SemiConscious Dot Org

Well, well, well. In a little more than 12 hours, it will officially be the birthday of the Baby Santa. And here I sit in my office in the deserted Uber Nixon Prayer Tower. I should be 2,000 miles away at my parents’ house, but despite my express command that there be no bad weather, a freak storm out in Flyover Land cancelled my flight and bumbling incompetence at the airline cost me a shot at another flight. (I shall not name the airline, but let’s just say it rhymes with “Smelta.”)

And this nameless airline shall rue the day they crossed me! RUE, I say! Even now my minions are quietly stealing the in-flight movies on all their planes and replacing them with cleverly disguised imposters! You, the airline employee, think you are punching up “Shrek 2,” but instead your horrified passengers are treated to hard core porno! The letters of complaint shall deluge your customer service representatives! Your market share will go down! BWAAAAA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!!! TASTE MY WRATH, SUCKERS!!!

Anyhooo, it appears that, in a bid to forestall said wrath, the “gods” have given me several early presents. For example:

Christine Gregoire, after two recounts and almost two months, has finally been declared the winner in the governor’s race here in Washington. As one of those recently arrived, Seattle-based, liberal carpetbaggers whose absentee ballot helped thwart the will of the “real” Washingtonians (ie, everyone on the other side of the Cascades) I can only say “You’re Welcome.” What makes all this even more delicious is that the Republicans, avowed enemies of lawyers and “activist judges,” are now talking about going to court to get the entire election overturned. Is there anything funnier and more surreal than Republicans demanding that more votes be counted, instead of trying to get them thrown out?

The Red Sox have re-signed their most important free agent, catcher and team captain Jason Varitek. And the Empire has (at least for the time being) failed in their attempt to acquire the services of Randy Johnson. They will probably get him eventually, of course, but they’re going to have to buy him to do it. The chances are slim, after the Dodgers’ last-second return to sanity, of another third party team jumping in and willingly allowing itself to be fleeced so that the rich can get richer.

And finally: a bunch of conservative Christians (and Bill O’Reilly) are really pissed off that people say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” Apparently, doing so is not, as most of us assumed, a way of wishing good will to someone, regardless of their religious beliefs; nope, it’s actually an organized assault on Christianity by secular Jews.

I hereby retract my earlier statement. There is something funnier and more surreal than Republicans claiming to be the defenders of democracy; it’s Christians claiming to be an oppressed minority.

Happy FestiChrismaKwanzaSaturnaliaKah!

Not a creature was stirring but

ANGRY MONKEYS IN SANTA SUITS!

I’m pretty sure I remember seeing something about this in Revelations, but I can’t quite recall the exact passage…

Well, it certainly has been a tremendously hard-fought competition this year, with lots of worthy contenders. An embarrassment of riches, if you will. In most years, any of last month’s nominees would have won easily, and these folks certainly put in a strong late bid, but I’m thinking that we have to give the award to this guy, hands down.

Ridgefield father Edwin B. Baxter asked God for mercy and a judge for understanding Wednesday as he faced sentencing for an attempted circumcision on his 8-year-old.
Baxter said he was inspired to cut his son after reading Scripture and first consulted his wife.
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On Sept. 3, Baxter called his son into the bathroom and had him lay in what witnesses described as a dirty bathtub. Baxter used a hunting knife to slice into his son’s foreskin. He called 911 when his son began bleeding profusely.

Hell, if the field wasn’t so damn crowded, this loon might even be a contender for Craziest Christian of All Time. (I’m pretty sure that Torquemada, the reigning all-time champ, is safe for the time being. If our boy Edwin had managed to circumcise a couple of million kids with hunting knives before he was caught, we might have to talk about crowning a new champ.)

It’s an oldie, but a goodie. And at this time of year, when holiday-related work parties often cause one to scarf down much more than the normal day’s helping of food, it’s more pertinent than ever:

The Guide to Pooping at Work.

You’re welcome.

For 355 long days, he’s been biding his time, making his hit list, checking it four and five and seven hundred times, sharpening his harpoons, and filing his fingernails down to points. In just 10 days, the earth-shaking roar of his rocket sleigh and the grating gnash of his serrated metal teeth will fill the night sky. Those unlucky enough to be caught outside at the time will shit themselves in terror and scurry for cover like cockroaches, but they will be Doomed. With GodJesus, his merciless robotic ally, at his side, Santa Claus will scour the earth for victims, howling for blood and vengeance, his hour come round at last.

There are some who whisper, in the hushed tones common to those acquainted with Constant Fear, that The Kringly One already walks among us. As we all know, Santa’s appetite for human flesh is prodigious, and reports have begun to filter in of his ceaseless attempts to lure the unsuspecting to their grisly deaths. Since most of these reports originate from such fanciful-and-probably-made-up places as Palau, Tajikistan, Uruguay, and Texas, they are hard to confirm.

