A couple of weeks ago, me, Manolo Quezon, Ding Gagelonia, Dean Jorge Bocobo, CaffeineSparks, the Jester-in-Exile, and Arbet Bernardo had dinner over at Savory at San Juan. Politics was, of course, a requisite in a dinner with them, along with dating tips from Jester and Sparks… I still don’t understand dating for the life of me. No wonder my love life is an epic fail.
Having the attention span of a mosquito with Alzheimer’s disease, my awesome powers of observation did not lead me to realizing that Rom and her friends did pass by N. Domingo. It did lead me to a rather interesting sight as Savory was closing for the night:
Yes, folks; that is the sight of Savory’s giant dancing Santa Claus with a plastic bag on his head. And yes, I take bad pictures.
I’ve always figured Santa to be emo; I’m sure he was not wearing those checkered scarves that scream jihad (with all due respect and apologies to Muslims who wear this article of clothing meaningfully). A friend of mine says they’re called “shemags…” and all along, I’ve been calling them “smegma.” At least that corrects the impression that the scarves worn by stupid-looking emo people are synonymous with genital secretions.
You do learn something new everyday.
Anyway, I digress. I figure that a guy who always gets extorted by the whole race of children for Christmas presents has every right to be emo. I wonder how many ponies and bicycles the guy can fit in his sleigh. If they do, I wonder if the reindeer have been fed with enough nutritious moss to pull an overloaded sleigh across the heavens. The elves, who applied for membership at the Elfin Union, have been screwed by Legolas for the last time.
I figure that Santa’s red suit is not actually red, but turned red from all the self-mutilation he has performed on himself over the years because of you and your Christmas spirit. After all, there are a lot of other things that can possibly make Santa emo:
- We feed him enough milk and cookies to last until the next Christmas expedition. Pirates, slaves, and prisoners are fed way better than Santa Claus.
- We accuse him of being nothing more than an invention of the Coca-Cola Company, or a commercialized bastardization of Catholic iconography.
- Nobody asked Santa Claus what he wants for Christmas. I wonder how many times he looked under his tree and wondered if any snot-nosed kid out there gave him a copy of Christmas-themed porno.
- Here’s a guy who has to make you happy in spite of a global financial crisis. At this very moment, he’s probably thinking of laying off a couple dozen elves.
- There’s the obligatory fat joke: does Santa have a penis?
OK, okay, I know that Santa Claus does not exist, and them Christmas gifts you’ve been getting have all been bought from the store by your parents. I’m just being bitter because years of writing Santa never got me a Thomas the Tank Engine toy train.
Anyway, now that Santa’s now conveniently dead at Savory – and he’ll probably be alive again next year for all the abuse we give him as materialistic peons who pontificate about the “true meaning of Christmas” – let me and my typing monkeys break it down for you right here:
From Marocharim and his typing monkeys…
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
(Well, that was a stupid way to stretch a picture and a Christmas message. Doh!)