Question:

Why do the Legion of Doom live in Darth Vader's head?

I think I'll pass.

Hello Kitty no longer exclusively vaginal.

The cute cuddly white cat from Japan's Sanrio Co., usually seen on toys and jewelry for girls and young women, will soon don T-shirts, bags, watches and other products targeting young men, company spokesman Kazuo Tohmatsu said Friday.

I wonder if Fred Thompson will be among the first to buy a Hello Kitty Manthong.

Then why can I give you a gallon of milk that will expire within two weeks?

Let's say I give you a gift card.

And it's acceptable to both of us that it must be used within 3 months. Maybe I got a free toaster for buying a gift card with such a provision. Maybe I just recognize that if you haven't used it in three months, you are almost certainly NEVER going to use it.

Is there any legitimate reason whatsoever for the government to meddle in such an arrangement?

As deputy attorney general for Arkansas, DePriest helped get consumer-protection legislation passed this year to impose restrictions on retailers who sell gift cards in Arkansas - including a requirement that the cards cannot expire within two years of being issued.

The 2007 Arkies.

Douchebag of the Year: Matt Westerhold.

2007's Guilty Pleasure: Woo Pig Chewy.

Least Interesting Story Being Forcefed To Us By Big Media: Stacy Peterson. Would anyone outside those directly involved be interested in yet another Missing White Woman case if her name didn't rhyme with Laci Peterson?

Outside-the-box Idea of the Year: The Ron Paul Blimp.

Best 3-word Phrase of 2007: Legalize the Constitution.

2007 Phil Jackson Insinuendo Award: John Gruden's "Irrelative."

"If we were playing New England on a national televised game, we might have taken a different approach," Gruden said. "No disrespect to Carolina and all this other stuff because it's irrelative right now. "

2007 Doogie Howser Blogging Lifetime Achievement Award: Paul Harvey. He was blogging before there was a blogosphere, before there was an internet, before there were computers. He just used radio waves to do it.

Song of the Day, Song of the Year, Song of the Life.

Here's another one of those Esquire-esque questions.

Is taking land via eminent domain to build a private toll bridge a legitimate government function?

Why Minnesota Sucks.

In Minnesota, this . . .
... is a "mishap."

The closet is a dark and twisted and self-loathing place.

From this Sun-Times article:

[Mr.] Rivera followed the victim to the outer staircase of a basement apartment, where he removed the victim's pants and raped him, authorities said. Afterward, Rivera punched the victim in the head, leaving him semi-conscious, then inserted a metal broom handle in the victim's rectum, sources said.

Rivera gave police these details in a videotaped statement, according to Proft. When asked why he did it, Rivera allegedly said it was "because he hates f[aggot]s, and this is what they get," according to Proft.

What color is the sky in the world where that makes ANY FUCKING SENSE WHATSOEVER?

Rivera rapes that guy because that guy's a faggot.

Question: What does that make Rivera?

Song of the Day: Singing the Song of Angry Men.

Excuse me; I have to batter a tissue.

Clunky.

Surely there's a better way to write this headline:

Parents Told to Abort Baby Call Disabled Son Gift.

Theoretically, there's nothing wrong with it but I have to think way too hard about it for it to make any sense and not look like a big jumble of random words.

Suggestion.

NCAA, football powers seek better officiating.

How about making the refs answer questions from the press after the game like the NFL coaches and players have to?

Wow.

This is obviously some high-schoolish assignment, but it's good.

So good, in fact, I'm gonna let it stand on its own and not make it a Song of the Day.



If this is any indication, there's hope for the future.

Shut Out Again.

Note the absence of Ron Paul here.

Richardson's included. Hell, even Brownback's included.

And neither one of those has any better shot of winning the nomination than Ron Paul does.

But he's left out.

Anyone up for a steaming pile of agenda?

I HATE the Ted Fonda Liberal Opinion Network.

I'm guessing there won't be any carols written about it.

Iowa Man Spends Christmas Eve Stuck Upside-Down In A Septic Tank.

"Have a fecal, septic Christmas . . ."

Too bad Burl Ives isn't around anymore to sing it!

[H/T 2 Drudge.]

Song of the Day: Goin' to the country . . .

You-hoo, Mr. President Bush Man, sir?

You need to add Callie to your list of evildoers!

I found this in my inbox this morning:

I rear-ended a car this morning.

