Uncle Damon’s Christmas Card à-Go-Go…2008.
I can sense you are all agog with anticipation to hear how I made out in my latest bout with what is popularly referred to as "reality" so I’ll make with the overused metaphors already.
At the opening bell I came roaring out of my corner like a man possessed. I sensed this might be my year and I would not be denied. My footwork was smooth, my head movement was sharp and I was working well behind my jab. I was pretty, my friends. God, but I was pretty. Sure enough, I took the early rounds with ease, even taking time to showboat for the crowd and wink at a group of ladies in the audience who, upon reflection, may actually have been a couple of prostitutes and a skinny dude in a gold lamé cocktail dress.
Well, like all aging fighters, although my punch was still there and I now have guile up the proverbial Wazoo, my conditioning apparently isn’t what it once was thanks to years of drunken carousing, wanton libertinism and unchecked consumption of pork stuffed with other pork and, as sure as eggs is eggs, I began to flag in the later rounds. 2008, the dastard, the poltroon, sensing his opening, pounced and began landing rabbit punch after kidney punch after egregious nutshot. But insurmountable pride and indomitable stupidity kept me going and I survived the late onslaught through a clever combination of eye-gouging, ear biting and a touch of the old Hey-Look-In-The-Third-Row-Isn’t-That-Clarence-Williams-III? I am not proud that it came to that but the important thing is, I hung on and got my second wind.
I like to think that I eked out a close decision win - hooray for me - win but I took some punishment in the process. The once-adorable features that you have all come to know and politely tolerate were pounded flat until I looked like Leon Spinks’ long lost - let’s face it - sister. The important thing though is that I still came away with the win. That's what counts, the rest is the price of doing bidniss. Wounds heal, bones knit, testicles redescend.
Whew, well that boxing analogy is wearing as thin as those old underpants that you mistakenly consider “lucky” so you know what? I’m going to retire it after this year’s Card. Yes, yes...I know that you’ve all come to…politely tolerate it and it’s certainly less weird and smugly esoteric than most of my other analogies (such as my Atom Transfer Radical Polymerisation bit, which, while perhaps no "Who's On First?", I maintain was fucking hilarious). Nonetheless, I’ve decided that this is a turning point in my life and therefore, the History of The Universe. The President of the United States is black*, Sunny Von Bulow gave up trying to testify in court and decided to go on ahead to stake out a good spot to waylay Claus on The Other Side with the Rolling Pin of Karma, Black Moses (a personal hero on par with Bootsy) caught the mothership to Venus to await his next assignment and the international...um...global...well I imagine other stuff happened in the world as well. Anyway, the upshot of it all this is, as you’ve probably been told, it’s time for Change™. I personally think Change™ is an awesome idea and that should be good enough for everyone else as I am, as you know, a licensed and bonded arbiter of that which is awesome. What? Yeah, it’s a good gig. Kind of like being a Beta Tester for a software company, the key difference being I have seen a naked woman in real life….if memory serves.
So, having endorsed and embraced the idea of Change™, I say let’s go for it. Let’s fucking, you know...just…go for it, man. I’ve decided 2009 is my year. In fact, I’ve decided 2009 is all of our year. Our...years...it's all of usses…it’s everyone’s year. For this reason, I’ve resolved not to fight it but to show it some lovin’, like Ike would have done. I don’t know if this will work but at worst, it’ll weird 2009 out and put it off-guard, at which point I can elbow it in the solar plexus and steal its lunch money. So it’s pretty much a win-win situation. And don’t worry; I won’t forget any of you. Once I have his wallet, the hot pretzels and Fanta are on me.
So to all of you - to all my family and friends and people I don’t really talk to but whose names I was far too lazy to go over and individually untick on my mailing list – allow me to indulge in one last CCAGG cliché before the dawn of the new era:
I wish you a Merry Christmas, a Chappy Chanukah, Diwali Wali Bing Bang, Kuul Eid and, Kwanzaa Kwanzaa Bo Banzaa Banana Fana Fo Fanzaa.
Actually, I think I’ll keep that part in but I will give you a chance to bid farewell to Mongo Santamaria, Ramón Novarro, Claus Von Bulow and Vincent “The Chin” Gigante, the Christmas Card à-Go-Go All Stars who, in the spirit of Change™, are appearing for the final time.
Oh, and of course, have certifiably awesome New Year.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=zZMJpeI3ZCU&feature=related
*Yes he is. Don't try to get in on the action now. We didn't make up the rules. Look up the word "hypodescent".
