IN WHICH THE AUTHOR TRIES TO FIND THE TRUE
MEANING OF THE HOLIDAYS AND FAILS MISERABLY—
LOOKS TO THE AGES FOR GUIDANCE AND FINDS NO ONE
AT HOME—EXPLORES THE SURROUNDING HOLIDAYS
FOR SUSTENANCE AND LEAVES THE TABLE HUNGRY—
AND ULTIMATELY CONCLUDES THAT THE WAY OF THE
SNARK IS THE ONLY RIGHTEOUS ONE
EVEN IF YOU DON'T spend a single minute entertaining people in your home, you're still going to find yourself putting up decorations, cleaning the house, readying it for the holidays…and if there's an obsessive/compulsive in your life, you might as well just call it a day now.
We all know the type. Those extremely annoying people who just “absolutely, positively ADORE the holidays!”…who spend thousands of dollars on lights and decorations that you can see from the space shuttle, who have their shopping and cooking done by the first week of October (“I'm completely done, so I can just enjoy every moment of time this year!”)…and have a three-month supply of obnoxious snowman or Christmas tree or reindeer sweaters so they can wear one every day. You know, those morons who feel the spirit SO intensely they have to have Santa legs sticking out from the trunk of their car, or a wreath in every window, or put antlers on the hood or, even worse, on their head right after Thanksgiving and don't take them off until New Year's Day. Remember, it's still deer season, so if I see antlers, I may shoot to kill.
There should be a place for those people—a big warehouse club–like structure where they can go and frenzy themselves into a holiday stupor—but alas, there is none, so load up on these snarks and have at it. They'll thank you in the end. Or, at least, everyone else will.
I have long thought it a pity that Scrooge, like so many people in Dickens, spoilt his case by overstatement. To dismiss the Christmas spirit as humbug will not quite do as it stands, but it gets close.
—KINGSLEY AMIS
Mail your packages early so the post office can lose them in time for Christmas.
—JOHNNY CARSON
Frasier: Dad, what are you doing with that wreath?
Martin: I'm gonna hang it on the door like I always do.
Frasier: But it's plastic!
Martin: Of course it's plastic! Do you think a real one would have lasted since 1967?
—FRASIER
Last Christmas, I put up stockings. All I got were Odor Eaters.
—RODNEY DANGERFIELD
In the immortal words of Tiny Tim, “God help us everyone!”
—GROUCHO MARX
Most Texans think Hanukkah is some sort of duck call.
—RICHARD LEWIS
I got a sweater for Christmas…I wanted a screamer or a moaner.
Kiss her under the mistletoe? I wouldn't kiss her under anesthetic.
I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the
way(s) he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost
luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.
—MAYA ANGELOU
If “ifs” and “buts” were candy and nuts, wouldn't it be a
merry Christmas?
—DON MEREDITH
Well, what shall we hang, the holly
or each other?
— HENRY II, THE LION IN WINTER
Brain Scan: Inside the Head of a Snowman
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
Christmas Is…
A time for saying that Christmas is a time for doing
things that one should, frankly, be doing anyway.
“Christmas is a time for considering people less fortunate
than ourselves.” Oh, July and August aren't, is that it?
—STEPH ENFRY
A time when people of all religions come together to
worship Jesus Christ.
—BART SIMPSON, THE SIMPSONS
Hell in a stupid sweater.
—CARINA CHOCANO
Santa Claus and elves and stockings hung by the
fireplace and good cheer and a big dinner and sugar
cookies and gifts, gifts and more gifts.
—BINNIE KIRSHENBAUM
The collectivization of gaiety and the compulsory
infliction of joy.
—CHRISTOPHER HITCHENS
The magical time of year when
all your money disappears.
—HAL ROACH
Awesome. First of all, you get to spend time with the
ones you love. Secondly, you can get drunk and no one
can say anything. Third, you give presents. What's
better than giving presents? And fourth, getting
presents. So four things. Not bad for one day. It's really
the greatest day of all.
—MICHAEL SCOTT, THE OFFICE
People being helped by people other than me.
—JERRY SEINFELD
Tradition. That's what you associate with Christmas:
tradition. And drunk driving. And despair and
lonliness. But mainly tradition.
—CHARLIE BROOKER
George Bernard Shaw
I am sorry to have to introduce the subject of Christmas. It's an indecent subject; a cruel, gluttonous subject; a drunken, disorderly subject; a wasteful, disastrous subject; a wicked, cadging, lying, filthy, blasphemous and demoralizing subject. Christmas is forced on a reluctant and disgusted nation by the shopkeepers and the press: on its own merits it would wither and shrivel in the fiery breath of universal hatred; and anyone who looked back to it would be turned into a pillar of greasy sausages.