So there we are alongside the road and slowly the driver gets out of the car . . and you know how you just-get-sooo-stressed and life-stuff seems to get funny?

Yeah, well, I could NOT believe it . . . he was a DWARF!

He storms over to my car, looks up at me and says, "I AM NOT HAPPY!"

So, I look down at him and say, "Well, which one are you then?"

I'm guessing Callie won't be in contention to be Queen of the next Dwarf Pride Parade.

BTW . . . OBVIOUSLY, he was Grumpy!

The Arkanssouri Ad Agency.

Remember the old Grey Poupon commercials? They were great for the Dynasty-driven 80's. But I think they've left a lasting aura of snobbery around the product.

So, I suggest an update of the ad campaigns, something that will appeal to a younger, hipper crowd.

Along that vein, I've assembled a couple of protoposals:

Email me with details on how I can pick up my royalty checks, Mr. Mustard Company!

Bashflack.

Some of my inner circle will remember these. I guess you could call them the Gummint Cheese prototypes. The ink in the originals was a bright red, except for the Toys one, which was blue, but colors took up too much disk space.

Click the pics to embiggen them, and print them out. Then color them if you like and put them on your refrigerator.



I wonder sometimes if my Canadian Doppelganger ever created a similar piece with the title "Labatt Got In My Hair."



Contrary to appearances, the original title was going to be "I Am Afraid Of The Bus." I stopped in the middle and scribbled the AM out. It was NOT "I Am Not Like The Bus."



Apparently, I had abandonment issues.

Yes, why indeed?

Gummint Cheese Collaboration w/ R Bryan T. Rex.

Click pic to embiggen.

Don we now our gay apparel.

Santa's "condom hat with a reservior tip."

Ha ha.

Boxing Day.

1. Rent this for Boxing Day:




2. Listen to this:

Arkanssouri Kwaanza PSA.

Click pic to embiggen.

Bonus Xmas Song of the Day.

Song of the Day: Is there anybody in there?

Song[s] of the Day: It is 1989.

I am looking out the window of Hammons House room 308 on the [Southwest] Missouri State University campus. The streetlights cast a deathly orange glow on the empty parking lot below.

I have just sabotaged my future.

And it is snowing.

Song of the Day: Goin' off the rails.

Song of the Day: Wait, I'm coming undone.

In her defense, she WAS training for the Redneck Olympics Hoodriding Team.

An Alton woman, Esther Burmingham, received serious injuries Dec. 11 when she fell off the hood of a 1996 Oldsmobile she was riding on and was ran over.

Apparently, the hood of a car offers a much better vantage point from which to count the appliances in one's yard.

So I'm in the Dollar General trying to get to the paper towels . . .

. . . and a dumbass bitch has left her cart in the way, blocking the aisle I need to get down, while she wanders all over the goddam store picking out what she's there for.

Such assholedness must not go unpunished.

I waited quietly by her cart until she approached with her arms full of things.

Then I dropped a big, meaty air biscuit right where she'd be standing to get her cart.

I win. Payback's a bitch, but so was she, so I had no choice but to make sure her uppance did come.

I can prove it's a bookshelf, not an actual cross.

Note that it does not make Nanny Huckabee hiss and cower and burst into flames.

Therefore, it cannot be a cross.

Song of the Day: Nothing to gain, hollow and alone.

I'm surprised they didn't break out the batons or turn the fire hoses on him.

From the Blue Springs Examiner (emphasis mine):

In that case, Carnes said six officers from the Independence Tactical Swat Team and two patrol officers accompanied two Health Department employees in response to a a report that a person may have been smoking in the establishment.

[H/T 2 leighanimate on the Examiner Blogs.]

Apparently, Atlanta Falcons management didn't get the Man Memo.

At some point in his life, every man receives the caution "If she* will cheat with you, she will cheat on you."

The Falcons should keep that in mind when encouraging college coaches to break their contracts to join them.

They also should be reminded of this parable from the excellent film Natural Born Killers:

WARREN RED CLOUD: Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came upon a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake, "Why have you done this to me?" And the snake answered, "Look, bitch, you knew I was a snake."

* - or "he," for those of my minions of the lavender persuasion.

Question.

Why do so many so badly resent the enthusiasm of Ron Paul's supporters?

Is it because they dare not examine why they are not so enthusiastic about their candidates?

The Tancredo Juggernaut . . .

. . . turns out to be not so juggernautty.

