Uncle Fun and Sparky Land



Okay, Chrismuss is two days over already, so ya got no excuse fer not payin’ attenshun ta th’ real world again. I kin say that, cuz, as a fickshunal character, I get kinda tired’a all’a you so-call’d “real” people workin’ my side’a th’ street.

So here’s yer post-Chrismuss reality check, courtesy’a me, Sparky. I don’ hafta ask any’a ya if ya got one er two things fer Chrismuss that made ya wanna fly a squadron’a drones over th’ North Pole an’ carpet-bomb Santa outta bizness. It’s a sad fact’a life that th’ joys’a Chrismuss is inevitibbly tempurred by th’ despair’a getting crappy Chrismuss prezzunts. Th’ main problem is, whaddaya do with ‘em? A lot of ‘em’ll be given to ya by people ya like, an’ they may not necessarily join ya in watchin’ a rented steamroller flatten th’ rejects from yer Chrismuss gift pile in quite th’ festive spirit ya’d anticipated. Take it frum th’ voice of experience here.

So, as a public service, but mostly ‘cuz someone left a computer unguarded, I’m gonna give ya a few friendly hints an’ tips as ta whut ta do with and/or about whut Uncle Fun refers to as “Yuletide detritus”. I think that means “crappy gifts”, but I also heard him say it while we wuz watchin’ the 87,031st rerun’a It’s a Wonderful Life on TV, so it may have multiple connatashuns.

Anyway, here goes. Getcher pencils an’ papers whut’cha found under th’ tree instead’a sumpin’ funner, an’ prepare ta take notes:

• Most lit’rutt folks like me loves books, but not all of us gets th’ books we wants fer Chrismuss (did I see 101 Ways to Tunnel into Fort Knox and Out Again wit’ a bow an’ my name tag on it this year? No). Not all’a yer unwanted Chrismuss books is useful in a doorstop er a proppin’ up a table leg kinda way, either. Those are yer bathroom books. The right place fer th’ right thing, I say. Havin’ a book ya don’ really wanna read in th’ bathroom is extra incentive ta finish up an’ get on wit’ the rest’a yer day. An’, once they’ve outlived their usefulness, ya kin take ‘em ta other people’s bathrooms. Er public washrooms, even. Be civic-minded, I say—share th’ Chrismuss joy. B’sides, yer doin’ everyone a favour if th’ stall ya leave th’ book in runs outta paper.
• If someone gave ya a DVD that’cha ain’t so fond of, ya don’ hafta repurpose it as a coaster, er take up skeet shootin’ ta dispose of it. Jus’ put ‘er in, hit th’ mute button, crank up th’ play speed ta sumpin’ like 8 er 16 times fast, an’ have a infinutt loop’a “Yakety Sax” by Boots Randolph goin’ in th’ background. Trust me—ain’t no form’a entertainment so unentertainin’ that turnin’ it inta Benny Hill can’t make it at least a li’l better.
• Evrybuddy knows that Chrismuss is th’ time fer people ta pass off inedible foods as gifts. B’fore ya clog up th’ composter wit’ all those frootcakes, plum puddin’s, mince pies, an’ other globular blobs’a guck, why not see if mixin’ ‘em all tagether makes ‘em palatable? Th’ worst that kin happen is you’ll need ta add “new blender” ta yer Chrismuss wish list fer next year. 
• R’lated ta th’ food thing is ugly Chrismuss clothing. You know, th’ kind made’a all kinds’a clashy colours’a itchy wool that feels like it was sheared offa sheep who turned nudist, then took ta wearin’ overcoats made’a Brillo pads ta keep out th’ cold. Yer gonna git yer share of it, but ya kin cut yer losses by gettin’ a friend wit’ th’ prerekwissit skills ta knit it all up inta one monstrosity instead’a severull. If nothin’ else, ya’ll have a conversashun-starter when ya wear yer brand new Chrismuss scarf-an’-mittens-socks-an’-sweater-hat.
• Along wit’ puke-inducin’ food an’ rash-inducin’ woolens, Chrismuss is first an’ foremost a time fer fun novelty items. Th’ av’rage person gits approximittly 650,000 er so’a these in their stockin’ durin’ a lifetime’a Chrismusses. A lot of ‘em do make th’ effort’a unwrappin’ ‘em basick’ly worthwhile, but more of a share of ‘em than is fair wooden’a bin novel to a caveman, an’ have about as much fun to ‘em as getting a combination colonoscopy-an’-tax-audit. Whatcha wanna do with these is take a page outta th’ book’a a Germun named Kurt Schwitters (this is one book not ta leave inna public washroom). Get yerself a vat’a hot-melt glue, slap ‘em up on th’ walls’a yer house, an’ call it art. Better yet, glue ‘em up on the walls’a someone else’s house…on th’ outside. Friend er foe, it duzzent matter—ya don’ even haftya know ‘em. Nobuddy ever said life wuz gonna be fair ta them any more’n they did ta you an’ me. Mebbe this kinda objeck lesson will make one person take a cold sober second look at any Chrismuss novelty fun items b’fore they haul off an’ buy ‘em fer their next unsuspectin’ victim.

Well, there ya have it—that’s my after-Chrismuss prezzent ta you. Do with it whatcha want. I won’t be offended if ya rent a steamroller. Jus’ save me a good seat, is all I ask.

Sparky