Tuesday, December 22, 2009

The Jeremy Crow Christmas Countdown 2009 #4


It can be a cruel cruel world out there, but I have never fostered the belief that Santa Claus was real. Don't get me wrong, I think a fat man in a red suit promising Christmas Cheer and all that junk is nice, but keeping control of the two smaller factions of the Terrorist Organization Known as the Evils's {TOKE} is hard work, and without my controlled form of “beat down” Captain ADHD alone would become too powerful for his own good. Now of course being the “muscle” behind our little slice of criminal nirvana alone but to have to deal with all that yammering, stammering from two lunatics within my own criminal organization just makes it all that much more difficult. In the end I just hit them with the “yeah yeah sure sure” when it comes to the whole Santa Claus thing and go about my hectic life of keeping track of actors, and happenings around the “Twilight” saga.

Now of course it was one of those silly work furloughs that The Superdaddyman carted us all off to New York to see something he called the greatest parade on earth, and he went on and on about having an “in” with the big guy. He talked about things like penguins and Secretaries of State who look good in skirts, and let's get real here, I plead the fifth when it comes to the inner workings of that guy. In the end it was a trip to New York City and more opportunity for me to end my career as “criminal muscle” and potentially start my career as “Robert Pattison” stalker extraordinaire. I merely needed to get this whole “watching balloons and talking to a fat guy in a Red Suit” stuff out of the way.

Now in all fairness, the giant Underdog, and Snoopy were pretty cool, the bands were a bit less annoying when you see them live, and as a late teenage Evils's I can always find the value in something centered around Macy's to be of pretty important value. Two hours of watching people march, and carry things does get old though. Serious facebook time has been wasted on all of this, and I haven't quite mastered the cell phone as a means of web communication, so the battery is dying from all the text messages of “I'm going to kill one of these twits,” without an end in sight. Nobody can quite get the smell of New York City without standing in it with a few million others, even on the day after Thanksgiving. I was nudged out of my half sleepy warbling by my captor {The Superdaddyman} as what appeared to be the end of this lunacy wandered towards us. There it was, off in the distance, a large float with the biggest, reddest man on it since Ted Kennedy was alive. Of course this one was standing and waving and smiling at everyone, which was a stark contrast to that other fat red elf.

The sheer humiliation of being related {but in denial} to the two little freaks bouncing around as if this was Santa himself, was insane. They smacked, poked, pushed, prodded, and harassed me the whole time about how Santa was on his way, and then assumed that from this they were finally in the promised land. I think perhaps the whole concept of “scare tactics” based on “Santa know if you've been bad or good” perhaps makes Kris Kringle a viable necessity, albeit total fiction or else these little bastards would have closets full of coal. Still furious that there wasn't a “Twilight Saga” float this year I counted my blessings that I could at least plot the biggest sequel to “Escape from New York” in the history of mankind, had it not been for that stupid Superdaddyman and his flagrant name dropping that was going to drag my unwilling victim ass, into Macy's to meet the fat guy himself. Heaven forbid that I ever get past the age of ten in any near future venue!

Watching the fake praise thrown at the feet of this Santa Claus was not even amusing after a while. Yeah I have to admit that he was charming, perhaps even personable. He was far better than the drunk they had last year, and in his own way the real whiskers was a nice touch. Kids were running all around him, and he was without a doubt very good at inter-idiot skills as he promised them everything from an X-Box 360 to Holidays named after them. That which he couldn't outright give them, he simply “moved” them into different things like that guy on “The Mentalist” and you gotta give him credit for that. The Superdaddyman was making the rounds and giving “shout outs” to his peeps, while I of course was stuck guarding the two smaller Evils's in the line. Unfortunately I was paying attention as the Fat Guy at the front of the line calling himself Kris Kringle with that Jonestown ferocity was faced with his first real Santafail moment, as the parents of a Croatian adopted refugee made it to the front of the line, apologizing profusely because the child couldn't speak English. I chuckled to myself as I waited for the grand Santafail, followed by my brilliantly executed “I told you so” rhetoric.

Unfortunately the rhetoric was put on hold as the man in the big red suit quickly hoisted her up on his lap and started speaking to her in something that sounded like Italian, but much harder to understand, “I što želite za Božić mali anđeo?” which was perplexing as the little girls face just lit up, and tears filled her eyes. She grabbed the Santa Claus {for lack of a better word} and started chirping in her own sweet little voice a mile a minute. They both conversed for quite a bit, and it was obvious that they both understood each other, so this really threw a wrench in my whole Santafail theory. The good news was that the other two Evils's driving me mental were too busy bothering each other to notice this, and I had plausible deniability. Of course the line that I was mired in with the other twits was getting smaller every minute, and that could pose some problems.

