Yet another Christmas decapitation. This is probably a DIRECT consequence of having the entire Yuletide police force made out of elves.

Friends don’t let friends be resin-cast. When you get into a car this Christmas, make sure you’re ceramic.

“Giant festive cookie-man” is actually a new category for me. I don’t think I’ll set up a tag for it, as this is the first one to grace my pages. But I think it’s highlighted my single biggest holiday regret this year:

I regret that I don’t travel with a fistful of fresh double-A batteries, because whatever little dance this fellow does, it would have been absolute magic on toast.

I’m thinking this next one is only funny in my head.

In part, it’s funny because I have never seen such a perfect, minimalist expression of a garden gnome. It transcends concerns of form and representation and goes straight to the essential gnomishness of the thing, the quiddity of lawn art, the basic gnomon.

But mostly it’s funny because I found a second-hand pyrex butt plug in this section once, and I’m having flashbacks. I don’t think the application that springs to mind was covered in “101 uses for a gnome.” Nor should it have been.

This shot represents one of a vast panorama of tiny figurines that magically appeared one morning at the Goodwill on Parmer. I took photos of all of them, but can’t for the life of me remember why, it seemed funny at the time…this one, though, seemed like a keeper.

“Forensic analysis showed the victim to be a blond girl, possibly in her early teens, possibly younger. A detailed examination showed no evidence of Hummel collectability. The press has already listed her as another victim of the snow-angel killer.”

Does YOUR Santa have a…problem moustache?

If your answer is “Yes,” or “God Yes,” consider having all his facial hair replaced with a thick layer of caulking! It’s durable, washable, and best of all, no cookie crumbs!

Once in a while, Santa likes to escape from Mrs. Claus, go up to the northern lakes in Canada, take the fishing pole, and go a little feral. It’s in his nature. He comes back home with a half-pound of bracken stuck in his hair and smelling of caribou, but once he gets that out of his system, it’s back to the toymill.

…on the matter of elf rights. A lot of people say Santa’s abusing the elves, that he uses his status and reputation to get away with something that’s nearly slavery, paying his workers with no more than a fistful of cranberries and maybe some hot chocolate in return for over 64,200 tons of toys every year. And there’s some truth in that. But, really, have you ever actually looked at an elf?

Seriously, better that they stay at the north pole and as far away from civilization as possible. Anything that voluntarily wears those booties is NOT fit for life outside Santa’s Workshop.

Angel decapitation and “Death in the Snow” from Goodwill near Parmer and I35, Giant Festive Cookie Man from Savers on South Lamar, Insertable glass gnome and Frizzy Santa from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Creepy Elf turned up on January 8 at the Goodwill on 2222. Seriously, January 8. Like I had a camera with me that day. Stupid elves.

“Kid, I have been doing this for, like, 1900 years. Frankly, I don’t care if you’ve been naughty, or nice, or if Livejournal shut down your page because of their new obscenity laws. I’m dumping this crap here, and you’re going to get it. Whatever the hell it is, you better hope it’s one size fits all and unisex.”

“You wanted a conch, right? What kid doesn’t want a conch. The elves…the damned elves made 740,000 conchs this year, so you’re getting one. Oh, and a ‘betsy-no-face,’ very popular doll in 1893. Wouldn’t want to have any nonconformity, right? There’s your doll. Don’t bother opening the box, it’s empty, just wanted to have something there with some sparkle on it. Now, unless you have the REST of this sherry, get the hell upstairs and think about sugarplums or whatever.”

Sometimes, sometimes Christmas makes people do some crazy things. Particularly elves. “Don’t come any closer, Santa! Don’t do it, or I will fucking CUT this doll!”

“Don’t do it, Santa, he means it!”

“Now, just put down the lists, and tell the reindeer and all the little children that we are taking a BREAK this year, and that we do NOT make Nintendo DSs. Seriously, the other elves are going blind and not in a happy way. So…two weeks of vacation, and nobody gets hurt.”

Needless to say, when Santa’s union-busters came in, this particular elf was never seen again, except possibly as another half-inch of rustic on the reindeer’s stable floor.