If you are unlucky enough to cross Santa’s path after dark, we have no useful advice for you. He will kill you three times before you hit the ground. If, however, you meet him during the daylight hours, you might stand a chance. The most important thing to remember is that you should not, under any circumstances, make eye contact. He will interpret this as a challenge, and will become very angry, leaping around and gibbering and beating his chest and throwing feces. You should also resist any and all offers of “presents.” Even if Santa offers you drugs, do not be fooled. It is merely a ruse designed to get you into his sleigh, where every seemingly solid surface hides spring-loaded, rotating knives.

If you follow these simple guidelines, you should stand at least a 50/50 chance of making it through the holiday season without being killed and eaten. We hope you’ve enjoyed this special encore Fox News presentation of “Santa Claus: Death From Above!”

Thus are written, in the Book of Costanza, the sacred words that describe the origins of Festivus (as everyone knows, the third-holiest day of the year, trailing only St. Patrick’s Day and Talk Like a Pirate Day.) Thus was the story passed down from ancient times. When my Great-Great-Great Grandpappy came to America from the old country back in the days of yore, he brought our family’s Festivus traditions with him.

Every year, come rain or shine, through good times and bad, the family would gather on December 23rd to celebrate Festivus. We would put up the aluminum pole (chosen for its great strength-to-weight ratio) that had been in the family for hundreds of years. We would sit around the dinner table and recite the Airing Of The Grievances, each member of the family telling the others the countless ways they had disappointed them in the previous year. And, of course, the holiday wouldn’t be complete without the Feats Of Strength. I remember, one year when I was seven, the celebration stretched all through the night into the next day. Festivus could not end until someone pinned Grandpa.

Once again, it is the Festivus season. With less than two weeks to go until December 23rd, it’s time to get in the spirit. Put up your Festivus Pole. Play and sing along to the ancient Festivus carols. Use this handy worksheet to compile your List of Grievances. Begin weight training in preparation for your Feat of Strength.

Additionally, on December 16th, in an episode of a popular television show known as “Seinfeld,” there will be a reenactment of the First Festivus. Tell your family and friends of this momentous event, and endeavor to convince them to watch it with you, so that they may also catch the Festivus spirit. (Some people may try to convince you that Festivus is really a made-up holiday, and that it was actually invented during that episode of the “Seinfeld” program…but those people are goddamn liars.)

You know what bugs me though, that everyone here who’s in marketing is now thinking the same thing: “Oh, cool, Bill’s going for that Anti-Marketing Dollar. That’s a huge market!” QUIT IT! Don’t turn everything into a dollar sign, please! ...“Oohh, the Plea For Sanity Dollar. Huge! HUGE market! Look at our research.”
-Bill Hicks

Remember the stranger on the street who asked you to take their picture, and showed you all the cool gadgets on their picture phone?

Remember when you invited your friend Bob to the barbeque, and he kept ranting that you wouldn’t believe how much these new chicken sausages he bought taste like pork?

Remember the woman you saw reading that new bestseller on the bus, who gushed about it when you asked her what she thought of it?

Turns out it was all a marketing ploy!

Thank Jeebus for those brave, selfless pioneers of Madison Avenue! They have finally, after decades of tireless work, entered the Final Untapped Frontier of Marketing: the conversations you have with friends, family or complete strangers every minute of every day of your life!

This is beautiful. We have entered a state that the Dadaists would have loved: language is now meaningless. There is no longer any way to tell what is a real conversation, and what is a cleverly designed marketing ploy. For instance: was my Top 20 Albums of the Year post really a sincere expression of my musical taste, or did an advertising firm in the employ of the record industry pay me to drum up some buzz for a bunch of obscure, oddball albums that haven’t sold for shit? Is this post really an satirical expression of my disgust with soulless advertisers, or did Jeffrey of Library Chronicles pay me to link his blog, where I found this story in the first place?

Through the looking glass….

No doubt you kids have been twitching in breathless anticipation for the past 11 months, waiting to be told which of this year’s new music you will need to purchase in order to be considered “Hep.” Well, your long wait is over.

You’re welcome.

1. Wilco, A Ghost Is Born
2. Drive-By Truckers, The Dirty South
3. Mark Lanegan, Bubblegum
4. Clutch, Blast Tyrant
5. Mastodon, Leviathan
6. PJ Harvey, Uh Huh Her
7. Eagles of Death Metal, Peace Love Death Metal
8. Danger Mouse, The Grey Album
9. Oceansize, Effloresce
10. The Beastie Boys, To the 5 Boroughs
11. Modest Mouse, Good News For People Who Love Bad News
12. Jello Biafra & The Melvins, Never Breathe What You Can’t See
13. Madvillain, Madvillainy
14. Gomez, Split The Difference
15. Probot, Probot
16. The Beta Band, Heroes to Zeroes
17. Colonel Claypool’s Bucket of Bernie Brains, The Big Eyeball in the Sky
18. Masters of Reality, Give Us Barabbas
19. The Burning Brides, Leave No Ashes
20. Fantômas, Delirium Cordia

Apparently, mankind is just making the Monkey God angrier and angrier. Now he’s sending his minions to mug passengers at Hong Kong bus stops.

And with more than two full months to go in the Year of the Monkey, who knows what horrors may be next? Sadly, it appears more and more likely that our dire predictions from January will soon come true.