I went to a bar showing of various Muppet Christmas specials this past weekend (via the fantastic Muppet Vault) and we got to watch a German version of a Sesame Street Christmas segment, the title translation of which alone makes me hide in an attic: Santa Claus kommt heute in die Stadt. Melodious it was not,and it retropillaged a bit from my childhood in the three minutes I spent unable to turn away. I’m not saying Cookie Monster needs to like, liltingly trill his Rs, but let’s just say I get why the little German kinder aren’t exactly gonzo over their days being brought to them by the letter Ü.
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DAY 19
Going back to those Germans, who can combine a million and one complex sentiments, subjects, and adjectives into one helluva a gutteral gumbo of a word, surely they have a word for “world weariness with Lego figurines”? I’ve usually got whimsy and bushytail in spades, but right now when when it comes to Lego people, I have a thousand yard stare.
Also, THREE more hats and mugs? IS THIS THING FUCKING MOCKING ME?
Hey now, look at thisguy. His hat has hats. His mug has mugs. He is the master of his pate, he is the captain of his bowl.
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Christmas Eve, normally a nice respite after the downtown chaos of the shopping season at Grizzly Bob’z Hat + Mug Emporium (slogan: “Containers for your soup and skull!”), had taken a different turn this year. While the morning lull had given Bob a chance to restock inventory, grab lunch at The Shithouse, and wrap his grandkids’ presents, the hours leading up to the Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony was unlike any other year.
It had started when Bob leaned out the side window to ask the boys at the fire house whether they had just seen a flaming, stoic dog run down the street, but instead he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an enormous crazed gorilla. As he was rubbing his eyes, an extraordinarily pale woman wielding a pistol whizzed up to the station, seemingly hellbent on…well, you can only be hellbent on success or revenge, Bob figured. And only revenge requires a gun and fan.
He went to the other window, navigating around the fedora display, and saw a guy he knew from Copper Creek, JJ, standing behind a flaming pile of trash, which was coincidentally the name of the gay bar where Scott’s late dads (friends of Bob’s from back when) had met. JJ had always been an odd kid growing up, but last he’d heard he’d settled in Copper Creek with Dick Dickey’s wife and son and Bob hardly ever saw him around, save every single one of the past sixteen Christmas Eves just before a town fire started. I wonder what he’s up to these days? Bob thought.
The sound of a chainsaw outside the Emporium jolted him back to reality, and the smell of burning evergreen, dog, and town filled the air. Bob grabbed a couple of mugs and ran to the station.
Hmm. Seems like you’re breaking the rules of the game with your little homemade sign.