I worked in a Christian bookshop for five or ten years, give or take. I don’t particularly like angels. The cute ones are insipid, the majestic ones are tedious. But no-one, not even a plump little angel in a tartan wrap holding a fluffy heart, deserved this.  “I just…I just wanted to give you my heart. I can handle rejection, but my hair was so beautiful…why?”

Yeesh. Poor thing! It set out to be a messenger of Christmas goodwill, and ended up looking like George Costanza. Really, how’s that fair? What about Christmas is fair? But to come down to earth from your fluffy pink cloud and then face off with a three-year-old with his mommy’s Fiskars? That’s beyond the pale.

We could wish that, in Heaven at least, there is no male pattern baldness.

From the “Angel Seconds” bin, a “Precious Moments” angel sheds a single tear, and takes off his halo.

The demotion from “Angel” to “Choirboy” must have stung a little bit, but probably not as much as when they yanked his wings off. Poor thing–if it weren’t a “precious moments” figurine, I might feel something for you. Besides a certain dark glee.

I think this deserves a wry grin. Schadenfreude pumpkin, will you help me on this one?

Thank you, pumpkin.

So…on this one, I’m left with a few options–assuming that the brick-a-brak shelf at Savers is factually and hagiographically accurate, which I always assume–one is that Santa was originally a pair of conjoined twins, and either had some very clever operation or else the mall Santas are deceptively non-conjoined and a conspiracy has lied to us for over a hundred years to keep us from the TRUTH. Another: that Santa reproduces by budding, or that he’s attempting to clone himself, and the results of this blasphemous nativity are of mixed success. Regardless…behold the truth of Santa

On the plus side, he still seems jolly, and that’s important when you’re a mockery of the human form and a sign that God has largely left humanity and its genetics to sort it out on their own.

What I wonder is…how does he fit through the chimney?

Before you settle in for a left-over turkey sandwich and maybe some nearly-expired eggnog, think about the people that don’t have what you have. This christmas…think about people without heads.

Another senseless nutcracker tragedy. Nutcracking must be hazardous work!

The tragedy of angel pattern baldness from Goodwill near Anderson Mill and 183, Conjoined Twin Santa, “…or I’ll kill this doll,” and “Bitter Santa Empties his Sack” from Savers on North Loop and Burnet, Tragic Nutcracker Killing from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Finally, Justice comes to Precious Moments Angels from Goodwill on Metric and 183 and I do thank you Goodwill on Metric, come over for some wassail tonight..

The dangers of a heavily-seriffed font in the wrong hands! Let that be a warning. Or, maybe you WANTED to have a merth Christmas. To each their own, I suppose.

Santa and his impossibly narrow reindeer were part of a set of pencil-thin Christmas decorations–I don’t really have a better word than decorations. Sadly, both of them had been beaten down for their one salvageable part–their light bulb noses.

I don’t know why Santa had a light-bulb nose, unless he’s really been hitting the Christmas sherry. Actually, that, and then taking a sleigh ride through the sky at something like twice the speed of sound, would probably do it, so far as red noses go. Who needs Rudolph?

Don’t they make a cute pair? And Santa’s sporting some fine boots there! Those aren’t just platform shoes, they’re actual planks. I still think a good firm gust of wind would knock ‘em both down. Reindeers are notorious lightweights. On the plus side, Santa’s diet’s really paying off this year!

It’s a Precious Moments recursive nativity scene. If you can’t tell, the angel next to Jesus in the center is giving the baby Jesus a “my first nativity” set, still in box. You can actually open the box, too. But you probably shouldn’t, because fractal nativities really exist better in a potential state than an actualized one.

Clausbot 2.o is both modular and storeable. Each unit of Clausbot, which is over 50 feet tall and fully able to crush a forest of conifers and a small cottage, fits inside itself using our EZ-stack technology–well, except for his massive tank-tread base, we really don’t have a crate big enough for that. We assume this functionality will be useful in some alternate dimension where giant, military-grade Santas need convenient storage.

This is a somewhat “South Park” interpretation of Mrs. Claus, an obese monstrosity made of cut-outs, drifting and settling over a small city like a cloud of festive, gingerbread-scented nuclear fallout. She also really needs more vitamin C in her diet. I don’t like to think of Mrs. Claus as suffering from scurvy.

