Life Explains Explains the Naughty List

Santa came in low and fast, out of the setting sun. Jingle Bell Rock was blaring from the onboard PA system. Due to the low approach, and the speed of his sleigh, he was almost invisible to our anti-aircraft radar. You could almost sense the ominous echo of the malignant “Ho Ho Ho.” Yes, it was true, we had been moved to the naughty list.

We thought we were ready. But, you are never ready for the naughty list and the potentially explosive retribution of a year of half baked, half hearted, inconsistent debauchery. 

Our forces were arrayed in a defensive perimeter with automatic machine guns in focused on the most likely approaches. Nerves were tight and everybody was tense. People were smoking and vaping out by the wire. It was against the rules, but hey, we were on the naughty list, and the punishment was coming, what was one more indiscretion. 

“Oh crap, he’s coming!” The cry went up from the front line.

Reindeer draped in camouflage, sleigh bells ringing in violent, boundless anger, nostrils flaring, breath streaming in the freezing air. It was him or us. Yes, we hadn’t been that good this year, but we were drawing a line in the snowpack. It was hm or us. 

And really, if he was willing to single out people on some silly list how nice was he? Who gave him the right to make those judgements? When did a person cross the line from nice to naughty? And what about those people who are so nice that they cross the line into irresistible irritant? Aren’t they really naughty? We didn’t know. But, we were going to nail the fat man to the wall and get some answers.

Unfortunately we were not only naughty we were a little cowardly. Our front line broke, running for the cover of the pool tables, a few hiding, whimpering, in tears behind the Christmas tree. Some lay prone on the path, begging for mercy.

Santa pulled up in front of the bunker, stepped down, and looked over the top of his glasses at me, demanded his milk and cookies, told us to straighten up.

“Next year I won’t be so nice.” He said, as he flew out of sight. 

“Well, we really dodged a bullet there, huh?” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “Who’s ready for breakfast?”

Life Explained Explains the War on Christmas, kind of.

Today is December 20th, it is time to for my annual war on Christmas. Yes, I am once again taking up my futile battle with the most excessive of holidays. It is time to rail against the blatant consumerism, wretched scramble for anything to wrap, the insincere mask of the season of giving.

It gives me a headache. Last night when I stopped to buy a six pack of beer and a television dinner there were two Santa's ringing bells at either end of the entry to the grocery store. The one on the southern approach was doing much better. People were dropping clinking piles of change in his little red bucket, 35, 40, 50 cents at a time. Give until it hurts and they have a low threshold for pain.

Northern Santa was not happy, he had three pull tabs from empty cans and 17 cents, so he moved closer. And then a little closer, and then he was standing in the entryway. People were overcome with the spirit of the season, seeing this man in a fake white beard, and a shiny red plastic suit, sweating in the unseasonable warmth, blocking the path into the grocery store. So they turned around and went back to their cars where the guilt and shame was a little more remote and off camera.

Of course the store management was not happy, and asked the offending Santa to move out of the entryway. He did, he moved just south of the southern Santa, where he started raking in the dough, after several minutes he had accumulated almost 90 cents from the dozens of people walking into the store to spend thousands of dollars.

Charity is a zero sum game and this windfall for the new southernmost Santa, formerly the northernmost Santa, (hereafter referred to as Santa A) was an automatic loss for the former southernmost Santa, (henceforth known as Santa B). Santa B (for the sake of brevity let's call him B) moved just a few feet south of Santa A (going forward he will just be A). A was furious.

A moved past B. B began swearing and threatened A with grievous bodily harm.

"Give it your best shot, fat boy." A said, puffing out his chest with the arrogance only a fake beard and a shiny red plastic suit will provide.

They began wrestling rolling on the ground, grunting with exertion, knocking over a display marked "peace on earth" and filled with artificial evergreen wreaths. They wallowed through the fake needles, the sprayed on fragrance covering both of them in a gentle pine scent.

A crowd gathered and bets were placed. A bright young man, who was studying applied business techniques, ran inside and bought candy bars and cold soda and began selling concessions. People were buying the patio furniture that had been marked down to clearance prices early in the fall and lit fires, roasting hot-dogs and marshmallows.

The air was filled with a joy and festivity that was seen nowhere else in the city, nowhere else in the whole country. A and B eventually ran out of air and just stopped, breathing in ragged shallow breaths, laying on the ground, unable to move, they were locked in a warm, almost tender embrace, sweat dripping from the synthetic beards.

