Picklemas

I just got an IM from Santa telling me that Christmas is coming. That means the pitter-patter I hear on the ceiling at night isn't an army of rats, ready to unleash the plague upon me, but elves scurrying about, doing some holiday elf magical crap. If I were four years old, this would thrill me. However, since I am only four years old in terms of intellectual maturity, I am slightly less jazzed. I blame this because I have to buy gifts for everyone I've ever met, the illegitimate children of these people, plus the midwives who birthed each one of them. You think I can knit personalized sweaters for all of those people? Uhh, not if craftsmanship is an issue!

I don't really have to buy gifts for that many people. Finally, unpopularity presents me with a benefit! There are, however, enough gifts to buy that each time I start to think of it, my wallet bursts into flames. That is why, for the Christmas of 2004, I will be buying my Christmas gifts in bulk at Sam's Club. Yeah, it would be nice if I searched for hours to find that one perfect gift for each person, but I'm a busy man and I can't spare the time (I've got a regional boggle tournament coming up).

And if I really think it over, it seems to me like my friends and family could use a big jug of pickles more than some heartfelt present. What good would some weepy present do you in a catastrophe? Not much, whereas a big jug of pickles will literally save your life. You can eat the pickles, drink the brine, then throw the jug at the band of bloodthirsty highwaymen when they bust down your front door. If that doesn't constitute a Christmas miracle, then you don't know miracles from a enormousbucket of excrement.