Christmas is a fascinating time to be alive right now. To begin with, America is crashing to the ground in flames, to be replaced as Heavyweight Champion of the World by China, which will enslave all of America’s men and use its women to create newer, stronger workers who can then use their collective force to obliterate the Universe as we know it.
But it’s also interesting if you’re afraid of having a heart attack. This is where I am, right now. Recently, at least two family members have died of heart attacks and loss of the ability to breathe and one more may well die soon from a heart surgery that didn’t work.
When everybody is dying around you and the world is coming to an abrupt end, and you are a pathetic furry faggot whose hobbies, like architecture and Lego design, are hated by God Himself, you begin to wonder when God is going to smite you. I have, of course, been on Smite Watch recently. Let me tell you why I am afraid that God is going to smite me:
- Recently, I counted my heart rate and it was like 120 beats per minute or something, by my estimates.
- My left arm is tingling.
- I wrote this post, which is supposed to be lighthearted and funny but will crash to the ground harder even than the U.S. economy, and my family will be talking about it for years, just like the time I said that Republicans were on the level of shit-throwing apes and got a stern lecture from one of my Republican cousins.
- Also, in spite of the fact that I am actually a Christian, it sounds like I’m making fun of Jesus in this article, which I am absolutely not, but God may not care that I’m just joking around, and although he loves the sinner he hates the sin, and thus he will smite me.
- I feel dizzy.
- I just had a massive heart attack.
And so on and so forth. Of course my fears are completely unjustified, and as usual I am a ridiculous hypochondriac for having spared them half a thought, but it is still tempting to think that God cares so much about the way that I act that He would knowingly give me a heart attack as punishment.
Note: God may still knowingly give me a heart attack as punishment for my obsessions with architecture and Lego design. He’s God. He can do that.
In addition to all that, of course, I am working on getting noise-reduction headphones for Christmas. You smart people out there probably already have these things. God help you if there’s ever a fire in your house while you’re wearing them. He’d probably give you a heart attack for your accounting hobby, or whatever it is you do when you’re not reading this horrible blog.
I also want a new external hard drive for my computer. Recently I bought a camera, and immediately after buying it I realized that its puny thirty-two million byte Card O’ Data was not enough for our rapidly-changing world. So I bought a new one for it, which can hold four billion bytes of pure imagey goodness, and therefore my digital camera can now record an entire episode of Dancing with the Stars, assuming you wish to use it to do such a heinous thing.
Anyway, with such power comes great responsibility, such as adding even more space for more data for my computer to keep track of. I’m thinking of buying a hard drive (SPOILER ALERT: It is hard) with two-hundred fifty billion byte storage capacity. That way I can have a full database of every single Dancing with the Stars episode ever recorded. Once I reach this pinnacle, no jury in the world would convict me of murder, especially if I murder the contestants themselves. Unless Johnnie Cochran represents the Prosecution. And since he’s a defense attorney, I’m totally safe.
But of course, I would never kill Dancing with the Stars contestants. Never. For serious.
Enough of my holiday wishes, though. Christmas, of course, is a time when we all remember Jesus’ birth. Jesus, in case you haven’t read the Bible, is a total pimping badass. He healed the sick and he gave sight to the deaf, and on occasion he was able to overcome his dyslexia and give hearing to the blind. He was awesome like that.
Jesus was also the son of God, and was a carpenter. A badass carpenter at that, but nevermind his woodworking skills. More important, of course, were his wordworking skills, at least back when he was giving out words. That was back before we nailed him to a cross. Note that we never nailed Richard Nixon to a cross. That’s just the kind of smart, sensible people humans are.
Jesus is said to work via mysterious ways. This is why Jack Chick tracts are so hard to understand. It’s important to remember that Jesus is still more understandable than normal people like me, as my latest article on the Detroit Three bailout will attest.
As a reminder of how great Jesus was, we celebrate his birth by erecting large Pagan trees in our houses and put all kinds of frilly objects on them and act rudely to relatives who come to our houses looking for food and presents. (My mother has assured me that our family does not do this.) It’s a vague reminder of what it is to be an American, because such scenes of tenderness and beauty were conveyed by visionaries like Norman Rockwell, who even today reminds Americans of Christmases long past that never really occurred but are nice to remember anyway.
Let’s remember those Rockwell Christmases. Don’t forget: If we do, Abraham Lincoln will rise from the dead and give gay people the right to freely marry one another. Don’t ask why; remember, God works in mysterious ways. It will be a great time for America. People will dance around the Christmas tree, singing that “Dahoo Doorehs” song in the Grinch movie and play old Rankin/Bass Christmas movies that seemed to have appeared randomly as virtual particles from outer space. Iraqis will rejoice and spontaneously make love to one another on the sidewalk. And the Christmas Specials Wiki will continue to exist.
Yes, of course there’s a Christmas Specials wiki. It is accessible at http://christmas-specials.wikia.com/wiki/Christmas_Specials, and like the old Rankin/Bass movies it seems to have appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly, there’s a place where just anybody can write out information on Christmas TV shows and movies. Like Wikipedia, “The Pretend Encyclopedia that Anyone can Edit”, probably none of the information is useable for a college-level essay, which would offend me if I actually had to go to school, which thank God/Norman Rockwell I do not. I will ask my friend Dessie the Pagan lesbian Transformers slash fanfiction author, who also happens to be the cutest girl in the known Universe and is single, ladies, to write out an article for the site on any Transformers Christmas specials she knows of, including any pornographic ones. It will be a great day in American history. I would love to see it, but unfortunately I have a heart attack I’m waiting for.