A more P.C. Santa?!?

So I heard on the news that certain people are calling for a more politically correct Santa.

It seems that people in Australia think Santa's trademark "Ho-Ho-Ho" may be offensive to some women. He is now being asked to say "Ha-Ha-Ha".

Give me a break!

Also here in the U.S. people are concerned about the "image" Santa portrays. They are concerned what his lack of physical activity, cookie and milk diet, and large belly maybe saying to our youth.

Are you kidding me?!? Let's look into this... Santa travels something like 111 million miles in one night. He is up and down 223 million chimneys - how's that for lack of physical activity. No wonder the guy takes 364 days of PTO each year. And as far as the diet - I think he needs all the sugar he can get to accomplish his task. I think I would rather have a Santa hopped up on sugar instead of some crackhead elf comin' down my chimney. Or is that why he is always wiping his nose, hmmm.

I can live with the above mentioned I just can't believe no one has raised a concern about his "personal" habits. First off what's with all the alias'? Saint Nicholas, Father Christmas, Santa Claus, Pere Noel, Babbo Natale, Hagios Nikolaos...

He spends alot of time with hundreds of elves, which by the way look exactly like little kids. Honest - I saw the movie. He keeps a list of kids AND checks it twice. He hangs out in malls -invites little kids to sit on his lap by luring them with candy. And if that doesn't freak you out he sees you when your sleeping and knows when you're awake... think about it.

And did you know his wife, Mrs. Claus, was not even "created" until 1889? Sounds like a cover...

He's like an old, white Michael Jackson. Michael had Bubbles - Santa had Rudolph. Both never really age, and both live in this place children dream of.

I mean weren't these the same things the state of CA had on M.J.? Maybe they should check into the home life of one Kris Kringle...

Ahhh, crap. He knows when I've been bad...

Sorry Santa.

‘T was the night before a car guy Christmas

So last year I wrote this mildly off the wall Christmas letter. I guess it was somewhat enjoyed by those that received it. I have not decided if I will do it this year yet or not, but I did write this little spoof of a Christmas classic...

‘T was the night before a car guy Christmas

‘T was the night before a car guy Christmas,
when all around the house

Not an engine was revving,
not even my small block Chevy - a.k.a. “the mouse”.

The wrenches were hung
on the peg board with care,

In hope that St. Nicholas
soon would be there.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds,

While visions of Weber side draft carburetors
danced in their heads.

My wife in her Victoria’s Secret,
and I in a So Cal Speed Shop cap,

Had just settled our brains
for a long winter’s nap,

When out by the garage
there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed
to see what was the matter.

Down to the driveway
I flew like a flash,

Threw open the door
to check on my car stash.

The moon on the breast
of the new fallen snow

Gave a luster of midday
to all my hot rods below.

When what to my wondering eyes
should appear

But a candy apple red sleigh
and eight high octane reindeer.

With a little old hot rodder,
so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment
it must be St. Nick!

More rapid than Nascars
his coursers they came,

And he whistled and shouted
and called them by name:

“Now, Duece! Now, DeSoto!
Now, Plymouth and Bel Air!

On, Comet! On, Fairlane!
On, Corvette and Corvair!

Like a top fuel dragster
Stay out of the wall!

Now peel out! Burn out!
Lay rubber and all!”

As belly tankers
on dry lake beds do fly,

They meet with an obstacle,
and launched toward the sky,

So up to the rooftop
The coursers they flew,

With that sleigh full of power tools –
Oh yeah and St. Nicholas, too.

And then, in a twinkling,
I heard on my roof

The prancing and pawing
of each reindeer hoof.

As I gathered my head
and was turning around,

Down my old chimney St. Nicholas
came with a bound.

He was dressed in Levis and Dickies
From his head to his feets,

His clothes were all soiled
with oil and grease.

A bundle of vintage speed parts
he had flung on his back,

Like a Pomona Swap Meet vendor
just opening his pack.

His eyes, how they twinkled!
His dimples, so merry!

He had a tattoo of a heart,
in it the name Cherry!

And the beard on his chin was
like one worn by Bo,

It was long, wavy, curly
the color of snow.

A cigar like Bill Hines
he held tight in his mouth,

smoke encircled his head,
like a big ol’ burnout.

He had a old face
and a little beer belly

It shook, when he laughed,
like a bowl full of jelly.


He was one of a kind,
the true O.G. hot rod elf,

I should give him a thumbs up,
I thought to myself.

I knew at that moment
I had nothing to dread

St Nick was a hip cat
he probably drove a flathead.

He ported and polished,
just kept to his engine work,

not until he had balanced and blueprinted,
did he turn with a jerk,

And laying a finger
alongside his nose,

While giving a nod
up my chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh,
to his team gave a whistle,

And away they flew
like a new fangled missile.

But I heard him exclaim,
As he raced out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a hot rod built right!”

Semi-formal?!?

I recently found out my wife’s Christmas party for her work was going to be semi-formal. I vaguely remember this term used with school dances, but never a party. I am not a big fan of social gatherings. For me to go to this is a real stretch of my comfort zone, and then to have “semi-formal” thrown into the mix…

Now two of my wife’s greatest passions in life are parties and Christmas. Needless to say she is beside herself in anticipation of her work Christmas party. I, myself, well I am not so enthused. I don’t know these people and she sees them everyday. What is the big deal? I don’t care to meet Muff and Biffs’ children. I could care less how Carl in I.T. is having an affair with Shelia from Accounting. And I really don’t want to see Rick from A.R. get drunk again and hit on anything with a pulse. But I love my wife and I will support her.

With that being said our conversation went down like this:

“Hunny, don’t forget my work party next week.”

“Yeah, yeah… I know…”

“Oh, and it is semi-formal.”

“Huh?”

“Semi-formal.”

