find under your own mistletoe will be my prostate.