Happy Holidays Big Boy

I’m burning Christmas present cds or Holiday present cds, as we say here in mostly Baptist or Catholic yet proactively Diverse Nova Scotia. As Ian has warned me, the whole escapade is fraught with danger. But hey, I like living on the edge.

What’s the worst they can do?

Sharpen the edge of the cd on their snow shovels and use it to decapitate me as punishment for my excruciating taste in music?

That’s not terribly likely.

Apparently there’s a return culture here for unwanted Christmas presents. Everyone goes to Walmart or Sears or The Bay (depending on the class of present you get I suppose) and queues to get their money back or to exchange. The Liberals are making jokes about it being the best place to canvass on Stephen’s Day.

So I’ll probably arrive back from my holidays in New Jersey to find ten cds sitting on my desk.

Speaking of holidays, we’re getting phone calls in from people who are pissed off with the whole Happy Holidays syndrome. If I have to answer one of them, I tell them I agree with them totally. I mean, it’s terrible; us Christians have had our most important religious festival destroyed by consumerist capitalist culture. And now in the name of diversity, they want to do the same to Hannekah, Ramadan and Diwali. In order to sell even more former lofty maple or spruce trees, chopped up, painted and masquerading as tawdry decorations and gee gaws, some evil advertising guru has invented Happy Holidays. It’d make you weep, wouldn’t it?

They usually hang up in complete bewilderment after a couple of minutes of that.

It’s amazing what you get away with when you have a lilting Irish accent.

Some nutter rang me the other day to give out about the price of petrol. I asked him what he drove. Of course it was some gas-guzzlin’ crock of American patriotic shit, so I gave out to him at length for wasting my time and the planet’s resources. Then I stopped, because I’d gone too far really. And he might vote for us one of the days.

And he said “I love it when Irish women yell at me. Do it to me again.”

I was speechless.

Then I got to thinking; I could set up one of those 1800-lines. I could get an IDA grant and open a call centre up in Malin Head or in West Mayo. I bet I could get ACOA to give me a grant too. I could site the back-end operations in Cape Breton or something.

I’d make a fortune and I’d bring valuable 'new economy' jobs to a deprived area in the west of Ireland, so I’d be a saint as well and they’d probably name an airport after me.

And then I could go lie on a beach in Mexico and write the scripts:

“Ooh, you naughty naughty Moosehead; have you been out driving through the wetlands on your ENORMOUS THROBBING ATV again? Put that can of Keiths down RIGHT NOW and come over here, you excuse for a man you! Where’s your hockey stick? What do you mean, the other guys broke it over your head during a game? You know all that rough play is just your homoerotic fantasies playing themselves out in an acceptable setting, don't you, you unreconstructed good ole boy! No, begorrah, it's not a new shopping channel I'm talking about! Bring both pieces to me NOW, sharp ends up! I’m going to have to punish you severely with them, aren’t I?”

Jaysus, I should stop this before I get too enthusiastic.

Speaking of pervy goings on on the Interweb, I was looking at my site meter the other day, and I got a hit from someone who had done a Google search for ‘really big breasts’.

Those of you who know me know how hilarious that is.

I wonder what he made of Queenie + Percy?