She seems to be built to grace the corner of a door or shelf or something, some sort of wooden ornament overhang thing. Like some lurking Christmas spider clinging to the wall, waiting to drop unexpectedly on the heads of the naughty. No thank you, Mrs. Claus! We’ll take our chances with Santa.

Um…Santa?

Santa creeps catlike through the snow, crouching catlike, waiting to strike. There’s a flash of movement, a blur of beard and red velvet, and then the sickening smell of torn elf and lightly-used eggnog. Santa…Santa feeds.

Another Santa that’s showing the ill effects of 1.3 million too many sherries as he flew over England this year. I want to be the kid at the end of his route, when he’s nicely sloshed and twice as jolly. “Idn’t care iff he’s naughty or nice. Fill it up. Just jam all kinds of stuff in there. Heeey, give him one of th’reindeer. Kids love reindeer.”

Unless Santa’s an angry drunk. I’m pretty sure the poem called him a “right jolly old lush,” but they could be sugar-coating things for the kids. Best to stay in your room if you hear anything downstairs on Christmas. Particularly a crash, the sound of broken ornaments, and swearing.

Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah, penguins.

Wait for it, wait for it, he’s near the hole…he doesn’t know that I’m Santa…okay, now! *bonk*

Well, Santa’s gotta eat, too. Though he shouldn’t have to travel to the South pole for dinner. I’m pretty sure the Russians fly Santa up a shipment of penguins every few months, just to make him a little  freer with the “nices.”

“Merth Christmas” pair from Goodwill near Goodwill Computers, 183 and I35. Recursive Nativity from Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha, which, alas, closed recently (it moved a few miles away). Boxy Claus and Santa and the Penguin from Goodwill on 2222, wretched green-faced Mrs. Claus from Savers at South Lamar, weirdly kittenish Santa from Savers on North Loop and Burnet.

New Year’s Day, and we’ve finally gotten the dogs to come out from underneath the sofa. Hope everybody had their requisite amounts of pyrotechnics, champagne, and black-eyed peas last night! Or at least one out of three.  This little guy’s clearly had his fill of consumer-grade explosives for the year.

This WAS in the Christmas section. I feel confident that, somewhere, giving a waif a mid-sized explosive on the end of a string is traditional, though my google-fu is failing me on what culture might celebrate the solstice in this manner. He…he looks shocked.

“It’s okay, boy,” the nutcracker said, a not-altogether-unwarm hand on his shoulder. “Your first one’s always a little startling. Next Christmas, you’ll be a pro.”

Cake decorations? Flowers? Publicity still from the new Broadway production of “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert?”

I’m not ruling out “Priscilla,” but I’m still a bit lost on the actual-factual. I’m operating under the assumption that this is Christmas fare,  sort of a “three kings” riff, but the weirdly-placed regional pride is not helping me here.

Bueller? Bueller? I did some double-checking, and the flag is the flag of Puerto Rico. The hats, though, are not as far as I know the hats of Puerto Rico, unless Puerto Rico has an unusually high fabulosity level. Something, somewhere, is clearly lost in translation.

“And lo, there came three wise men from the East, bearing gifts of frankincense, and snails, and calla lilies. But just their heads came, that’s how wise they were, and Jesus wept.”

Angel, or bird? Which has the tiniest brain capacity? My bet’s on the bird. Did you know if you hold your ear up to an angel’s head, you can hear the ocean? It looks like both of them are going to break out into cheerful whistling noises any second.

“Did you invite him?”
“No…uh…I’ve never heard of him. But I think he brought better gifts. At least, better than myrrh.”
“Generally toys go over better at a baby’s first Christmas than funerary balms.”
“He only brought dolls. They’re kind of girly, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but it’s still not myrrh.”

“I never got a doll…”

“I sold my hair to buy him a chain for his wristwatch, but by then, he’d already lost his hand in a bar bet. So…pretty typical Christmas, all told.”

Creepy little guy…”Would you like my other hand for Christmas? It’s yours, just say the word. My hand, your stocking. That…that should have sounded better than it did.”

This Christmas..
for the people you love…
give the gift of springs.

Boiiiiing!!!!

Boom! from Junior League of Austin on Burnet and 49th, enigmatic magi from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, horrible vacant angel from Savers on South Lamar, “Boiing” and “How’d he get here?” from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, and distressing angel in blue from Salvation Army on 1325 in Round Rock.