Not to take anything away from Leslie's ghetto-blaster Don Magic Juan Christmas tree or anything, but I wanted to share my own personal slice of Chrimmas time. At right, you have the Mayor of Chrimmas. He's a Christmas ornament made out of gumdrops, and the key ingredient to any happy Carol Ann Christmas. According to my mom, he is about 40 years old. He is the first ornament I put on the tree, and always gets a red light right behind his head. He lost his right eye sometime in the 1990's, and no, I will not replace it. Violence has been threatened when attempts have been made to repair him. I think his handicap makes him all the more endearing.
Just as Bill Clinton has his embarrassing brother Roger, the Mayor of Chrimmas has a Fugitive brother, seen here trying his gum-droppy damndest to flee the scene. Doesn't he look like he's been caught in the police searchlights?
3 comments:
The mayor of Chrimmas looks like a tumor, but it is as you say, what makes him more endearing.
Two hundred years ago when I was in grade school I made my mom a paper mache angel for the tree. She was mishapen, and sorta painful to hold and hang. Mom being the rock star that SHE is put her on the tree anyway right there with the Elvis balls (ornaments dirty people) and engraved yearly gold ornaments.
As the years went by her position on the tree shifted until she was hidden from view and eventually retired to the closet where the light wouldn't "hurt" her.
I had a moral this comment, but I just now realized it wasn't a good one. So imma change how the story ends.
The mache angel grabbed my siamese cat by the ear and rode away to the magical ornament land in Yuletide, West Virgina where she met her destiny, whose name was Clyde, a paper mache gingerbread man.
Oh wow. A tumor? What a pleasant way to describe just my most cherished Christmas memory. Though, If I ever do get a tumor, I sure hope it is sugar-coated and is nice enough to wave as it eats through my body.
Hey my most cherished Christmas ornament looked like a spitball. Go figure.
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