It is really an atrocious institution. We must be gluttonous because it is Christmas. We must be drunken because it is Christmas…. We must buy things that nobody wants and give them to people we don't like; because the mass of the population, including the all-powerful middle-class tradesman, depends on a week of license and brigandage, waste and intemperance, to clear off its outstanding liabilities at the end of the year…. As for me, I shall fly from it all tomorrow.
Like all intelligent people, I greatly dislike Christmas. It revolts me to see a whole nation refrain from music for weeks together in order that every man may rifle his neighbor's pockets under cover of a ghastly pretense of festivity.
“The Little Drummer Boy” was playing in the
background for what seemed like the third time in a
row. I fought off an urge to beat that Little Drummer
Boy senseless with his own drumsticks.
—DANA REINHARDT
A Northern man was traveling through a small southern town when he found a “Nativity scene” that was created with great skill and talent. The only strange thing was that the three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets.
Totally unable to come up with a reason or explanation, he stopped at a 7-Eleven at the edge of town and asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets.
She exploded into a rage, yelling, “You darn Yankees never read your bibles!”
The man said he had read the Bible many times, but couldn't recall any mention of firemen.
She jerked her Bible from behind the counter and riffled through some pages, and finally jabbed her finger at a passage. “See, it says right here, ‘The three wise man came from afar.’”
The Italian version? One Mary, one
Jesus, 33 wise guys.
—ANONYMOUS
Jeez, why are we talking about God and religion? It's
Christmas!
— JACKIE, ROSEANNE
A woman goes to the post office to buy stamps for her Hanukkah cards. She says t
o the clerk, “May I have 50 Hanukkah stamps?” The clerk says, “What denomination?”The woman says, “Oh my god. Has it come to this? Give me 6 Orthodox, 12 Conservative, and 32 Reform.”
Being prepared is the secret of a harmonious
Christmas. If Joseph had booked ahead, Jesus would
not have been born in a stable.
—JILLY COOPER
Lucy: Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. At
this time of the year, I think we should put aside
our differences and try to be kind.
Charlie Brown: Why does it have to be just this
time of year? Can't it be all year round?
Lucy: What are you? Some kind of fanatic or
something?
—PEANUTS
It is my heart-warmed and world-embracing Christmas
hope and aspiration that all of us, the high, the low,
the rich, the poor, the admired, the despised, the loved,
the hated, the civilized, the savage, may eventually be
gathered together in a heaven of everlasting rest and
peace and bliss, except the inventor of the telephone.
—MARK TWAIN
During the first day of Hanukkah, two elderly
Jewish men were sitting in a wonderful deli
frequented almost exclusively by Jews in New
York City. They were talking among themselves
in Yiddish—the colorful language of Jews who
came over from Eastern Europe.
A Chinese waiter, in New York for only
a year, came up and in fluent, impeccable
Yiddish asked them if everything was OK and
if they were enjoying the holiday.
The Jewish men were dumbfounded.
“Where did he ever learn such perfect Yiddish?”
they both thought. After they paid the bill, they
asked the restaurant manager, an old friend of
theirs, “Where did our waiter learn such fabulous
Yiddish?”
The manager looked around and leaned in
so no one else would hear and said, “Shhhh. He
thinks we're teaching him English.”
Three men die in a car accident Christmas
Eve. They all find themselves at the pearly gates
waiting to enter heaven. On entering they must
present something “Christmassy.”
The first man searches his pocket and finds
some mistletoe, so he is allowed in.
The second man presents some holly, so he is
also allowed in.
The third man pulls out a pair of panties.
Confused at this last gesture, St. Peter asks,
“How do these represent Christmas?”
The third man answers “They're Carol's.”
Roses are reddish/Violets are bluish/If it weren't for
Christmas/We'd all be Jewish.
—BENNY HILL
December 25 is National Jews Go
to the Movies Day.
—JON STEWART
Snarkin’ the Holidays
Finally, out of the mall. Takes an hour, but it's good to be out and on the highway—which, frankly, isn't a whole lot better than the parking lot, but I see freedom. My heart rate slows, and my breathing becomes more regular. We've made it. We're free. That's when I hear those dreaded words: “Remember, the Yablonskis asked us to stop by for a drink.”
I want to stop by and have a drink with them like I want to cough up a lung.
The after-shopping-just-drop-by drink is like dancing in a body cast. I mean, it's dancing. It should be fun, but it just doesn't quite make it. And the Yablonskis and their ilk are people who usually brag about having all their shopping finished. Their house is decorated with thousands of stuffed rats in Christmas garb. (What the hell is that about?) Their tree is perfect. They have a perfect roaring fire and warm brandy liquor laced with…I don't know, honey or lemon. (Because you can't find a better way to screw up liquor?)
I hate this. I am in hell.
—THE AUTHOR
Christmas Facts
“Hot cockles” was a popular game at Christmas in medieval times. It was a game in which the other players took turns striking the blindfolded player, who had to guess the name of the person delivering each blow. Hot cockles was still a Christmas pastime until the Victorian era and has only recently been reintroduced as a method of preparation for holiday shopping.