Come, Tancredans, join the Ron Paul Revolution.

[H/T 2 memeorandum.]

Kyrgyzstan trying to develop sex tourism.

"Mount Santa Claus in Kyrgyzstan."

I can't wait until they start selling T-shirts.

Kyrgyzstan, by the way, is pronounced "Shuh-shev-ski."

'Tis the season to make hideous, annoying music.

10 Most Annoying Christmas Songs.

10. Here We Come A-Wassailing.
9. Redneck 12 Days Of Christmas.
8. Do They Know It's Christmas?
7. All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.
6. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.
5. I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas.
4. Santa Claus Is Watchin' You.
3. Alvin & The Chipmunks "The Christmas Song".
2. Jingle Dogs.
1. Barbra Streisand's version of Jingle Bells.

Song of the Day: No safety or surprise.

Song of the Day: What is democracy? It's got something to do with young men killing each other.

Granted, it's not scientific.

But at least when I post a poll on Topix, it gets responses (unlike here). Here is the result of my latest poll there.

P.S. You can vote in the NEXT poll here.

These are the people the Democrats want in charge of your healthcare.

Postcard arrives 93 years late.

That's what they get for letting prisoners watch The Shawshank Redemption.

Two prisoners have escaped from a high-security US jail by hiding their getaway holes behind pictures of bikini-clad women.

As long as they're doing something useful.

[A]group of South Korean scientists has cloned cats with a florescent protein gene that makes them glow red in ultra violet light.

lmao.

MRI shows Jeremy Shockey has no broken bones, but one very sore vagina.

Song of the Day: Creepiest Xmas song EVER.

It should have been done by Burl Ives.

Catchup.

People For Lousy Baseball are wee-weeing all over themselves over 400 pages of rumor and hearsay. (Don't let 'em get you down, Roger -- we still love you!)

Dolphins are soggy and no longer winless.

Has anyone crossreferenced the list of Middle Eastern donors to the Clinton Library with the list of Middle Eastern donors to Cynthia McKinney on and shortly after 9/11/2001?

When is a Drudge pic containing a subliminal halo not so subliminal? When it's freakin' OBVIOUS!



I always thought the people of Iowa were sensible folk. I may have to revisit that belief after the Des Moines Register endorsed John McCain-Feingold.

Ron Paul was re-elected President of the Internet yesterday.

Why is Hillary The Feminist now playing the Vagina Card?

Sidebar: Let's face it, if Hillary hadn't married Bill, by now she'd be selling hemp hackysacks out of a broken-down Microbus at Lillith Fair.

Dan Fogelberg, RIP.

Bones In The Sky
By Dan Fogelberg

Up through the branches
The stars shine above
On the arroyos and mesas you loved
And as the moon rises, the black mountain mourns
For the old friend he'll look on no more

Jacks-in-the-Pulpit
Bones in the sky
Long winding rivers that never ran dry
And the secrets she gathered from the wild blowing sands
Breathed in her heart and her hands

I sing to your spirit
Where all my dreams dwell
The vision--the freedom, the life lived so well
And I sing in your canyons and the echoes ring clear
And I wish somehow you may still hear

[H/T 2 Drudge & Memeorandum.]

Song of the Day: Philadelphia.

Song of the Day: The night is yours alone.

A top ten list I wish we weren't on.

Missouri is #10 in Government Employees Per Capita.

Snowstorm coming, maybe...

... and I want to get my 12 days of Christmas Songs of the Day in, so I'm going to go ahead and post them.

And if I'm not snowed in, I can always come in and post in between them.

I know that at one point in the past . . .

. . . I could awake in the morning and not be totally drained of energy, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I did not have to lie there for an hour trying to summon the strength to get out of bed.

I did not feel like I had just completed a marathon every moment of the day.

I know there used to be days like that.

But I don't even remember how long ago that was.

Douchebag of the Month nominee: Hillary Clinton.

Said the woman who married up:

“The estate tax has been historically part of our very fundamental belief that we should have a meritocracy, that we do not want a system — where we expect people to make it on their own — to be, over time, dominated by inherited wealth,” she said.

The question she is neither asking nor answering is: Shouldn't the government EARN its money instead of getting it just because someone died?

SOMEONE is going to get that money. Tell me, Ms. Rodham, why should that someone be the government and NOT the people who the deceased WANTS to get it?

Proven Facts About Ron Paul

The Founding Fathers were often heard debating "Is this in keeping with Ron Paul's vision for America?"

