Camera Phone Horror

My sister and I recently went with our mom to Asheville, NC to celebrate her 71st birthday (my mom's, not my sister's), and we had a blast. Asheville is a beautiful city, picturesque and poetic, and it simply demands to be photographed. So obviously you're all dying to see pictures of the inside of a few shops, no? Allow me to take you on a tour of a few hilarious/terrifying shops (actually, one shop and one shoppe) we visited so mom could browse through figurines and stuff, which she's currently in the market for more of (she's always in the market for more figurines).

'Tis the season for bunnies dressed in their best spring threads, which in this case were stitched from your Aunt Sadie's bedspread.

Mom always loved your Aunt Sadie's bedspread.

A terrifying Easter Bunny ornament for your Easter Tree.

A Christmas ornament based on that scary Christmas ornament you used to dream about.

This is the expression Santa has when he doesn't like the cookies you leave him.

Watership Down meets Holly Hobbie.

Well, I guess I know what I'll be dreaming about later.

This is another shop we found, one with a reverence for the olden days when the world had a surplus of the letter e.

(Shudder)

I think this is the point in the browsing when I got a headache and had to sit down.

Wait, is that Gandalf in the back?

There is a great deal of pathos in this photo.

So much tinsel.

Mom needed a bear.

Because f*ck traveling in a sleigh.

Mom got a bear.

Mom's Annual Christmas Horror Show: A Photo/Video Essay

Mom is awesome and she loves Christmas. Every year she gets a little bit crazier with the decorations, and this year's wonderfully garish gallery of Christmas kookiness provides the long-sought-after answer to the question that generations before us have posed to the Gods for centuries: "Why not dress that duck figurine perched in front of the fireplace in a Santa costume?" The above video is what greets you as you enter the house, a motion-sensor Christmas Moose that IS VERY SENSITIVE TO ANY AIR MOVING IN FRONT OF ITS FACE AND OFTEN SINGS UNTIL YOU THINK YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND.


Nativity scene #1, with Mary and Joseph welcoming the newborn baby Jesus and the three wisemen welcoming the birth of that big black plug.


Mrs. Clause and her magical Christmas dildo.


Nativity scene #2, this one on the piano. Mary is played by Patricia Clarkson and Joseph is played by Ryan Gosling's older brother.


This creepy little elf/dwarf/gnome thing also greets you when you enter the house, staring and pointing with both hands. (Both hands!) I think the most unsettling thing is you can't see his mouth. One should never trust an elf whose mouth one cannot see, like it says in the Bible.

Nativity scene #3, this one courtesy of me! Bought this for momma in Buenos Aires.

Why did this Christmas angel steal Mrs. Clause's magic Christmas dildo? Christmas is supposed to be about giving, not taking, Christmas angel!

Nativity scene #4.

Dieter the Christmas duck.

I wonder if Mom has noticed that her lovely tree is being eated by that angel's dress.

Nativity scene #5, about to be eated by that angel's dress.

The angel and her ravenous dress.

Lillybit the dog is creeped out by that elf, too.

A Future in Busking

You may not know this, but I put on my busker's uniform from time to time (top hat, tails, tap shoes, nipple clamps) and troll on down to the subway with my viola to earn extra dosh to support my boyfriend and my cat. I tend to play a selection of popular favorites--crowd pleasers from ABBA to Connie Francis to some guy called Vivaldi. I hadn't busked in a while, but for some reason, on Christmas Eve I was compelled to drag my unwilling viola down to the southbound F platform at 6th Ave to see what kind of Christmas cheer I could forcibly inspire.

So, above is a picture I snapped as I stood on the platform, playing my heart out for cash. It was my first annual Christmas Music Revue, and, though I had only rehearsed five Christmas songs, it was a smashing success for about an hour, at which point I got REALLY tired of playing the same five songs over and over and over, even though I love Santa Jesus.

I did make a decent amount of paper for only playing 5 songs 5 times, though, so here's my plan for Our New Great Depression: I'll put together a much larger setlist and then, once the bottom falls out and Congress declares that Christmas will be year-round in order to stimulate the economy, and I lose my job and my apartment and my socks, I'll wrap my feet up in gauze, slip them into a couple of Converse High Tops, put on my Santa hat and play on the subway for the good people of NYC and become rich, rich, rich! Then I'll lose it all in a foolish series of investments (who knew aquariums made of papier-mâché would never take off?!) and throw myself down the subway steps to get on government assistance, yay!

Finally, the True Story of Baby Santa Jesus on Display

I know from nativity displays, y'all. My mother is one of the world's premier collectors of nativity scenes of all sizes and shapes, which she puts out every year to complement her singing moose-head wreath and her creepy life-size Christmas gnome that swings from the banister. But none of the tens of thousands of nativity scenes owned by my mother really tells the true story of the real circumstances of baby Santa Jesus's birth in that manger those hundred or so years ago.

And the truth is this: the savior of mankind was NOT born in a stable. That is a complete myth that has been passed down as gospel fact through the years by the likes of Rick Warren, Fox News, and A Charlie Brown Christmas. The manger part is true, as is the presence of swaddling clothes. And there were kings, a virgin, and myrrh (and cows and sheep). But, and I can’t emphasize this enough—there was no stable. What there was was a giant hollowed out French batard. Yes, a moist, warm, buttery batard loaf hosted the birth of our savior.

This is the delicious truth.

See Tim Recommend: The American Family Association's Burning Christmas Cross

It's that time of year again, when we must prematurely celebrate the reason for the season, Santa Jesus, who died on the cross four score and seven years ago for the sins of many elves, some of whom were nasty gays. And what better way to celebrate this merriest of seasons than to twirl on down to the American Family Association's online store and purchase a burning Christmas cross for your front stoop? I mean, what, are you gonna let your neighbor pretend that he loves Santa Jesus more than you do?

There's just something so beautiful and timely about the availability of a "burning" Christmas cross from the AFA, at this defining moment. After all, the burning cross is a symbol of freedom, matches, and bountiful lighter fluid, three things that are in such short supply these days thanks to our new socialist (and black!) overlord.

Y'all, this cross is 5 feet tall, so what are you waiting for? America's front yards are not gonna set fire to themselves.