The store made a fortune selling everything from fire pits to canned cheese and boxed crackers, the crowd went away happy, the Santa's made a good haul, and the Christmas spirit that was on display was put back in the bottle. People snarled at each other and cursed their fellow man with all the venom of the season, and Christmas was back to normal.

"And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight..." Well you know the rest.

Dreary Holiday

We, here at Life Explained (#lifeexplained) are sorry to announce suspension of the search for intelligent life in the universe.  While it was an exciting, enlightening chase, paying so many benefits in acquired knowledge, and fascinating, useful discoveries, there are too many potential problems.  Since we felt we were so close it is a particularly bitter decision and one made with solemn consideration.  But, there was little choice, considering the many possible results we have no choice but to deep six the whole idea for a while.

Considering how well everybody in the world is getting along we thought it would be a grand idea to try to find some intelligent life on Earth. We started here, at Life Explained (#lifeexplained). Nothing. There was a brief glimmer of hope, in the kitchen. Turned out to be the toaster. A delightful device. It takes ordinary bread, and makes it warm, crispy and delicious. If you take a little butter and some jam it is almost heavenly.

Nothing here. After breakfast (warm, crispy bread) we tried the local grocery store. It was filled with homicidal people. Shopping cart wars. Every aisle was combat. Jingle bells was barely audible over the screams of rage buy the boxed potatoes. We left. Not only was there no intelligent life it looked as if all life there would be extinguished in less than 20 minutes.

The streets were filled with people carrying bags of presents, wrapped in happy, beautiful colors. Glaring, snarling and looking for a fight.

A man dressed as Santa was ringing a bell and standing beside a bucket, attached to a tripod. "Merry
Christmas," he bellowed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, kiss my ass." A well dressed, kindly looking old woman said, holding her middle finger as high as her arthritic arm would allow.

We gave up the search for intelligent life, and went looking for a drink, and solitude. Misery may love company, but disappointment likes to drink alone.

Santa Comes Early to Life Explained Ohio Office (LEOO)

Great news, when we got to work this morning there was a new freezer in the kitchen. Nobody knows where it cam from, Santa maybe. It had a logo on it, that might be a reindeer, or a horse of some type.

Anyway, it was filled these delicious goodies, hundreds of them. The instructions are all in Mandarin. But, if we know anything, here at Life Explained Ohio Office (LEOO) it is how to microwave a frozen burrito.

Of course we also know the perfect wine to accompany a burrito. With a bean burrito (microwaved on 75% power for 79 seconds*) you serve a Suavignon Blanc, chilled to 43 degrees. With a steak burrito (microwaved on 90% power for 81 seconds*) you serve a Merlot, chilled to 39 degrees.


Then there was an all day pass to the amusement park for Sunday from a company called the "Carolina Panthers." We don't know what they do, but for some reason they don't want us watching the NFL games this weekend. We are not sure why.


* Don't worry about the varying power of microwaves. These are immutable laws of nature.

Christmas, the Gamble.

Christmas is here and the Jolly old Elf has come and gone.  So far, we here at Life Explained, (#lifeexplained) are still tallying the results.  So far, though,  it seems that all of our extraordinarily good behavior may not have paid off.  It is very a very complex formula, shown here with pictures to make you more comfortable.  But, as we look back on the effort we have spent it is clear it did not make economic sense to behave so well.

We are afraid that spells big trouble for the world next year.  It was not easy saving the world.  And we did it constantly.  There were alien invasions, ancient armies traveling to our time, robot monsters, vampires, werewolves, all bent on the complete destruction of mankind.   Who stopped them?  That's right, we did.  You're welcome.

Plus, we have perfected the intergalactic radio transponder, to signal alien civilizations.  We have the worlds only functional time travel machine.  Our robot factory is running almost non-stop, and our occult research department is making great strides...  Never mind all that, though.

Straight from Dr. Dawg

Just rest assured there is still time to make amends, Santa, if you turn your little sleigh and eight tiny reindeer around and come up with some new iPads, and maybe a new television, and an Xbox one, with some cool games, we might be convinced to try one more year.  It's up to you.

Twas the night before the night before Christmas.

