Happy 2010th Birthday, Jesus!

You don’t look a day over 1,625 you nutty fictitious Jew.

So, how’s Mary? Still a virgin? Anyone hit that fly punani yet? Give her my number and I’ll have her screaming your name before New Year’s Day.

And people have the nerve to imply that I’m not in the holiday spirit.

Anyway …

I spent this Christmas in my own neighborhood. I didn’t want to drive anywhere, didn’t want to have my pecker tugged by the TSA, didn’t really want to do much of anything but hang out and relax.

I can see the top half of the Macy’s Star from my crib, and for the past couple of nights it’s been beckoning me to walk over. I’m a sucker for Christmas in Downtown Seattle. The sights, the smells, the sounds … even a non-believer such as myself can appreciate the vibe. Things just seem a little better. People seem a little nicer, they have a little more pep in their step, and hostility feels like it’s ratcheted back a notch or two. I would probably even go so far as to say that this is my favorite time of the year.

On Christmas Eve (and also the day before) we walked over to Westlake Park and rode the Carousel while munching on candy from See’s.

Today, we got up, walked down to the Public Market, got some totally non-Christmas food, and relaxed while watching the ferries cross Elliot Bay.

As a matter of fact, here is a picture of my Christmas lunch:

Sure, it looks like vomit on a bun, but it was quite delicious.

For the most part, I’ve actually had a very good holiday week. I’m car-less once again, which I have to tell you is sublime. When your front yard consists of the entire urban core of a major city, it’s really not that hard.

Of course, not everything has gone off without a hitch.

On Thursday night, while standing in line for the merry-go-round, a lady standing in front of us turned around, looked down at my kid and said “Are you getting ready for Santa?”

Knowing that we live in an asylum run by the inmates, my kid usually plays along with these people by flatly answering “sure”, or by giving some other response which is designed to elicit the approval of the questioner. You have to pick your battles in life, and we all know that it’s usually just easier to admire the emperor’s new clothes like everyone else. Especially when the person asking means no harm.

On this day, however, I think she was asked one too many times.

“I don’t believe in that”, she said in a completely unamused manner.

This caught even me off-guard. It was perhaps a bit harsh, and I later told her as much, but it was a legitimate answer.

The woman looked up at me as if I was Satan incarnate, and I just shrugged.

What could I say?

What should I say?

She clearly disapproved of our non-participation in the seasonal lie, but I didn’t feel an overwhelming need to explain myself on the spot. I suppose I could have said “If you want to know the reason behind my decision not to do the Santa thing, be sure to visit SeattleRex dot com”.

Instead, I just smiled at her and said “Have a good Christmas”.

This brings me to a couple of points.

First of all, it’s probably not a good idea to assume that every family does the Santa thing. When you do make this assumption, it is just as awkward for us as it is for you. Wish us a Merry Christmas or whatever, but if you assume that everyone teaches the same lie you were taught, shit gets weird real quick.

Second of all, I don’t understand how you normals justify lying to your kids about the flying fatass year after year.

I really, really don’t.

Sure, regaling kids with tales of a toy-delivering obese man sounds kind of cool (fiction often does), but doesn’t it do much more damage in the long run?

Think about it, from the time your kids pop out of the glory hole until they are about 8 years old, you systematically lie to them about pretty much everything.

Magic bunnies, benefactor fairies with oral fixations, God, infant-delivering storks, the thermodynamic properties of cadmium … about half of what we convince our children to be true … isn’t.

In between these outrageous lies we sprinkle truthful advice and we somehow trust that these little bundles of piss are somehow innately equipped with the instinctive intellect to separate our bullshit from reality.

Here’s the thing, though.

If they are indeed equipped to weed out our bullshit, then lying to them is a completely moot waste of time.

If they are not equipped to separate our nonsense from reality, however, these kids are going to later have to unlearn a bunch of crap … hopefully before it’s embarrassingly too late. Not only that, but once they find out that you’ve been yanking their crank for a decade, they may very well not believe a damn thing you say ever again.

Consider this:

“Well, my father told me that methamphetamine was bad for my health, but for most of my life he also told me that some fat guy came down the chimney every winter to bring me socks and underwear. The more I think about it, I’m not sure that ‘dad’ guy is the most reliable source of information. Let me do a line and see for myself.”

When your kids learn that most of the things you taught them is a lie, how do expect to retain any credibility?

“Not true, Rex, my mom and dad taught me that Santa was real and I don’t have a delusional bone in my body.”

Really?

To this day, I bet you believe that an invisible man in the sky watches you poop. I bet you think the same guy watches Ethiopian children starve while helping football players make winning touchdown catches. I bet you vote for either a Democrat or Republican every election cycle because you are convinced that one candidate is less corrupt than the other. When speaking of the local sports team, I bet you still say “we won” or “we lost” after the game. I bet you still think that America is #1 at everything. I bet you think your chance of being killed by a terrorist is greater than being struck by lightning.

If not all of the above, I would be willing to bet that at least one of the above applies to those of you who grew up waiting for your Hungry Hungry Hippos to arrive in a flying sled.

Face it, you may not believe in Santa anymore, but if you grew up in a household where the reindeer hocus-pocus was taught … you’re still delusional.

It’s not your fault, though. You never had a fighting chance. You were lied to so often as a kid that you became conditioned to accept anything as valid premise.

Not me, though.

I was never taught to believe any of that stuff, nor did I ever believe in any of it.

And …

LOOK HOW GREAT AND WELL-ADJUSTED I TURNED OUT!

On second thought, Merry Christmas.

I hope Santa Claus brought you some great presents.