Nietzche's original title for the book was "Man & Ron Paul."

The reason there was never a Rocky movie featuring Ron Paul is that Ron Paul would win.

That star that lit up the night sky on the first Christmas? That was Ron Paul.

Ron Paul is not allowed in the Batcave because Batman knows Dr. Paul could kick his ass.

Ron Paul invented democracy.

There are pieces of Adolf Hitler in Ron Paul's stools.

There is a secret plan in place to deal with a planet-killer asteroid. It's called, "Operation Ron Paul."

The Statue of Liberty was constructed to be a bride for Ron Paul.

Ron Paul invented toenail clippers.

Helen Thomas would spontaneously combust if touched by Ron Paul.

The Berlin Wall was erected to keep East Berliners from gazing upon the beauty of Ron Paul.

Viagra takes Ron Paul to obtain and maintain an erection.

Barry White's final words were "DAMN Ron Paul's SMOOOOoooth!"

Diamonds are slightly less than half as hard as Ron Paul's testicles.

All Republican men harbor a secret mancrush on Ron Paul.

Ron Paul could "cure" all lesbianism if he wanted to.

Jalapenos eat Ron Paul to feel the spicy burn.

Ron Paul is immune to time and gravity.

Why do the grunion run? They're running from Ron Paul.

Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton took guitar lessons from Ron Paul.

Ron Paul invented sex.

Ron Paul carved the Hall of Justice out of granite with his bare hands.

Ron Paul uses steel wool as a loofah.

Song of the Day: What have I become?

Who was it that said . . .

. . . nothing worth a damn was ever designed by a committee?

Arkansas State pisses even more tax dollars down the drain by hiring a "Mascot Consultant."

I have seen no evidence that the suddenly PC NCAA will cover the cost of it's Sensitive Unfunded Mandate.

Pictures of Salem.

Had to take a little daytrip over to Salem today. Here are some pictures of my old hometown.




That last one's where I went to sixth grade at. And, yes, much of my elementary school experience felt exactly like that picture.

Song of the Day: I'm not the one that's so far away.

Really poorly-written headlines are being constructed by them.

From the Chicago Trib:

UFO evidence being searched for by NASA.

Here, let me help.

NASA searching for UFO evidence.

Isn't that better?

Don't you want to fire your copy editor (who apparently went to journalism school at Missouri State University) and hire me now?

Not that I was going to vote for him anyway,

but the only problem I have with Mitt Romney being a Mormon is that massive Big-Brother database (that doesn't seem to have an opt-out procedure, by the way) they're creating.

If I found out an organization I belonged to was putting together a file on everyone on earth, I would quit the organization immediately.

And yet Romney hasn't.

Douchebag of the Month nominee.

Mike Huckabee.

"If the federal government is truly serious about doing something with the AIDS virus, we need to take steps that would isolate the carriers of this plague," he wrote. "It is the first time in the history of civilization in which the carriers of a genuine plague have not been isolated from the general population, and in which this deadly disease for which there is no cure is being treated as a civil rights issue instead of the true health crisis it represents."

And just wait until you see how he now justifies having held those views.

"Fifteen years ago, the AIDS crisis was just that, a crisis," he said. "There was still a great deal of, I think, uncertainty about just how widespread AIDS was, how it could be transmitted.

Bullshit. As this 1987 PSA demonstrates, we knew before then that AIDS was transmitted through blood or sexual contact. Ryan while had been dead two years by then. There was no uncertainty by 1992 about how AIDS could be transmitted.

Song of the Day: More Holiday Music.

Don't know how often I'll post over the next week or so.

The weather looks kind of dicey, so I don't know about coming in to update the blog.

So if you don't hear from me for a few days, my minions, don't go sifting through the droppings of the Mokele-mbembe with your hands trying to find my bones to confirm that he's eaten me.

He hasn't.

Probably.

Song of the Day: And we'll escape the darkness.

Show me anywhere in the First Amendment . . .

. . . where it allows size restrictions on the Freedom of Speech.

I think I'll pass.

Stumped about what to give that special someone this Christmas? How about
some rhino poop?

Ummmm . . . It's the thought that counts?

If *I* was in charge of making warning labels . . .

Make your own here.

Oh, Kressmuss Kressmuss! Mnah Mnah Mnah!

The above is intended to be delivered in a whiny little contemptuous voice directed at all the Christmas drones.