Look, we all know it is almost Christmas, and anybody who knows me, or has read my blog knows I am not a big fan of the "Christmas Spirit" embodied in these troubling times.  Too little is made of too much.  As fun as it can be to watch, it grows tiring.  Still, I hope everybody can stop their headlong descent into the madness of the season long enough to have a Merry Christmas.  Or Happy Holidays.  It makes no difference to me.  Live and let celebrate, that's my motto.

There are a couple of things I would like to say.

It makes me sad to think the world no longer has Joe Cocker.  "If you believe in forever, then life is just a one night stand, and if there's a rock and roll heaven," they just picked up a blues singer extraordinaire.   His voice was magic, and his persona was enormous.  He was classic rock, in so many ways.

I work for a small company.  I love my job (but, hate the alarm clock).  These are by far the most generous people for whom I have ever worked.  I have had a lot of jobs, too many, and every year at Christmas I am shocked by their generosity.  Each year I kind of wait for the economic foot to fall.  "We're cutting back, Tim."  But, so far so good.  Kind of makes me doubt all of my doubts.  You have to hold on to something, though.

Today is my wife's birthday.  She is young, and vibrant, and wonderful.  And I am so lucky.  "I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name quieted my demons."*  And, that is not always easy, my demons are pretty noisy.  Being my wife is not easy, but she does it with grace. If you see her, wish her a happy birthday, and tell her I said thanks.

If you perform an image search for Santa Claus you will find that he is very heavy.  It might be time for him to cut back on the cookies and milk.  Perhaps, we should leave some humus, and carrots, this year.  A bottle of water would be ideal.  He will need to stay hydrated.  Traveling the world delivering presents would be hard, thirsty work.  Don't skimp, Santa deserves the good stuff.  We are leaving Dasani this year, it was on sale and Santa appreciates a bargain.

That should take care of today.  At least this morning.  I have big plans for this afternoon, stay tuned.  Don't expect too much, though.


*Christopher Poindexter.

Nobody wins with the war on Christmas.

Christmas can be very stressful.  Stores are filled with people, traffic is thick, and slow.  There are gifts to buy, and parties to attend.  Charities scream for attention.  It can be overwhelming.

Grocery shopping becomes a nerve wracking, lethal exercise of hazard avoidance in a mine field of venomous shoppers.  Christmas predators, hunting.  With waves of Christmas music hammering senses, and deadening what little compassion remains, until an apologetic "excuse me" to a kindly looking, old gentleman in the canned food sections elicits a shrieked "kiss my ass" as he drops his cane and oxygen tank, and lobs a can of cranberry sauce at your head.

Television shows take a decidedly holiday turn.  Grisly murders are investigated by well dressed police detectives working out of a precinct adorned with all sorts of bright, happy decorations.  Snowmen, elves, reindeer, Santa, everywhere you turn.  There is no refuge.

Kids are out of school, but you are stuck at work.  A year end evaluation is looming.  Rain clouds on the horizon.  But, you don't have time to think about that.  You are too busy.  In part because no one is doing anything.  Christmas is beginning to drive people mad.  Everywhere you look people are wearing garish, gaudy sweaters, bright, ridiculous creations too awful for a golfer.  With their hands wrapped around Santa mugs, filled with with warm cider. Smiling, joking, laughing, not working, it just makes you sick.  You hope they don't start caroling.

If there is a war on Christmas, Christmas fired the first shot.  And has been on the offensive ever since. Santa and his jackbooted minions are rolling across the country, unimpeded.  Smashing, grabbing, sturming and dranging, all over the place.  Succumb, or perish, those are your choices.

I'm only kidding, Santa.  Don't forget, I have been pretty good this year.  I emailed my list last week, would you like me to fax a copy, FedEx?  Whatever is best, big guy.

The war on Christmas takes a difficult turn.

Yesterday the war on Christmas erupted, spilling onto the parking lots, and streets surrounding the Easton Town Center in Central Ohio.  In, what many consider, the most violent, intense battle of the campaign a rolling front line forced many shoppers to seek asylum in California Pizza Kitchen, or Max and Erma's.  Shoppers were sat in stunned silence, their Buffalo Chicken Burger lay half eaten, and their Yule Tide Ale turning warm on the table in front of them.

Santa was standing at the north entrance to Macy's.  His ringing bell, and cheerful, tradition laden ho ho hos could be heard for miles in the crisp, central Ohio air.  Clanging change was muffled by folded bills in the tripod suspended, red bucket standing next to the Jolly Old Elf.  It was a scene that had been repeated for years, but Santa looked wary, and kept glancing at the tree line about 1500 meters away, as though he sensed something.