“You mean like wear a belt and tuck my t-shirt in…semi-formal.”

With that my wife walks into our closet and a few seconds later returns to the room.

“I think you should wear this” she says while holding a shirt and a tie.

What, where did that come from? I have those in there? I thought.

I then peered into the closet. Maybe there is a secret porthole to the mall or something in there I never knew about.

“Holy crap mom – I don’t have class pictures today…” I replied sarcastically.

“You would look so handsome.”

Visions of my wife spitting on a Kleenex and washing my face in front of all her work friends just raced through my head.

“Where did that come from?” I asked

“I bought it at the mall while I was buying my dress” she replied

“How much did all that cost?!?”

“How much did your new hot rod cost…?”

Needless to say - will I go to the party – yes. Will I wear the outfit – yes. Will I like it – I plead the 5th.

Car chicks are hot...

You know there is just something about a woman in a T-shirt and jeans, wrench in hand, working on a car. I will take a little grease and gasoline over Chanel #5 and Mary Kay anyday.

One of my wife and mine's first dates was to a car show. She has allowed me to buy "project" cars, and even store those special car parts in the house. She supports my obsession...

These things and the fact that she has never referred to a car as "cute" have always impressed me.

Well, until the other day I never realized that I truly lucked out. A couple of nights ago my wife was in the garage assembling the bed on a '54 Ford F-100!

She still won't admit it, but deep down she is a car chick!

It's all in the name...

I recently read about a study where researchers determined the name a child is given, and grows up with, can directly influence the person they become as an adult. I mean if you name your kid Blade he will probably found a local chapter for the Hell’s Angels, but name the same kid Corky and he may never know the touch of a woman…

My parents gave me a normal, fairly common name. I haven’t had any world changing accomplishments in my life. Never shook hands with a president. I’m not filthy rich. I’ve been married a couple of time. Maybe that has to do with the not rich thing more than my name, hmmm…

Oh yeah - the study. After reading the article I began thinking about people I had met and their names. I wonder what some of them are doing now.

Lets see there was:

Fooch – I knew him in elementary school. Can’t remember his last name, and I am sure to this day no one knows it. He is a real life Kramer.

Ben Wilde – did his parents have some kind of foresight into his future?

Penny Nichols – one cent, five cents.

Key Chevelle – her dad was a car nut.

Hunter & Trapper – oh, how cute for brothers. Their mom thought so.

Stormy Dawn – maybe it was that “Hey, I’m 1/32 Cherokee” thing you always hear people say.

Candi Cane – She’s probably an exotic dancer or porn star.

Moonbeam Dover – Clever, sounds like moon beamed over. I assume she lives in the top of a Redwood tree somewhere in Humboldt County California now.

Benjamin Dover – Little brother to the “Moonbeam”. Everyone called him Ben.

Kris Krost – I bet she married some guy named Oliver Owt, and now goes by Kris Krost – Owt.

Boot Hill – honest.

Pepsee Kohler – wah-wah-wa…

Wow, parents come up with some weird names for kids. Luckily for the Mrs., and our children, I am nothing like that. I just wanna name our daughter Rhoda Harlee, and if it’s a boy – Darwin Duncan Shane. Say that in your best Wayne Newton voice!

The answer is...

Wow, who would have thought that life decision between husband and wife would be so difficult. I love my wife more than anything, but we have a real issue when it comes to the big choices. Ok, ok – when I say big I don’t mean “hey, hunny should we start that family tonight” or “how do you feel we should vote on proposition 184 in the upcoming election” or “do you think we should paint the ceiling beige”.

It’s hard to explain, but here is our typical conversation:

6:00 PM

“How was your day?”

“I don’t know. How was yours?”

“Same as always.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Wanna do something tonight?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to?”

“I don’t care… it’s up to you.”

“Ok.”

“Like what?”

“You decide.”

“No, you.”

“I don’t want to…”

6:05 PM

Silence

6:35 PM

“So… what do ya wanna do?”

“I said I didn’t care.”

Silence

7:40 PM

“I’m hungry. You wanna eat?”

“If you want to.”

“What do you feel like?”

“What ever, you decide.”

“I don’t care.”

“Me either.”

Silence

8:10 PM

“You still hungry?”

“I don’t know – are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wanna get a pizza?”

“Do you?”

Silence

8:35 PM

“Do you still want a pizza?”

“If you do.”

“Ok, order one.”

Yes! A break through!

“What kind do you want?”

“I don’t care. What do you want?”

Noooooooo!

“Hello, Dominos I would like to order a pizza for delivery…. Ummm, yeah we don’t know. Just a second…. Hunny, I have them on the phone. What do you want?”

“I don’t care. What ever you decide.”

“Yeah, Dominos – surprise us. Thirty five minutes, great.”

Silence

9:20 PM

“How was your pizza?”

“I don’t know how was your?”

“Wanna help me with the dishes?”

“If you want me too…”

Silence

10:00 PM

“Wanna go to bed?”

“If you want to.”

“Well, are you tired?”

“Are you?”

Silence

10:20 PM – in bed

“Are you asleep?”

“Are you?”

“What time do you want to get up tomorrow?”

“I don’t know when do you want to?”
Silence

10:30 PM

“Do you think we should paint the ceiling beige?”

I love my shower...

People ask me – “So, how is the new house?”

All I can say is “I love my shower.”

I really, really do. Not in an “I need therapy kinda way”. I just really love it. It was a really big fear for me prior to us moving in. What if I don’t like it? What if the shower head isn’t high enough? What if the water pressure sucks? What if the tile freaks me out? What if it is always cold?”

Rest assured though it is perfect. And it is all mine.

Come on over. Check out the new house. Sit on my couch. Eat my food. Hug my wife. I don’t really care…

Just don’t ask to use my shower.