Having said that, here's more X.M.A.S. pics:

Santa Heads In A Plastic Bag.

Self portrait.

Song of the Day: Disco Metal.

I may be to blame for the destruction of mankind.

If you believe what the anti-plastic-bag people tell us, plastic bags could lead to the end of the world.

It must be true, then, that there is somewhere a "tipping point," one bag before which mankind can recover, and one bag beyond which the human race is doomed.

Yesterday, when planning our little Daily Venture Out Among The Humans, I realized I needed some cans of soda. We'd get lunch first and stop at Lane's grocery afterward.

I dug my little Bag To Save The Universe out and laid it on the table, intending to put it in the backseat of my car as we went out.

Halfway through lunch, I realized something. "Dammit," I remarked to my mother, "I left my little hippie bag on the kitchen table."

We went on to Lane's and got the sodas. We had to put it in two plastic bags.

When I got back out to the car, I was getting ready to put the bags in the back seat when something black caught my eye. It was the little Bag To Save The Universe.

Instantly, I now remembered taking it out to the car and putting it in the back seat.

So I wasted two bags. And those may be the two bags that push us beyond the tipping point and doom life on earth. I am a horrible person.

What's the line from the Borg Queen? Watch your future's end.

I hate how sluggish my mind is this time of year.

Heads up to my minions.

Especially, those of my minions that like to print things out at the library and read them at home.

You need to take a look at Project Gutenberg. There's lots of fun stuff there.

I just saved A Lady's Life on a Farm in Manitoba by Mrs. Cecil Hall onto a floppy and will read it tonight.

Bonus Song of the Day: What if God Smoked Cannabis?

The Pole Monster.

Should I add a seperate category for Dipshit Cop of the Month?

Oh, Jesus f***ing Christ!

The [Ice Breakers Pacs] packets, which come in blue and orange plastic slide-up cases, are similar enough to drug packets that a child familiar with the candy could mistakenly swallow a heat-sealed bag of drugs, Philadelphia Police Chief Inspector William Blackburn told the Philadelphia Daily News for an article published Friday.

Yeah, and maybe the REAL reason Pop Rocks went out of style was all those children who got it and cat litter confused!

He goes on:

"It glorifies the drug trade," he said. "There's really no reason that a product like this should be on the shelf."

Powdery candy. That wouldn't appeal to ANY child in the world, so it has to be some big dark pro-drug conspiracy, right?

Anyone remember Pixie Stix?

How much pleasure do the NORMAL people in America have to give up in order to make the country Safe For Idiots?

I wish it was what I thought it was.

Here's a headline for you:

Young Chimp Beats College Students.

Unfortunately, no trips to the emergency room are involved.

Song of the Day: I like torture and pain.

More X.M.A.S. pics.

Police are hoping this picture from

surveillance video will help someone

recognize and identify the Serial Snowman Stabber.

What's the old saying,

"You can put Christmas lights

and deathsicles

on a shithouse

and it's still a shithouse."?

Looks like some sort of torture mechanism.

I can't tell.

Is the snowman stalking someone,

or cruising for sex?

This looks like the runway to Hell.

That one isn't all Christmassy,

but it looked somehow ominous,

so I took a picture.

The Arkanssouri National Championship Game.

The Cotton Bowl is January 1st.

(Hey, it's as legitimate a championship as that BCS sham that didn't include undefeated Hawaii.)

Yesterday.

I woke Sunday morning to an unseasonably warm and clingy weather pattern doing it's best to smother me. By noon it had transformed into the first really wintery feeling day we've had this season.

It wasn't bitter cold, but it was cold enough to remind me that we're overdue for our first snow.

I guess what made it feel so wintery was the temperature added to the sky being drained of color by the clouds. Mix in a measure of branches denuded of leaves and you've got the recipe for the possibility of depression washing over me.

I was perversely relieved when it started raining. At least the rain and it's few impotent little claps of thunder didn't look like winter.

But it made darkness fall way too early. I had been watching football without being in view of the clock. I thought it must be getting close to sundown, judging from the gathering black outside my window. I got up and looked at the time. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.

When halftime of the Sunday Night Football game rolled around, it felt like I'd been awake for days.

God I hate this time of year.

Christmas is 22 days away.

What do you get the Gay Goth Who Has Everything?

Answer here.

November Douchebag of the Month Winner.

