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Dec. 21st, 2005 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
msconductThis-ish time last year, I was meandering down the West Coast in the company of my mother and my best friend. We stopped to have lunch in a small town that shall remain forever nameless (because I can’t remember where it was). Accelerating out of town afterwards, we suddenly hit the brakes and started reversing. Somebody’s front garden was full of Santas.
Not just tiny toy Santas, either. Full-sized Santas. Santa on a bike. Santa up a tree. Santa elbowing aside the gnomes to fish in the well.
Now this might have been OK (probably not, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt) had the Santas been robustly well-stuffed. Or possibly with a steel armature. But they weren’t. As a result, they were unfortunately droopy. And as a result of that, they looked, well… dead. The one on the bike flopped forward over the handlebars. (I’m sure it’s only in my imagination that a dagger protruded from between its shoulderblades.) The one in the tree looked as if a noose was probably concealed amongst the leaves. Yes. It was Santacide.
Naturally, my mother sprang alertly from the car and efficiently snapped off a bunch of pictures. Rather less efficiently, she discovered later there was no film in her camera. The Santacide remains undocumented. However, to the nameless resident of a nameless small town: I salute you. You murdered the spirit of Christmas, and for that we can only be grateful.
Happy Solstice to all.
Not just tiny toy Santas, either. Full-sized Santas. Santa on a bike. Santa up a tree. Santa elbowing aside the gnomes to fish in the well.
Now this might have been OK (probably not, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt) had the Santas been robustly well-stuffed. Or possibly with a steel armature. But they weren’t. As a result, they were unfortunately droopy. And as a result of that, they looked, well… dead. The one on the bike flopped forward over the handlebars. (I’m sure it’s only in my imagination that a dagger protruded from between its shoulderblades.) The one in the tree looked as if a noose was probably concealed amongst the leaves. Yes. It was Santacide.
Naturally, my mother sprang alertly from the car and efficiently snapped off a bunch of pictures. Rather less efficiently, she discovered later there was no film in her camera. The Santacide remains undocumented. However, to the nameless resident of a nameless small town: I salute you. You murdered the spirit of Christmas, and for that we can only be grateful.
Happy Solstice to all.