According to the National Christmas Tree Association, Americans buy 37.1 million real Christmas trees each year. On January 2, the National Waste Management Association claims it picks up almost 36.9 million of said trees.
After A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens wrote several other Christmas stories, one each year, but none were as successful as the original. Among the least successful were A Christmas Mildred, A Christmas Agnes, and A Christmas Bob. Additionally, before settling on the name Tiny Tim, Dickens considered three other alliterative names: Little Larry, Puny Pete, Small Sam, Miniscule Marty, Wee Willie, and Malnourished Mark. Never had a chance.
An average household in America will mail out 28 Christmas cards each year and see 28 eight cards return in their place. Because if you get 27 back this year, you're mailing out 27 cards next year.
President Obama held a ceremony at the White House
to celebrate the first night of Hanukkah. In response,
Republicans said, “It's even worse than we thought.
He's a Jewish Muslim.”
—CONAN O'BRIEN
Did you ever notice that life seems to follow certain
patterns? Like I noticed that every year around this
time, I hear Christmas music.
—TOM SIMS
Let's Go A-Caroling
ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS MY TWO FRONT TEE TH. (On Amy Winehouse's Christmas list)
ANGE LS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH. (High on what? Angel dust? Nyuk, nyuk.)
CHESTNUTS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE. (Don't sit so close to the fire, you moron.)
DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR? (Really? I mean, really? You'd think you'd know better. Tell the world, go ahead. Damn gossip.)
FROSTY THE SNOWMAN (Drug dealer)
GOD REST YE MERRY, GENTLEMEN (Party ‘til you die.)
HAVE YOU RSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS (I'm tapped out.)
HERE WE COME A-WASSAILING (You ever see a body trampled by a herd of wassails? Not pretty.)
LET IT SNOW! LET IT SNOW! LET IT SNOW! (Followed by the lesser-known LET ME SHOVEL! LET ME SHOVEL! LET ME DIE OF A HEART ATTACK!
ROCKIN’ AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE (Don't come a-knockin’ if the Christmas tree is rockin’!)
RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER (Nothing worse than a boozing reindeer. They miss the roof, leave cookie crumbs, and crap where they want to.)
SANTA BABY (Guess he went down more than the chimney.)
SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN & HERE COMES SANTA CLAUS (Santa got Viagra for Christmas, didn't he?)
SILENT NIGHT (Yeah, like you can keep your mouth shut.)
TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS (Cost me over a hundred grand to make this happen last year. Never again. The Leaping Lords stayed until mid-February.)
WE THREE KINGS (Larry, Don, and Nosmo)
WHAT CHILD IS THIS? (He doesn't look like me. I want a paternity test…now!)
WHITE CHRISTMAS (Peruvian flake. Merry Christmas, yo.)
I'm so riddled with the holiday spirit that the mere
mention of stocking filler sexually arouses me.
—JOHN WATERS
Celebrities love the season of goodwill to all men. No
need to put up Christmas lights—they just crank up
the power on the electric fence until it's white hot.
—DAVID LETTERMAN
On the first night of Hanukkah, Jewish parents do
something that can only be described as sadistic when
they hand their child a top. A top.
To play with. They
call this top a dreidel. I know a fuckin’ top when I
see one. You can call it the king's nuts, I don't give a
shit. Call it whatever you like, it's a top. A top is not
something you play with. A top is not a toy. A toy
is something you participate with. It'd be like the
equivalent of if you had a young girl and she wanted a
Barbie and you handed her a stick and said
give it a name.
—LEWIS BLACK
Snarkin’ the Holidays
Christmas movies have pretty much always sucked. Completely filled with schmaltz and saccharin, and usually diabetic coma worthy, they also are clearly an exploitative moment when the filmmakers decided, “The hell with story, the hell with plot, I'm gettin’ paid!” and make movies that are bland or boring or just plain bad.
“But Snark…I love [fill in the blank]!”
Yes, I know, there ARE a handful out there that never fail to tug at your heartstrings and that signal a beginning to the season…a season that really NEE DS something to jump-start the mood. It's a Wonderful Life, the original Miracle on 34th Street, A Charlie Brown Christmas, the cartoon version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas—these are all terrific flicks. They can change your mood in an instant, even if you've seen them a hundred times.
But because they've hit a note in our collective psyche, every studio in Hollywood has tried to find a new replacement for these movies and 99 percent of the dreck that's resulted has failed miserably.
Here's a smattering of the Worst of the Worst:
Ernest Saves Christmas – A yokel Christmas, based on a character that should have had the shelf life of a bunch of bananas. Santa's chauffeur? Really? This crapfest took about three minutes to conceptualize and slightly less to write.
Snark! The Herald Angels Sing Page 2