Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal!

​Okay.
 
*deep breath*
 
Can we all agree that having “fast-food” level warmth and viscosity as the current outdoor climate, at this time of year, this far north of the 49th, is complete holiday-grade reindeer shit?!? This is RS. Complete RS. A big steamy pile of gingerbread-laced el pooperino, in fact.
 
Now, my beyootiful family and I have established our permanent basecamp for what is the uphill drudgery of life on the Western-ish side of Canada. In the province of Alberta, to be more precise, and just a mere beaver-throw away from the edge of the Rockies to boot. We’re so close, in fact, that my over-inflated ego as a narcissistic author with access to the internet has to have a National Park Pass fastened to the side of it so that I abide by park admission rules should I venture into my kitchen for a snack. We live here, in part, because we want to enjoy the wonderful wonderland that is winter in the mountains.
 
So, what gives, Mutha Nature?!
 
How come it’s damn near two weeks ‘till Christmas and I can actually heat up the inside of my truck by rolling down the windows after I pull it out of my heated garage at FIVE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING?!?! Make with the snow already!
 
I’m constantly checking NASA to see if the magnetic poles have finally gone AWOL or something, like, what gives? Shit, I’ve vacationed in Cuba with colder weather than this! And FYI, when I was a kid, snow was a given by Halloween, Thanksgiving at the latest. You were far more generous with the flakes back then, let me tell you. Now you’re just stingy.
 
And you can bet Christmas day itself landed at our house with at least a sprinkle of fresh, delicious powder over everything to mark the occasion. Not to mention the already-accumulated four feet of snow that dear ol’ Dad laboriously shoveled into a ten-foot high pile which gave us nosebleeds whenever we attempted a run for the summit. Why, there was so much snow that –.

…What was that?... About the truck? And the heated…

Oh, I see what you’re getting at. You’re pissed about the environment and the melting ice caps and the coral bleaching and the ducks with the plastic 6-pack rings around their necks and the blah blah blah.

For your edification, I’ll have you know I don’t use that pick-me-up truck very often. Only when my wife’s smaller car isn’t around. Or if I want to go biking. Or if I want to listen to my stereo while getting groceries. Damn it.
 
But at least I carpool to work! And in my co-worker’s small Korean sedan, thank you very much. And the heat in the garage? I keep it set barely above freezing, and for that very reason; to keep our bathroom pipes on the level above from freezing cock-stiff. Well, that, and to keep my bikes warm; poor things.
 
And the whole flying-to-a-tropical-destination-on-a-'2500kgs-of-fuel-burned-per-hour-mechanical-bird-deal'-just-so-we-can-relax-on-a-sunny-beach-with-a-mojito thing? Yeah, that’s ‘cause by the time February came around back then (that was darn near eight years ago, you smarmy bitch) our internal bodily temperatures had been so suppressed that even my wife no longer reacted to the gentle application of a stainless-steel spoon to her lower back. It’s only through geographical intervention that the poor woman was able to maintain enough basic circulation for life, replacing the need for an all day hot-water bottle strapped to her mid-section and wearing double mittens at dinner time. There were peas everywhere all through January, fer cryin’ out loud.
 
And contrary to what you may think, we dooo try to help you out. We recycle, I’ll have you know. And, the missus maintains a garden when you’re not busy freezing tomatoes. Shoot, we go for walks on the trails to teach our young ‘uns to respect nature by not littering or riding any deer before they’re weaned. We don’t have ATV’s, we don’t wash our vehicles with soap in the driveway, and the boys in the family reuse underwear up to four times before laundering, cutting down on energy and soap use. (Been working on the wife on that but with no luck; she’s so bad for needing clean clothes all the time. Girls, am I right?)
 
 
We’re trying, okay? I know there’s a lot more we could do to help you out, and we’re working on it, I promise. As soon as I figure out how to steal a Tesla I’ll let ya know. Hey, we’re better than a lot of other shitheads out there! Like those douchecanoes who run straight exhaust pipes on their over-compensating diesel pickups, fast-food fucks who can’t summon up enough useful calories to walk over the four feet to the trash bin with their garbage, and clueless troglodytes who still deny human-caused climate change as a thing even while wearing shorts in mid-December in CANADA!
 