Soon he started taking sniper fire, and mortar rounds were walking across the parking lot toward his exposed position.  That's right, Santa was pinned down by a hidden enemy from an elevated position.

This was not Santa's first rodeo, however.  He dove behind a Kia Sedona, the SX luxury model, with twin DVD players, multiple screens and dual power sliding doors.  On the front screen the children were watching "A Charley Brown Christmas," until they spied Santa poking his head above the solid part of the door.   They screamed with delight "look, it's Santa, peeking through my window."

Acting quickly, Santa called in air support.  Soon the skies were filled with miniature sleighs, being pulled by tiny reindeer.  Piloted by Santa's little helpers, the sleighs began strafing the tree line.

Soon, Santa's radio crackled, and a voice said "keep your head down, Kris, we are beginning a bombing run, it's going to be a big one."  From out of the east a larger, slower sleigh appeared, it almost looked as though it had flown right out of the sun, and after a slight adjustment, began to drop red and green bombs down the length of the tree line. The trees burst into flames, and the air was filled with the aroma of peppermint, and yule logs.

A very large sleigh lumbered in, landing in the street in front of the north parking lot.  A noisy, loud bell started clanging out "Have a holly, jolly christmas," as the rear door opened and heavily armed elves, dressed in traditional Holiday camouflage, poured out and began sweeping the field in front of the burning tree line.

In the end the day was saved by air superiority and a numerical advantage in ground forces.  Santa had acted quickly, and decisively to counter a frontal assault against an exposed position from forces of unknown numbers and composition.  Next time you see Santa make sure to throw in a few extra dollars, ammunition, and duplex communication are expensive, after all.

War, and Christmas shopping, not that different.

Yesterday we sent a patrol to reconnoiter the locals stores.  It was a dangerous mission requiring stealth, endurance, discipline, and some level of insanity.  What they found was not pretty.  Sometime between the end of Thanksgiving and yesterday the war on Christmas took a bizarre turn.  It seems Christmas decided to return fire.

There were holiday explosions everywhere, green, red, tinsel, garland and wreath, the garish, festive carnage covers everything.  Several people reported a heavy set, white haired elf, assumed to be jolly, dressed in red, with white cuffs, collars, and lapels, standing at entry ways and on corners, asking not for whom the bell tolls, because they know it tolls for anyone foolish enough to step in front of a moving holiday.

Our fearless scouts reported that there were several scenes almost completely overrun with stockings, ornaments, plastic snowmen and reindeer, and artificial snow.  Music turned up to such a high volume, in order to coerce confessions from anti Christmas insurgents.  Terrifying to behold and almost overwhelming in occurrence these noisy, hideous dioramas are proof the war on Christmas has begun to intensify.  And Christmas is beginning to get the upper hand.

It was once thought that Christmas might take a more passive, peaceful approach to the battle being waged.  So often these institutions, large, powerful, and steeped in history, are able to take a "we are willing to wait, and see who runs out of Frankincense first" approach.  Not this time.  Candy cane cannons are primed, elves are armed and production at the North Pole has shifted toward a more sinister purpose.

The North Pole Ambassador to the United Nations has ordered the UN arms inspectors to leave.  And, according to the International Association of Maritime Shipping, there has been a huge increase in the number of inbound shipments of "explosive stuff, and that spells big trouble."

It was obvious from the carnage dripping from every surface that things were heating up.  From the front of large hardware store chains, littered with artificial trees, poinsettias, and strings of lights, to the shelves of grocery stores that had been picked clean of canned cranberries and boxed stuffing (all that is left is packages of fruit cake with no expiration date), to the women's shoe departments of large, fashion stores where several people have been have been disemboweled for a pair of attractive mules, or moderately priced pumps with a low heel... wait, that is not just a Christmas phenomenon, our combat weary veterans report that shoe inspired homicide happens year around, day in and day out, sale, no sale, women go insane while shopping for shoes.  It is probably worse, if possible, this time of year.

One thing is for certain, the war on Christmas is not going away anytime soon and it will probably get a whole lot worse before it gets any better.  It will be very difficult to see who is the winner when this is all over, but one thing we can count on, Bourbon is a wonderful choice for a gift, and we like the big bottles, they last longer.