Blood For Santa: Day 3

Day three of this festive holiday celebration is here, my friends. I have returned to do... something... something Christmas-related.

I don't know what I'm supposed to be talking about. I really should have planned this out. I always tell myself that this time I'm going to figure out a plan and stick to it, but I never do. I came up with the whole "five days, five podcasts" concept for two reasons: to provide you with something this Christmas season, and to make up for lost time regarding my failure to maintain a regular podcasting schedule.

If you've listened to either of the previous podcasts I've posted over the past two days, you'll realize that they have nothing to do with Christmas, or even anything vaguely related to Christmas. Perhaps I should have made a plan to record a seasonal podcast, but I didn't. Perhaps I could have filmed a new Yule-themed entertainment, but I didn't. So here I am, flailing about on my own blog, scrambling to provide you, my devoted audience of... maybe five people, with some content to warm your cold hearts on this blessed time of year.

Does this help?

This shit is tough. Do you have any ideas? Maybe you could share them with me via a comment or an email, and I will promptly ignore them, because I like to zig when people expect me to zag.

I have a shiny new bottle of expensive whiskey waiting for me in another room, and I can feel its siren song caressing the cockles of my heart. I don't often drink, despite what some of you might think. When I get together with my cousin Ky and we record the material for our podcasts, nine times out of ten I am stone cold sober.

Ky will often imbibe numerous alcoholic beverages, yet I am the one who tends to slip into something resembling a state of drunkenness, rambling semi-coherently about any number of inappropriate topics, giggling like a mentally disturbed child and edging closer and closer to what can best be described as a complete mental breakdown. I don't know precisely why this is.

Most of the time I am quite in control of myself, able to carry on a reasonable conversation with any number of individuals without mentioning my various perversions and lapsing into hysterical laughter. And yet there's something about the circumstances in which we record our podcasts, gathering late at night, sequestering ourselves in a small subterranean bedroom with an old CRT television, our viewing options limited to a smattering of local channels and Univision, that causes me to lose my fucking mind.

I don't get it. Do you get it? If so, please tell me what the hell is wrong me via a comment or an email, and I will drink whiskey and ignore your hurtful words, because ZIG. The point is this: I drink sometimes, but not often. The only excuse for my behavior in these podcasts is an undiagnosed mental illness. Or maybe a brain tumor.

This has nothing to do with Christmas. I have completely ignored the premise behind this entire post. Let me try and get back on track.

Is that better? It certainly fills me with the Christmas spirit. Wait, is that the Christmas spirit? I can't even tell anymore. As the Yule Log burned in ancient Scandinavian celebrations, it was believed that every drifting ember represented an animal to be born in the spring, providing hope for a prosperous new year. That's definitely on topic.

Now it's time for a brand-new podcast. The seventeenth installment of Lies My Podcast Told Me is entitled Goats For Days, and it's about Broadway musicals. It's actually about my idea for a Broadway musical, involving a tenacious manatee's undying dream to write a hit Broadway musical. That's really what this is about. So give it a listen:

Chapter 17: Goats For Days



That's it for now. I'm done. Until tomorrow, you sons of bitches.