WTF Friday: Vol 4

Santa did what??

Well, I guess we have our answer now about how Santa manages to finish all those deliveries in one night! Wal-Mart Canada had to pull a sweater off their website, because it showed the Very Jolly old elf sitting at a table with several lines of cocaine.

In case there was any doubt, Santa’s eyes are bulging out of his head, and he has a straw in one hand. If that’s still too ambiguous for you, the product description makes multiple references to how the best “snow” is South American. Ya know, that part of the world NOT exactly known for its skiing?

Wal-Mart has issued the usual statement about how the sweater was from a third party, and does not reflect their values, blah blah, we all know the drill. Which begs the question, how easy is it to just put something up for sale on a major retailer’s website? Shouldn’t there be better safeguards in place? Is no one checking these things?

What do you think Dissy?

To be 100% perfectly honest? I think it’s awesome, and I wish I had gotten one. I mean, how do we know it’s not sno-caine or maybe he’s going to snort some Goody’s powders for a massive headache? I’m not convinced it’s a genuine stash of blow just because an advertisement blatantly implies that’s what it is.

Then again, you know me. I pretty well reject out of hand any information provided by any kind of thing that can be deemed “media.”

In fact, I’m not entirely certain that even is, for a fact, Santa. I mean, unless he’s become a vampire. Look at those teeth. Speaking of which, since the teeth are still in relatively good shape, at least we know the substance on the table isn’t meth.

I think someone is trying to frame the old dude, and I am not cool with that.

We need to set up a Go Fund Me for his legal defense.

Cent’anni, Bitches!

Were You Born an Asshole?

So… What makes you an asshole?

Since you asked… Well, no one really has.  Yet.  We figured, however, that someone would eventually get around to it, so we may as well have something prepared for that looming occasion. 

According to Webster’s: 

Asshole (noun): Dissy and Barb. 

(if you don’t know that’s a joke, do not continue with this blog)

“Every so often, my mind comes up with something so evil that it makes my little black heart skip with joy.” ~Some internet meme

If you’re lucky enough, you have a friend you can share that with.  For me, that’s Barb.

I done told you how we met.  Once we finally met back up, our friendship took off like the wildfire that consumed King’s Landing after Cersei blew up the Sept of Baelor (5 bonus points if you get that reference).  For me, it was a joy to be able to 100% disarm my filter around someone. I mean, some of these thoughts, if I didn’t let them out, they were probably going to congeal in my veins and compound the cholesterol problem I used to have. Being nice and keeping that filter in place does have its place.  You know, like when you have a job to keep so you don’t end up living in your car.

9 out of ten times, our text conversation goes something like this:

One of us: “So, your friend is an asshole…”

The other of us: “what did you do?”

It’s really that simple.  But, what makes us assholes?  Well, Barb has her answer, and I have mine.  Please allow us to present them to you. 

Barb and I are on the board of a non-profit organization that puts on a few pagan festivals every year.  We do a lot of community awareness events during the year, and that, sometimes, puts us around people who really don’t understand and/or don’t even really try to understand what paganism is all about.

Case in point, there was a tangerine* festival in the town square of a local suburb one summer.  Barb and I had volunteered to man the tent our organization was provided by the town council.  Hey, we have our event at that square every summer.  They LOVE us.  Basically, we were going to sit there all weekend, people watch, sell T-shirts, and explain that, no, we do not eat babies or worship a devil. 

Anyhow, there was a woman in the next booth who was doing henna body art.  We asked her if she had ever heard of our festival.  When she said she hadn’t, we told her that she may want to consider coming up this summer and vending with us.  We explained that we had one regular henna artist, and she usually had customers lined up down the block and that she made money hand over fist. 

When she told us that she couldn’t do that, we, being naturally curious, asked her why.  “Because I’m not pagan,” she told us.  When we told her she didn’t have to be pagan, she got that haughty, self-righteous look on her face and said, “but I’m a Christian.”

“So?  We have a group of nuns from down the road that comes to our event every year, and they always make it a point to find one of us organizers and tell us what a fantastic time they had.  This is a community, family-friendly event, and ALL are welcome.”  Was our reply.

So, it turns out that we had her all wrong.  It wasn’t that she’d feel unwelcome.  It’s that she was judging us as evil and unworthy of having her holy presence at our event that just had to be filled with heathenry (well, as it turns out…) and blasphemy. 

“Suit yourself,” we told her, and we went on about our merry way.

Do you know that she then went to her RV, got a HUGE speaker, pointed it toward our booth, and started BLASTING Jesus music in our direction.  I thought I was going to piss myself laughing.

We rolled with it and got on with our day.  At that same event, I saw there was another vendor making those name necklaces where they make your name out of bent wire.  I walked over to the lady to see how much they were, then I asked her to make one for Barb that says “asshole.” I had intended to keep it for her birthday in August, but I have this thing where I can’t seem to hold on to a gift for very long. 

The necklace lady, of course, asked about my odd request, and I gave her some background.  She made the necklace, and I promptly gave it to Barb (see?  I told you I can’t hang on to a gift), who thought it was the absolute bee’s knees.  She screamed in delight and laughed her ass off.

Necklace lady decided we were her kind of gals, and we were all instant buds.  The next day, we were all talking, and we told necklace lady about Jesus lady and her shitty attitude.  She was as horrified as we were, and we basically moved on to more entertaining topics of conversation. 

Later on, as we were all standing there gabbing, necklace lady says, “I don’t know why you call yourselves assholes, you’re both sweet as pie.”

Just then, a huge gust of wind came along and blew over Jesus lady’s tent.  I ran over and helped her put it back up correctly.  She, for the first time all weekend, smiled and thanked me.  I went back over to my tent. 

Barb says, “I always told you I was the bigger asshole.  I wasn’t about to help her.”

I said, “That’s why I win the asshole game.  None of that was about helping her.  Now she has my dirty, filthy, devil-worshipping, baby-eating fingerprints all over her holy tent.”

Barb looks at me and says, “Wow.  You really ARE an asshole.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barb here, I think my favorite part of that day was, it wasn’t just normal Jesus music. This was not the stuff I heard for most of my life. Oh no, this was….intense. This was, “I’m on the verge of orgasm because I want Jesus to fuck me” music. I still kind of want to know who the artists were. For science. 

However, I can’t blame Dissy, I was an asshole long before I met her, she just brings out the best in me. One story that comes to mind is from more than 20 years ago. I was in a terrible relationship, and one of this guy’s favorite things was constantly making “jokes” about threesomes. Now, if that’s your jam, cool, not judging. But I don’t roll that way. I was sick of it, our friends were sick of it, no one thought this was funny except him. 

Now, something you need to know about me, one of my talents is opening my mouth and saying something that no one was anticipating, not even me. So we’re hanging out with friends, and he started up. Once he got to the part where he went on and on about how it was definitely going to be another woman, because I wasn’t getting two men, I spoke up. 

“You can’t even handle the one woman you already have. What are you gonna do, disappoint double the number of women at the same time?”

Silence for several seconds, and then all our friends erupted into laughter. He was furious, but couldn’t really do much about it in front of so many people, so he pouted the rest of the night and didn’t say anything else. Bonus? He never made that joke again. 

Cent’anni, Bitches!