This year Mom woke me up early (read: noon) because she was eager to open her Christmas presents. She actually shouted that I needed to wake up and see what Santa Claus brought me. Then she tossed a small bag of coal in my bed. Bah, humbug!

I gave Mom a coffee press. She gave me a VR headset that turned my smartphone into a migraine-inducing nightmare machine. Together, we had a great time. I can't wait to do it all again next year.

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From the Nail in the Coffin Department:

February 23, 1942. The day the Bee died. A story so powerful, it wasn't told until 1984!

Having followed Uncle Sam and other heroes to Earth-X, the Red Bee immediately found himself in battle versus the Japanese military . . . in sunny Santa Barbara, California. Because Japs are bastards.

Each of the heroes had something to contribute to the fight: Uncle Sam's strength, the Ray's speed, Human Bomb's explosions, Black Condor's racism, Phantom Lady's tits, Dollman's, er, dolls? And, of course, Red Bee's bees.

All-Star Squadron #33, May 1984

The team decided to take the fight to the Japanese fleet offshore. Things went sideways pretty fast once the enemy rolled out their secret weapon: the armored super-soldier Baron Blitzkrieg. To no one's great surprise, the super-strong Nazi was more than a match for an entire swarm of bees.

All-Star Squadron #34, June 1984

After being tossed overboard by an errant explosion (thanks for nothing, Human Bomb), the Red Bee died at sea.

I did tell you this was his last appearance, right?

Ok, fine. He didn't drown. He was just biding his time for the perfect moment to make his triumphant return.

All-Star Squadron #35, July 1984

Maybe "triumphant" is too strong a word.

Inspired by the Red Bee's noble death, Darth Vader Hourman freed his fellow captives and won the day. So in his own way, the Red Bee won World War II. Except that on this alternate Earth, World War II never ended, and the Allies and Axis are still fighting well into the 21st century. Way to make it count, Uncle Sam.

And thus ends the tale of the Red Bee. If there's any lesson here, it's that training a bee to sting people doesn't make you a super hero. Being beaten to death by Nazis does.

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That blurry picture is my neighbor's house. If you can't tell, that's a Christmas Tree in the window. I post it because this isn't last year's picture. It was taken the day after Halloween!

Last week also saw the release of the annual Christmas issue of Coweta County Magazine. Home Depot has replaced it's bird seed with artificial tinsels. I can't watch a football game without seeing Black Friday advertisements.

When I was a child, it seemed like Christmas would never get here. The entire month of December was spent waiting for Santa's visit. How hellish must the holiday be for today's children who are taunted by visions of sugarplums before they've opened their first piece of Halloween candy?

Christmas has become the bully of holidays, stealing two months from autumn to become the fifth season of the year and demanding that Thanksgiving surrender its milk money. Fuck you, Christmas. Fuck you and the sleigh you rode in on.

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For the first time in 38 years, I opened no gifts on Christmas Day. Mom and I celebrated on Christmas Eve so that I would have plenty of time to get Dad to the hospital by 6 AM this morning for his scheduled angiogram. He'll likely be in the hospital until tomorrow, which is also his birthday. That's my birthday present to him; I figure a trip home from a hospital stay is probably as good a gift as any.

Not that our Christmas Eve celebration was exactly a big deal. Mom and I had a brief gift exchange and some homemade hamburgers (we forgot to make the french fries we had in the freezer) before working on a jigsaw puzzle. Other than the case of 20-oz Cokes given to me by my new bff Randy, everything I got for the holiday fits in a single, moderately-sized cardboard box. And not a single video game! A quiet evening with mom and no video games? I must be getting old.

I should probably point out that fewer people gave me gifts than ever before. I used to get presents from my aunt, but earlier this month she declared that she is in financial straits this season and wouldn't be exchanging gifts with anyone. I was worried about her until she showed up at our house with the brand new Kindle Fire she bought herself. The worst part was that she only came over because she wanted me to teach her how to use the Kindle. Add that to the time I spent installing Dad's new Blu-Ray player last weekend, and it's been a very Tech Support Christmas.

Still no word from my brother. Presents are wrapped and waiting for him and his new bride, should they ever decide to communicate with us again. Trey's defection from the family certainly remains a bummer, but on the upside, a small holiday gathering of just Mom and me prevented a recurrence of our dysfunctional family's most cherished tradition: our annual shouting matches. I have to say, it was a kind of a nice change of pace.

