4 Dec


Randy Rudolph was more than happy to lead the team astray tonight…



Its Christmas time and the freaks are shipping in on the yuletide express. Rather than an electrically illuminated time of good will to all men and peace on earth we are caught up in a battle of wills and ideologies. If it isn’t the Christians and their keeping their Christ in Christmas routine then it’s the atheists with you know it’s all a myth poster down in New York City. Given that the advent of Christmas falls directly in line with the winter solstice, and that we have universally accepted the demise of the human race according to the Mayan calendar, I’m thinking that maybe the chronologists might have the edge on this one!

Why can’t we all just get along, who cares what Christmas or the holidays means to everybody else? It’s a holiday (holy-day?) which in my book rates a family feast; a fist full of beers followed by a five hour television extravaganza of Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang and Bed Knobs and Broomsticks. Christmas is about tradition. It just wouldnt be a happy jolly time  without the fat homeless guy stinking of booze bursting out of his Santa suit, the faux Germanic tree god made of plastic and other combustible materials, the Illuminated animal appendage powered by 110 volts! As kitsch as the accoutrements of Christmas are, there can be no shadow of doubt that it is the birthday of a very special little boy;the king of kings who was allegedly born on this day.


Santa felt that despite the last egg-nog he would still be able to drive the sleigh ….


I must admit that I find it a tad hard to believe that although antiquity  could find three kings bearing gifts, a wandering shepherd with a nervous flock, a shop which sold swaddling clothes (whatever they are?), that the happy expectant couple couldn’t find a room! I mean the people of Bethlehem knew the crowds were coming, it was a sold out event. The decree from Caesar Augusta was made public months before. It wasn’t like the town’s people didn’t have time to prepare.

What happened to the local entrepreneurs with their sheep skin covered accommodations, the mutton-bratwurst guys and the palm-beer tent? Surely a home coming to end all home comings should have been preempted by cheer leaders and a marching Pharisee band. With a little capital investment from the temple money lenders and a few denarii from the Roman soldiers, they could  all have had a bloody good time. In fact, and excuse the pun, a Christmas to remember.

Don we now our gay apparel, was taken seriously in George’s house..


But I digress.

Whizzing through the evening traffic, I hear some random add for credit card consolidation on the radio and hasten through the channels to find the Christmas station. There they are; all my old favorites.

 Bing and his whistling rendition of White Christmas, Nat king Cole with his soulful version of Coming Home for Christmas. You can’t help but cringe and grimace remembering those Christmases of long, long, ago.

 Just as I am about to join Bing in the Chorus, some bastard wearing a Santa hat cuts me off. My foot hits the break, my hands grab the steering wheel, and with great diplomacy I inform the jovial twat-in the-hat that he is number one in my book.

 Screw you and your bloody merry Christmas you fat useless bastard!

 Feeling slightly better I return to the soothing sounds pouring from my speakers. Once again peace and love have united inside my vehicle and I concentrate on getting home despite the miles and miles I still have to travel.

As if by a Christmas miracle the radio starts to play Band Aid and I am thrown into an apoplexy of Joy. I know all the words and can even recognize the singers by their voices. All the old eighties favorites; Simon le Bon, Bonno, Paul Young, George Michael, Boy George. Bloody fanatastic ….

” Here’s to them underneath that burning sun, here’s to them raise a glass for everyone….do they know it’s Christmas time at all?” whoever they were?

Wasn’t it starving Ethiopians we were trying to save at the time, charity at the speed of 45rpm’s! Time moves on. The emaciated bodies buried in the desert ,where no rain or rivers flow, are long forgotten,  their sun bleached bones desicating in the African heat. Despite the unseasonal images of  Biblical famine, the lyrics in my head remain pristine and do not distract me from my Christmas glow, nor do they sour my holiday spirit.

Just when I think it can’t get any better and I have belted out the last chorus, the miracle of Christmas continues.

 It’s WHAM!

A twat in a hat..

Beautifully composed lyrics, coupled with perfectly arranged music. One has the sense that an angel is piddling in one’s ear! My mind skips to the video; the sight of George and Andrew running through the snow throwing fake snowballs at Pepsi and Shirley. The lilt of the sleigh bell, indicating to the seasonally oblivious that this is in fact a Christmas song. Isn’t that the same with most of these money making ditties; as long as theirs sleighs bells it Christmas worthy?

An image of George pops up in my head with his big Colgate smile; how the mighty are fallen! Now he is an overweight drug addict, serving time at her majesties behest. Attracted to anything in trousers especially when finding himself in a public convenience on Hampstead Heath with some illicit, equally squalid, anonymous piece of arse! But not back then, and certainly not during my favorite Christmas song.

“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away”…..queue sleigh bells!

Back then George was pure girl-bait, a handsome successful man with nothing but yuletide frivolity on his mind. Blazing fires, decorated trees, wrapped presents, eggnog with friends and family, good wholesome stuff. But that was a lifetime ago. No matter my feelings towards George and that good for nothing wanker Andrew Ridgley, I am determined that the deviant lifestyle he has led since is not going detract from my seasonal enjoyment.

George was happy with his fourth place placement in the Mr.Rodriquez look-a-like competition

I turn the radio up louder and scream out the lyrics.

“This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special..”

 I press the accelerator to the floor and  chase the twat-in-the Christmas-hat. Murderous intent boils in my veins as I proceed to cut him off at the next intersection, unexpectedly hitting my brakes,  causing my fellow man  to nearly wreck.

 Got to love Christmas…..good will to all men.

Mr Rodriquez was happy with his fourth place placement in the George Michael look-a-like competition!


2 Responses to “THE X-RATED-MASS..”

  1. Dana December 12, 2010 at 4:57 pm #

    Okay, wait wait wait….this might show my age (very young, I may add), but Boy George was once a WOMAN magnet??? My my how times have changed.

  2. Dana December 12, 2010 at 4:59 pm #

    And, yes, apparently that’s all I got out of the whole story, which really does touch on some interesting points regarding the Christmas holidays. Quite possibly, once again showing my (very young) age.

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