Warren Buffet is November's D.O.M.A. winner, and will move on to compete for the 2007 Arkanssouri Douchebag of the Year.

Finally, a reason to read the WaPo.

Yesterday's Cul de Sac comic strip was excellent!

Song of the Day.

Song of the Day: Christmas Music!

Gummint Cheese: Damn Paulinoids!

Click pic to embiggen.

Question: How do you push the CNN/YouTube Planted Questions Controversy off the newscasts . . .

. . . while garnering sympathy for your candidate?

Answer: Manipulate a mentally ill guy into taking hostages with a bomb threat at one of your headquarters.

[H/T 2 Drudge.]

When Is 9/11 Over?

Thursday afternoon, I'm driving my mother to Dairy Queen for lunch. The air is crisp; the sky is blue.

Out of the corner of my eye off to the right, I see a big white L in the sky. It is a jet contrail. And the turn in it is a perfect 90 degrees.

The bottom of my stomach drops out. Oh no. Not again.

Jets aren't supposed to make right-angle turns, you see. When they turn, they make big, sweeping arcs to keep the physics from tearing them apart. The wrong people must be piloting it.

It's a low-grade anxiety that I live with every time I see a jet in the sky. I send a silent plea to the heavens hoping the people in charge of the plane are the people who are supposed to be in charge of the plane.

But seeing evidence that a jet has moved in a way it's not supposed to move shifts the low grade into a more acute concern.

I realize there is nothing I can do about it if terrorists HAVE begun hijacking jets again, turn off my car stereo so that if we are in the middle of another 9/11, I can at least have one more hour of lunch without knowing about it, and continue on to the fast food place.

I eat quietly, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind wondering if somewhere in America there is a skyscraper in flames. Or a city. It doesn't work.

Half an hour or so passes and lunch is over. I slide back into the car and try to decide whether or not to turn the radio on.

If it's happened, I reason, surely SOMEONE who had come into the DQ after us would have said something. They hadn't. They'd gone on cheerfully eating as if nothing had happened.

I turn on the radio. Idiotpop blares from the speakers.

Is it safe? I ask myself. Wouldn't they break in with SPECIAL REPORTS? Or are they playing music while they try to gather all the facts?

The feeling diminishes as I drive back home with no breaking news.

Just the same, when I enter the house I turn on CNN.

Nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Eventually, I come up with the best theory I can. I decide it wasn't ONE contrail I saw but TWO, crisscrossing each other perpendicularly. By coincidence or cruel joke from the universe, the trails dissipated simultaneously at just the right time to appear connected.

I was thousands of miles away from the danger of 9/11. I live hundreds of miles away from the nearest skyscraper, nowhere near anything that anyone would consider an effective target. If it's that bad for me, I can't imagine how it is for those who were in the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, or the planes. Or the families of the lost. Or the residents of New York and Washington.

I HATE this "new normal." I want NORMAL normal.

Kill them, Mr. President. Kill them ALL.

I want the world to start turning again.

How Evel Knievel Made Me Hate Santa Claus.

I don't remember exactly how old I was, but it was the year that Evel Knievel Stunt Sets were THE It Toy for Christmas. And I'm pretty sure it was one of the years Dad was on strike at Christmastime. If I had to make a guess, I'd say I was about six.

Santa was appearing at the local skating rink, letting kids sit on his lap and tell him what they wanted for Christmas.

I waited in line patiently to tell him that all I wanted for Christmas was the Evel Knievel Stunt Set.

When I got my turn to sit on his lap, he asked me what I wanted for Christmas.

I said, "THE EVEL KNIEVEL STUNT SET."

That was last moment that Christmas meant anything to me, because in the very next moment Santa looked at my mother, then looked at me and said, "Well, there are a LOT of little boys that want the Evel Knievel Stunt Set, so I couldn't make enough of them. But I'll be sure and make you something really nice for Christmas."

Translation: I like all those other little boys better than you, so I'm giving THEM the Evel Knievel Stunt Set and not you. You're pretty low on the Santa Totem Pole, kid. Welcome to the North Pole pecking order.

Even at six years old, I recognized this.

And decided that I didn't believe in Santa anymore. And if I would somehow become convinced Santa was real, I HATED him.

It's been about three decades since that night. And not once has Santa shown up to make it up to me.

I don't know how Evel Knievel would feel about this tiny little piece of his legacy, but I thank him for showing me the truth.

Rest In Piece, Evel.