Seeing my little sister {I guess she's codenamed Imtoocutus} just blathering on and on and on about all the things that she wants, was torture. I mean any kid that asks Santa for clothes, and doesn't even apply any designers that she wants, is just plain weird. This was what she asked everyone for on her birthday, and they all just placated her, making me have to sit through a girl getting all excited over Wal-Mart and Target's latest fall fashions. Making wretching noises didn't change the tenor of it all, and I was forced to try and blame it on DNA issues as I am only 50% genetically related to the Eviltard. This also gives me an opportunity to rag on and on about that simpleton Superdaddyman who like totally gave her these genes. The color schemes she goes for as well, um .. let's just say we won't go there.

Then there was the whole Captain ADHD going on about how he really does need something called a Global thermonuclear incendiary device? Who the hell knows what one of those are but the Santa fraud sitting on the Santa throne seemed to know and was actively trying to talk him out of it. Needless to say if Captain ADHD wants one then there is a chance that anyone playing Santa would want to talk him out of it. On the other hand it isn't clothes so I would have to call him a bit more normal than the reject over there talking an angry looking elf's ear off. I think that the “diabolical one” as Superdaddyman would put it, was almost convinced that NERF makes some rather realistic thermoglobalthingymadingies, and was about to hop off of his lap. I was all for that because it would get us out of this line with the disease factories coughing all over me, but that wasn't going to be so easy now was it?

“And what do you want for Christmas young lady?” the non drunk more realistic than most Santa asked as he grabbed me by the arm. Hello? Can anyone here spell inappropriate touching? Well nobody is going to call me out for ruining Christmas for the mind numb robots and especially the ones that I have to live with, so I chose to not start screaming and beating him about the head. I did shoo the other two away so that I could have a “talk” with Santa. He added, “So what is your name young lady?”

“My name is Lazius Boycrazius and what is yours?” and he very cheerily pointed out that his name was Kris Kringle, and I chuckled a bit. The poor delusional old man didn't need me driving him over the edge so I simply said, “Well I'm not here to play the Santa game, I know that there is no such thing as Santa Claus, but you do seem to be a very nice old man with whiskers, and let's just leave it at that?”

His smile didn't break for a moment and he looked at me with a bit of comedy in his eyes. He started speaking in the usual patronizing voice but as he was with the little evils's was kind enough to at least get a bit of respect. “You haven't had it very easy, I imagine and somewhere along the way, you have lost faith in father Christmas I see?” his smile was after all infectious and I can see why the Macy's Santa makes the big bucks, “What can I do to restore your faith in me this year? I'm sure there is something you really want that only the REAL Santa Clause can give you?”

The man in the jolly red suit was patiently waiting as I eyeballed everyone staring at us. I couldn't crush everyone waiting in line and I couldn't hold UP the line any longer. I figured I would throw something out there rather snarky, and at the same time completely impossible, in the interest of “playing the game.” I cleared my throat and said, “Well if you really are the real Santa Clause then perhaps you could do the one thing that no man on planet Earth has done?” his face was alight with the challenge and my lips curled into a bit of an evil smirk, “You could give my mother a clue, instead of giving me anything at all. You could do it on behalf of my brother and sister, and give them the greatest Christmas of all?”

The light in his eye changed dramatically as he became somewhat somber. He didn't seem too out of sorts though as he stroked his beard, and considered what I had asked of him, “Well this one isn't going to be easy, and I can't make any promises, but I will do the best that I can,” he said with uncertainty in his voice. He looked up at me and asked, “This would restore your faith in father Christmas though, I have your word?”

Knowing full well that it is the impossible dream of even the most mind numb brother, I was perfectly safe in pledging my soul to Christmas itself as I nodded my agreement. I spoke up at that time saying, “If you can't I will still consider you just a nice old man with whiskers, but I sincerely doubt that even if you were Santa Claus you wouldn't be able to fix that,” I shot him a smile, and then added, “It's almost unfair of me to rest it all on that.”

He reached out and grabbed my hand to shake it, and his hand was unusually warm. He shook it up and down, and then said, “So it is up to Santa Claus to save the very spirit of Christmas in you, and I am up for the task. Nothing in this world is really that easy after all.” … to be continued