For the record, this post isn't meant to describe how shitty my Christmas was. In fact, I quite enjoyed myself. It was certainly among the best holidays I've had in the many years since Santa Claus stopped visiting. I only list these things and point out that they combine to something of a high-water mark in my experience so that you, my dear reader, can establish a metric by which to compare your own Christmases to mine. It is my dream that one day we can all have better Christmases through Science. It's what Jesus would have wanted.

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At 10:15AM, Friday, October 19, 2012, Big Tex burned to death. For those of you who don't know, Big Tex has been the 52-feet tall fiberglass mascot of the Texas State Fair in Dallas for the past 60 years. Obviously, this is big news. Just take a look at a sample of today's awesome Google image returns for the search string "big tex":

But my favorite picture is this:

Everything truly is bigger in Texas, including body bags. But don't fear; Big Tex will be rebuilt. If the World's Largest Turkey can rise from the ashes like a phoenix, a new, improved Big Tex can't be far behind.

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Has anyone else noticed that Best Buy hates Santa Claus? Their current seasonal ad campaign has customers taunting Santa with electronic gifts and throwing his effigy off a roof. What the fuck, Best Buy?

Why, during the gift-giving season in another year amid a seemingly eternally underperforming economy, why would you hate on Santa Claus? Santa Claus, the beloved Father Christmas figure of millions. Santa Claus, who brings toys to deserving children. Santa Claus, twinkle-eyed, merry-cheeked jolly old elf!

I'm not the biggest fan of Christmas. However, I'm also not about to throw Santa under the bus just try to sell more cell phones. Know when you're outclassed, Best Buy. Some executive will definitely be getting coal in his stocking.

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Reign of the Deer: The Great Deer Uprising continues to make in-roads amongst the hearts and minds of the populace here in Newnan. One house nearby appears to have established a totem to our inevitable deer overlords.

This deer nativity scene is complete with a glowing moon, which any cervidaepologist worth his salt knows must be some sort of religious symbol for deer. All evil creatures, like deer and vampires, worship the moon. It's a commonly known fact.

The lawn of the house across the street features an inflatable Snoopy wearing a Santa Claus outfit. If the oncoming Deer Uprising does nothing other than abolish such nonsense as that, I think we can all agree that it will have been worth it.

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Apple proudly announced on Christmas Eve that North American children could follow Santa's sleigh via NORAD-approved applications on their iPhones and iPods (this in addition to Google Earth, OnStar, Facebook and Twitter updates, and old fashioned text messaging). Of course, this is an extension of www.noradsanta.org, a website created by the multi-national military North American Aerospace Defense Command, which is in a lot of ways just like G.I. Joe. Founded in response to the Cold War, NORAD is mandated to oversee North American airspace. Unlike millions of greedy amateurs, it is really NORAD's chartered mandate to keep an eye out for flying men in red coats who intend to rain down "gifts" on otherwise defenseless America and Canadian children.

We've come a long way since the 19th century when children actively sought to earn the approval of Father Christmas by sacrificing a goat. No wonder kids are so fat these days.

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The 2009 W.A.T.C.H. list of dangerous toys is out. This year amid such life-threatening fare as Lots to Love Babies and Curious Baby Curious George Counting - My First Book of Numbers lurks none other than the Wolverine! World Against Toys Causing Harm warns that X-Men Origins Slashin' Action Wolverine presents the "POTENTIAL FOR EYE AND AND OTHER IMPACT INJURIES!" (Their capitalization, not mine. My Caps Lock key works just fine, thank you.) Well, duh. After all, Wolverine is the best there is at what he does, and what he does is not cuddling. He is genetically designed always to be running with scissors, for Pete's Sake, hardly a proper role model for little Jack and Jill. The figure's packaging brags that Wolverine is an "indestructible combat machine," which sounds about right (and, despite W.A.T.C.H.'s criticism that the toy packaging contains no caution label, qualifies as all the warning any eye impact injury-free parent should need). Giving Wolverine to a toddler is equivalent to giving him a plugged in toaster filled with forks. I don't see that on your list, W.A.T.C.H.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'd like to buy that Spy-Gear Viper-Blaster that W.A.T.C.H. discourages. Because a gun that shoots snakes sounds like something Santa will be giving Toys For Tots this year.

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Ah, Christmas, a time of year to put aside my daily troubles, spend time with family and friends, and beg for phat loot from Santa.

I was always kind of pissed that Santa never gave me a 7-1/2 feet long G.I.Joe U.S.S. Flagg Aircraft Carrier, but maybe he was doing me a favor. I'm not sure that I've ever been "ready for action" with a navy's worth of sailors. (Look, kid, you better be careful what you Wishbook for.)

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