So fuck them over, would ya?! Create super-concentrated acid cloud bursts or mini twisters or surprise sink holes to wipe those ungrateful, disrespecting sphincter-pockets off the face of your beautiful planet so the rest of us can go about unimpeded, trying to balance things out for you. There are laws against us whacking each other silly, but you, you could deal some sweet justice however you see fit and make the world a better place. And no one would begrudge you for your vigilante ways. After all, we kinda started this whole thing by ticking you off regularly since the industrial revolution… Just remember to leave the nice, caring humans alone, ‘kay? Do that and maybe then we could really do our best to help you make sure we get some nice fresh snow all winter long.
 
I just want Christmas to look like I remember growing up. I want it for me. I want it for my children. I want it for the simple joy it brings to everyone (well, most people anyway) when they see and hear the chaos of the world around them muted by a soft blanket of mesmerizing ice fractals, allowing for a few wonderful moments of utter peace during a very special time of year.
 
By the way, this seems as good a time as any to mansplain something to my fellow humans. ‘Cause I can’t really think of a good segue to get there, and I’m too drowsy from all this eggnog to put in the effort.
 
Dear holiday celebrator,
 
If our paths should cross this holiday season, I will very likely wish you a Merry Christmas. It’s what I celebrate this time of year, so it’s what I know. I’m a Christian of Convenience afterall (remember?) You don’t have to like it, I suppose, but at least enjoy the good intentions behind it. Christmas for me is a time to gather friends and family in a spirit of unity, all while giving a nod to the Big Man upstairs and a fist bump for Jesus.
 
So, I say Merry Christmas to you, and wish you well. And if Christmas ain’t your thing, no worries. I just ask that you graciously accept my kind offering of peaceful wishes, and if you like, please feel free to send me your own holiday well-wish (that a term?) Wish me a Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Las Posadas, Diwali, Chinese New Year, Winter Solstice, End of Taxable Year, AMA Renewal, or Happy Pee Pictures in the Snow Season.
 
I will accept your well-wishes regardless of the particular celebration they are associated with. I’ve never experienced Hanukkah, but it sounds really interesting, what with the ever-lasting oil lamp and dreidels. And I don’t know much about Kwanzaa other than it being an African celebration but I bet it’s rad, no question. And you celebrate the season of being able to draw stuff in the snow with pee?! Me too! Let’s get a couple water bottles and make some art, baby!
 
My point is, we live in a multicultural nation, and I love it that way. I don’t expect you to assimilate to my customs or celebrations. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. Tell me about your stuff. Shit, I can push off my dentist appointment for another month (actually, I’d prefer it, I forgot to floss. Again.), we can grab a coffee, relax by the fire, and tell each other all about our traditions. We all have stuff to celebrate this holiday season, so let’s do it right, shall we?

…
…

(I realize I could just end this right here – well, maybe before all the little periods above signifying a rusty thought process – but I just love kicking a horse ‘till it’s all the way underground. Proverbial ones, of course.)


I want snow, dammit. But mama nature feels compelled to teach us all a lesson, and rightly so. Looks like I’ll have to bolt some wheels onto that old plastic sled so we can keep at least one traditional winter activity alive in our memories.
 
And you know what? Talking to you out there, sympathetic reader. Next time you run into some self-centered a-hole who doesn’t give a bip about this unique gift to all of us that is our planet and way of life, stop them in their tracks, take a deep breath, and channel your inner Clark Griswold to give them a traditional holiday tongue-lashing.
 
“Hey, you cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit! Don’t you want some fucking snow?!”
 
Hallelujah! Holy shit!
 
Where's the Tylenol?
 
 
Mezzer

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If you happen to know the delightful classic holiday movie I've referenced in the title, go ahead and award yourself seventeen Biography of a Nobody points! You have proven yourself worthy!

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Merry Christmas!