Written 24 December 2007.
I’m dreaming of a Black Christmas…
Well baby, seasons change but people don’t and through the change from Autumn to Winter to Spring, Summer to Summer, most people probably don’t, or at least haven’t, but I have. All the apologies I haven’t received apart, Christmas 2007 is a bizarre feeling. The day itself is the one year anniversary of my reaching around to pull the nine inch steak knife out of my back, I guess it was some sort of macabre Christmas gift sent from towns afar. On a broader scale, it’s also the anniversary of the push and pull of a hymenally-intact young broad, presumably with a big, pointed nose, until finally out popped our saviour and messiah, the little lord baby Jesus. I can only hope that for the financial sake of Christ family that it was born with the Red Bull insignia on its forehead and the Centro Properties Group logo on its foreskin. Regarding sponsorship, the 2007 Christmas Messageis proudly brought to you the new range of KFC Fillers, if you don’t KFC then you’re a fucking idiot.
When I was a young boy my father took me into the city, he left me outside Tattersalls while he went inside to play the pokies. I wandered the city, it was Christmas Eve, until I was visited by the Ghost of Christmas Dymocks (second cousin of Jim), he gave me a copy A Christmas Carol and, upon reading it, experienced the inverse of Scrooge’s epiphany. Those who are unlucky enough to have received previous Christmas messages, and especially those stupid enough to have read them, will know that I’m not the most cheery person come yuletime. Whether it was the reception of dress shoes when I was seven from my favourite aunt (I wanted a Billy Ocean tape) or the way my grandmother puts down her cravat of wine to begin every dinner table sentence with “I’m not a racist, but…” or, more recently, the presentation of a Christmas turkey that looks more like a loaf of bread than a slaughtered pheasant, every Christmas time I seem to wish I were a Jehovah’s Witness. That religion really appeals, except for the no presents at Christmas, no birthdays, no blood transfusions, no sex before marriage, only 144,000 people getting into heaven and belief in things that are more unlikely than the phrase Academy Award Winner Ben Affleck. Actually, after going through the basics, anyone who believes that crap is more mental than the man who advanced Lynne Spears to write a book on parenting.
Oh, well imagine, as I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor, Tony Blair is in front of me in the line for communion. He’s taking Jesus into his mouth while I’m just hungry since the KFC at Spit Junction was turned into a BMW caryard. There are lots of charities asking for money, stain-glassed windows of George Pell not sexually assaulting young boys at Catholic Camp, the stations depict my favourite scenes from Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (I actually like Easter because at least then we’re celebrating someone dying). The people around me are lost in faith battles: how could God allow the Virginia Tech Massacre? How could he allow the Bangladesh cyclone? How could he allow Greg Bird to play for Australia? Meanwhile, I’m my mind is spinning as I try to work out why middle age men tuck their t-shirts into their jeans. They look ridiculous.
What if I wanted to break, laugh it all off in your face, what would you do? I know what I’d do: change the channel. My cable TV package gives me 142 channels. As I write this, there is so little on that I’m watching South Australia play Queensland in the Ford Ranger Cup. Queensland are currently 3/61 in the 17 th over. My producer is telling me I should write more about Christmas, so here is a ranking (it’s now 4/63) of my favourite Christmas TV specials:
1. The episode of South Park where Kyle sings the Lonely Jew at Christmas song. I think it also features the debut appearance of Hanky, the Christmas Poo.
2. The episode of the Brady Bunch where Carol loses her voice but then gets it back in time to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful” at church.
3. The episode of ALF wear our beloved furry alien helps bring cheer to cancerous kids in hospital. That episode was filmed at the ABC’s Brisbane studios.
4. The episode of the Sopranos where (it’s now 5/67) Jackie Junior gets a lapdance at the Bada Bing in front of Tony and he beats the shit out of him in the toilets.
5. The episode of the Simpsons where Homer bets all the Christmas savings on a greyhound. That must have been where Ricky Ponting got the idea from.
I put very little thought into those rankings.
You see, the thing is, we have to take our clothes off, we have to party all night, we have to take our clothes off to have a good time. And that’s why I hate religion.
Let the right one in, let the old dreams die, let the wrong ones go, they cannot do what you want them to do. And that’s what I’ve done.
And have yourself a very emo little Christmas.