Holy Holiday Hell...
As the holy holidays slowly roll into season like a morbidly obese man lumbering through a Ponderosa Steakhouse in search of a magical Funyun, Americans across the globe make preparations for the quintessential celebration of the year, Christmas. Good Christians and successful retail outlet managers welcome the arrival of December 26th each year, as the birth of Christ reminds everybody of their eternal commitment to respect and love their fellow man, uphold God's sacred Commandments, and purchase fine imitation leather gloves for 45% off the marked price this weekend and this weekend only. Of course I may come off as a bit cynical due to my unfortunate tendency to turn on the television and gaze upon an endless parade of commercials showing off good looking white people who encourage me to embrace the Christmas spirit by purchasing a Ford SUV and driving it to the nearest Pepsi bottling plant to discuss my affinity for Nike shoes and McDonald's new McPizza Burrito Burger Salad, but that's the risk I take when flipping through network television for over 10 seconds. I won't claim to be the first person noting the painfully obnoxious spike in commercialism preying off holiday sentiments, but I will claim to be the first person noting the painfully obnoxious spike in commercialism preying off holiday sentiments who wrote about it on CryJournal while drinking beer and wearing nothing but a cowboy hat. It's this kind of award-winning journalistic integrity that separates me from hacks like those jerks on "60 Minutes" and many crippled grade school debate teachers.
This aforementioned artery-clogging congealed pile of pessimism dissipated during a recent trip to the store, when I learned the true meaning of Christmas thanks to the plucky American "can do" attitude of a newfound friend I like to call "the Christmas House." Observe:
The Christmas House is simply the physical embodiment of everything good and decent these holidays. This single beautiful, magical, Christmas creation of lumber and sheet rock flipped my holiday misconceptions upside-down and turned my smile into a frown. Wait, I mean it turned my frown upside-down, into a smile. I guess I just wrote it the wrong way because it rhymed, and for that I apologize. The Christmas House rests on the corner of “P” and 29th Street obediently watching over its children like a mother duck protecting her baby hens from predatory piranhas. I think I speak for myself and many others who aren't myself when I admit the act of simply driving past the Christmas House at 80 miles an hour can change your mental outlook in ways you simply cannot fathom. For example, before I passed the Christmas House for the first time a few weeks ago, I am fairly certain I was a retired black male named "Tyrell." Now, thanks to the holy transformation miracle of the Christmas House, I am a slightly neurotic and successful female loiterer who writes about her pets and downloads shemale porn while crying for hours. If you sincerely doubt Jesus lacks this awesome power and ability to reformat your outlook on life, then I suggest you go back and read a few chapters from the New Testament, particularly the passage by Ezekiel describing the wheel-powered UFO which flew into town and turned the citizens into avid Bloggers.
As you can tell, the Christmas House has flexed its mighty holiday muscles and won my affection with its highly religious series of whimsical cartoon paintings and gaudy display of trashy neon colored lights. Upon driving past this special outpost of seasonal cheer, my apathy and cynicism melted away like a stick of butter that was placed on a spaceship and piloted into the sun for some incomprehensible reason, like a top-secret NASA experiment that us non-scientists couldn't possibly understand even if we used all our brainpower and also the brainpower of the person sitting to the right of us. All I know is that we should never forget the reason for the season, and the reason of this season can be found in the majestic Christmas House located across from the beautiful crackhouse on “P” and 29th St. in Vancouver, WA.
Hurry up and visit the house before they take all the Christmas decorations down nearing Valentines Day.
This aforementioned artery-clogging congealed pile of pessimism dissipated during a recent trip to the store, when I learned the true meaning of Christmas thanks to the plucky American "can do" attitude of a newfound friend I like to call "the Christmas House." Observe:
The Christmas House is simply the physical embodiment of everything good and decent these holidays. This single beautiful, magical, Christmas creation of lumber and sheet rock flipped my holiday misconceptions upside-down and turned my smile into a frown. Wait, I mean it turned my frown upside-down, into a smile. I guess I just wrote it the wrong way because it rhymed, and for that I apologize. The Christmas House rests on the corner of “P” and 29th Street obediently watching over its children like a mother duck protecting her baby hens from predatory piranhas. I think I speak for myself and many others who aren't myself when I admit the act of simply driving past the Christmas House at 80 miles an hour can change your mental outlook in ways you simply cannot fathom. For example, before I passed the Christmas House for the first time a few weeks ago, I am fairly certain I was a retired black male named "Tyrell." Now, thanks to the holy transformation miracle of the Christmas House, I am a slightly neurotic and successful female loiterer who writes about her pets and downloads shemale porn while crying for hours. If you sincerely doubt Jesus lacks this awesome power and ability to reformat your outlook on life, then I suggest you go back and read a few chapters from the New Testament, particularly the passage by Ezekiel describing the wheel-powered UFO which flew into town and turned the citizens into avid Bloggers.
As you can tell, the Christmas House has flexed its mighty holiday muscles and won my affection with its highly religious series of whimsical cartoon paintings and gaudy display of trashy neon colored lights. Upon driving past this special outpost of seasonal cheer, my apathy and cynicism melted away like a stick of butter that was placed on a spaceship and piloted into the sun for some incomprehensible reason, like a top-secret NASA experiment that us non-scientists couldn't possibly understand even if we used all our brainpower and also the brainpower of the person sitting to the right of us. All I know is that we should never forget the reason for the season, and the reason of this season can be found in the majestic Christmas House located across from the beautiful crackhouse on “P” and 29th St. in Vancouver, WA.
Hurry up and visit the house before they take all the Christmas decorations down nearing Valentines Day.