December's here, and that means it's time for all of us to pretend to be better people for a little while because otherwise the baby Jesus won't leave us any poorly-wrapped presents under our plastic fir trees at the end of the month. And if the baby Jesus, who loves us with all his heart and soul, disapproves of our less-than-divine lifestyle choices, he'll condemn us to rot in the bowels of Hell for all eternity. How does one helpless little baby deliver so many toys and condemn so many souls to never-ending agony and torment? Christmas magic, I guess.
You all remember the touching story of Lazarus, right? Baby Jesus gave little Lazarus one of those big, expensive Death Star Lego sets for Christmas, then Lazarus choked on some of the pieces because he mistook them for brightly colored tiny loaves of bread, and he died on the living room floor, right in front of his day-drinking aunt Alicia. Jesus felt so bad when he witnessed this sight on his world monitor that he waved one of his chubby little baby arms and brought poor Lazarus back from the dead right then and there, and this all happened so fast that Alicia never even noticed the kid was ever even dead. She just kept right on sippin' her favorite boxed wine out of her favorite mug, the one that said "I'd rather be drinking", and staring into the middle distance while her dead nephew bolted upright and coughed up a bunch of half-chewed plastic bricks just a few feet in front of her empty little head.
Now Lazarus never did finish that Lego Death Star (he wasn't very bright), but he never forgot the solid favor that cherubic rapscallion Jesus did for him over the years. And baby Jesus never forgot all the times Lazarus snuck away from his chores to rub one out behind the house when he thought nobody was looking (Jesus was always looking), and he eventually cast poor Lazarus into Hell when he died of old age a few years later.
I don't know where the elves come into this whole story. They were probably the souls of unbaptized children resurrected by baby Jesus's terrifying powers to do his bidding and build gobs of toys for the faithful masses. There's probably a trade school in limbo that teaches the dead babies these valuable skills. Of course toys were much simpler back in the good old days. Sometimes a toy was nothing more than a favored stick, or even a dried pile of mud with a rock hidden somewhere within. Pretty easy stuff for a dead baby to manufacture and distribute to stupid, stupid children all around the world. These days, the kids are much more sophisticated. They need their sticks to be Bluetooth-enabled and those piles of dried mud have to have a touch screen interface or it's no good. How the fuck is a two thousand year-old dead baby supposed to make a PlayStation 5? You need a specialized degree for that shit. These dead babies can't afford to go back to school on their meager salaries. They're the ancient souls of unbaptized infants; they don't know the first thing about Wi-Fi or circuit boards.
It's a tough racket, man. But a gig's a gig, and in this market, I guess you're just lucky if you can even find a job, alive or dead. So next time you think back to all the wonderful presents you received as ungrateful children from dear baby Jesus over Christmases past, spare a thought for all the poor dead baby souls toiling day in and and day out in Heaven's toy sweatshops to make those magic moments happen.
Speaking of dead babies, it's time for the latest edition of Trappo's Chap House, the podcast that stubbornly refuses to die, because the people cry out for entertainment in these trying times! This latest installment covers a pair of horror movies your intrepid hosts recently watched at each other's recommendation: the SHUDDER original movie Terrified and Netflix's adaptation of Stephen King and Joe Hill's story In The Tall Grass. Spoiler alert: we really liked one of these movies. Try to guess which one it is before you watch the episode! It's like a game! I guess. But not really any fun. Listen below, or on iTunes or Apple Podcasts or whatever the fuck they call it these days. Or don't listen to it at all. I'm not your mother. Do what you want.
Chapter 28: Terrified In The Tall Grass
That's it for now. There will be more shenanigans at some point here in the not-too-distant future. Probably. Until then...
Stay Spooky, Motherfuckers!
No comments:
Post a Comment