With all the Christmas shopping hubbub already, I realize that the time-honoured tradition of deceiving your child is an excellent opportunity for me to mess with my kid when she gets older. Christmas Morning. Zoe runs downstairs to find Barbie Dream Unicorn Princess Skull Castle, fully assembled, wrapped in a bow. But whats this? Tag reads To Mommy, from Santa While the present that reads To Zoe, from Santa is a full-service gift-card to a spa. Confusion reigns, waterworks begin. ...Until Daddy finds an apology note for Zoe behind the gun Santa left for him... Dear Zoe and Mommy - whoops! Sorry for the mix-up, haha! Santa had too much cough medicine, and he put the wrong tags on your presents! Sorry about the confusion, haha, hope these tickets to Disney On Ice help make up for the mistake, and also hope the bottle of Makers Mark for Daddy helps make up for the Disney On Ice tickets, haha! Yours Truly, Indentured Elf Servant #543 P.S. Please send help. Santa is a monster, haha. Weve been trapped in the coldest place on earth, forced to make toys for four hundred years, haha. But most of the work has been outsourced to China since the Great Purge of the Elf Workers Union, haha, so most of what we do is struggle to grow crops to feed Santas binge-eating habit and clean the reindeer stalls while Santa gets smashed off of eggnogg and screams obscenities at Mrs Santa #13, haha. Daddy, your new M1 is loaded with Kringle-seeking hollow-point depleted uranium rounds. Many elves sacrificed themselves to get you this message. You know what to do, haha. Whereupon I gear up in full tactical, kiss Mommy and Zoe, and tell them Ill be back for dinner... And that if Im not... Call out the Militia. And then go and spend the day at the range, before stopping at the cold-storage long enough to pick up a haunch of reindeer meat pre-ordered from Finland a month prior and practicing my haunted hundred-yard-stare on the return drive home. And if asked about my day, just mumble War is hell, take another swig of Makers Mark from a very tiny flask engraved #543 and throw another reindeer steak on the grill. And ever after, Christmas Carols will send me into full shell-shock flashback mode, where I bite the heads off of gingerbread men and throw them like grenades and then possibly hire a mall-Santa to jump me in public to be the icing on the cake of my holiday masterpiece. If Im gonna deceive my kid, it might as well be on an epic and grand scale. And also provide me an excuse for never having to participate in the parts of the holiday I despise ever again :D
Posted on: Fri, 15 Nov 2013 13:06:27 +0000
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