I woke up early X-mas morning. Santa Claus was sprawled all over my floor. I kicked at him but he merely snorted and rolled up into the fetal position and began snoring. What a snore! The floor was rattling underneath my stocking feet he was snoring so stentoriously. Then I noticed the two dead soldiers caught within the scragglings of his tattered beard. Empties. One my bottle of Jameson's Irish 12-year-old and the other what had been a half liter of Baker Beam's Best, that special Tennessee bourbon 12-year-old. Those 12-year-old whiskies leave you flattened like a 12-year-old kid after a wild masturbatory session. God, Santa just farted. A fart of horse-fart proportions. I had to flee the room.
I left out of the house around 1:30 pm to see if I could score some food. My favorite Irish Pub closes one day a year and guess what day that is? It was closed. Brother Jimmy's Bar-b-cue over east of me was closed, too. No food, dammit. And I was starving. All I had the night before was a prissy salad from a Hale & Hardy soup joint. A packaged salad. Hope the teenage punks who made it wore gloves.
I knew one place on Third Avenue would be open. It's always open. So I dog-trotted over to Third. The joint was open but it was packed. There was a line waiting to be seated. Fuck this, I bellowed. I stopped this good-looking chick--Third Avenue has some good-looking babes living along it--and I asked her if she knew of a place open--I offered to buy her lunch--she shot me the bird and runwayed her way on down the street.
I was getting overheated. Suddenly it was hot. I unzipped my Mongolian-made winter coat. I was stifling. I walked all the way back from Third over to Broadway--a long way--a tiring way, and by the time I got to Broadway I was discombobulated and worn out. Shit. A god-damn Subway sandwich joint was open. God-dammit. I went in and bought a foot-long ham & Swiss cheese, dressed with spinach (the virile kind I assume), pickles, olives, mayo, oil & vinegar--I got the full meal--a foot-long sandwich, a 16-oz Barq's root beer, and a package of Lay's chips. A crap meal. My X-mas lunch and dinner. What a bummer! I couldn't eat the god-damn thing. I ate half of it and then threw the rest away. A waster of food on X-mas. Now I'm fingering out big lumps of whipped Philadelphia brand cream cheese with blueberries in it my gal pal left here for me. Disgusting stuff really, but dammit I'm hungry--mucho hambre!
I went back to bed at 5 pm. Santa Claus was gone. He left a huge puddle in the middle of my floor. I mopped the floor. The stench was overwhelming. I lit some newspaper afire in my toilet bowl. The scent of the burning newspaper wiped out the Santa smells, though I let the fire in the toilet go on too long and cracked the bowl; there's a big long crack in it now.
The Chinese in my building burn newspaper in their apartments to drive the ghosts out. Yes, they do do that. They do. Plus they spit a lot and the men smoke cigarette after cigarette washing their smokes down with cans of Budweiser (no longer an American beer, can you believe that?).
What presents did I get for X-mas? A: NONE. I was totally jealous when I read www.languagehat.com and L Hat was tooting about all the great gifts he got and how his wife cooked filet mignon for him and uncorked a bottle of wine for his ass--what a lucky son of a bitch--though I knew L Hat when he wasn't so lucky. I remember going to a Mets playoff game one cold-ass September late-month night--but I won't go into that story--my intentions are to praise L Hat and not remind him of those days he's excised from his memory--he does now have a fine wife (that's how I compliment a woman--by calling her fine), a smart woman--and you better be smart to live around L Hat--and this woman is a smart woman--and that's enough about the glorious side of X-mas.
Obama's still bothering me with his conservative choices for his cabinet. None of them very bright in my eyes; a lot of them out and out nutjobs, like this Gates character and that General Petraus character, both men who Obama seems to genuinely like and trust. I don't get it! You have a chance to be a truly great and honest and progressive president and he seems like he's determined to drive in the ruts the Clintons made in the muddy road that is our current government, a government of cronies, leftovers, has-beens, people who aren't progressive at all. Some of these goons, like Bill Richardson, for instance, are backwards thinkers--Bill Richardson is a big backer of nuclear energy--uranium is a New Mexico mineral--big uranium deposits out around Gallup, New Mexico.
And choosing a totally hairbrained rightwing pastor to give his invocation (and what does this invocation symbolize--and don't you have to have a rabbi there--and now an emir?)--a fundie Christian dude who hates gays and blacks--what in the hell is wrong with Obama?--on the other hand, he is putting the right-wingers who made him shed his black preacher and teacher because he was too RACIST--he simply said the honky was responsible for the black man's condition--on the spot. What do you think? I still don't see Obama's strategy. And putting the people he's put in his cabinet. They're mostly Clinton henchmen--Gates is a Bush henchman--wouldn't you want to clean the White House out of those chiselers and backwards thinking Neanderthals--throw 'em all out in the street (or better, put 'em in jail)? I just don't understand Obama yet--or if I do, hell, I see him as a nutjob Conservative. You could almost call him half-a-Neo-Con with some of his administration picks.
I did hear one interesting proposition over X-mas. A guy on the radio said how come we don't lay an excess-profits tax on Exxon-Mobil, Halliburton, KBR, etc.--make them pay for rebuilding our nation's roads and railroads and superstructure, you know. Obama's gonna put money into public transportation, which is a ploy--new public transportation means more bucks for real estate developers.
I said I'm out of the political concept for good, but then politicos keep trying to bring us down; we have to somehow stand up to them.
I watched that dweeby Arnie Schwarzennazi talking about how Cal-ee-forn-y-ah was broke--not just broke, but broke by billions upon billions--so broke, the Guv is thinking about emptying the prisons--he can't afford to house prisoners anymore--thank god, however, he did get same-sex marriage outlawed--God made Adam and Eve not Adam and Bruce (though I interpret God as a homosexual). What poppycock. What stupid reasoning. Believing in God. Believing in gods. Believing in Holy Babbles. Have you ever read the Christian Bible? It's insane reading--almost as insane as the Book of the Mormon.
And the music over the holidays! God awful. And Mannheim Steamroller keeps manufacturing that god-awful crap they do every X-mas out of Omaha, Nebraska, a cornpone state. But, by God, at the very last minute, just as I was flipping the teevee off for maybe good, there he was, Jose Feliciano, and oh holy shit, he was singing Felice Navidad--oh holy bullshit!
Jose Felicenavidadiana still trying to light his fire.
What a pobrecito Navidad for poor ole me, who'd rather have been chasing baby elks up in the northern areas of Yellowstone Park...but alas, I must obey the human in me and HO-HO-HO.
I used to be a regular at the Ho-Ho Restaurant just outside of Rockefeller Center in NYC...just like most of my old haunts, Ho-Ho's is no longer with us--and Jimmy Chin the bartender told me Ho-Ho meant good luck in Mandarin--and I once had a statue of Uncle Ho, from China--Uncle Ho's the little smiling dude with the big fat belly that you rub for luck.
HO-HO-HO,
thegrowlingsantaclauswolf
for The Daily Growler
Goodbyes to Eartha Kitt and Harold Pinter.
Eartha wearing her sable from Santa Baby
Hal Pinter, no more birthday parties
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