Annual Gift Giving Man

December has crashed into our lives once more, like an out of control semi-trailer bursting into our living room. You know it's Christmas time because even the biggest couch potatoes are a bit hesitant in turning on the telly for fear of being bombarded with nonsense ('Don't know what to give your mother for Christmas? Why not get her an 18-gallon drum of liquid paper?'), women tend to avoid guys like me around mistletoes and you need to go to hospital to get your stomach pumped because this year's eggnog contained a lethal amount of absinthe and Bacardi 151.

I don't remember when society became as bitter and cynical as we are these days. As a child most of us were teary-eyed as we watched E.Scrooge repent for the sins he committed. We felt for Tiny Tim. Now we make jokes about the cripples and the less fortunate (e.g.; What did the deaf, dumb and blind kid get for Christmas? Leukaemia). We try to make amends for our selfish little lives, balancing out 350-whatever odd days of bad behaviour for one day of present giving sentimental crud. We try to score with work colleagues at Christmas parties. It used to be about elves and reindeer. Oh, and Jesus too I suppose.

As for the big man himself... Children like it when strange men come down chimneys with a sack full of stuff. He's the same guy (they tell you) that you saw at the mall. The guy with alcoholic fumes who parents hope has undergone a thorough police background check. Now we realise it's a bit of a scam. Santa doesn't do squat. He gets paid to hang around all year- DELEGATES the supposed one day a year job to Dads around the world (Your mother and father are waaaay down the Clause hierarchy- below even the pissiest little elf) and lives off venison and a fat government check.

Well, it'll be over soon so don't worry. I've learned to repress this time of the year. Actually, repress most of my life, but let's not digress. Hope it's been a good one, I thank you all for the company we've shared, the times we've had. There'll be more drinking stories I'm sure (unless I get hit by a bus in the next few hours) and even for those who I don't have the pleasure of seeing often..those overseas and those who don't reply to e-mails, it's good to have been part of your life, however brief or annoying for you.

One for me, one for my homies,
Fatman

Summertime Blues

' I tend to sweat heavily in warm climates. My clothes are soaking wet from dawn to dusk. This worried me at first, but when I went to a doctor and described my normal daily intake of booze, drugs and poison he told me to come back when the sweating STOPPED. That would be the danger point, he said- a sign that my body's desperately overworked flushing mechanism had broken down completely. "I have great faith in the natural processes" he said. "But in your case....well....I find no precedent. We'll just have to wait and see, then work with what's left."'

Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

I guess the reason for the quote is twofold. The most glaringly obvious is that huge ball of gas..(insert joke here)..the Sun has been pelting us down with UV through the chewed-up remains of the ozone layer almost constantly the past few weeks, give or take a day or so. There has been enough sweat coming out of most people to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The other reason for quoting Dr.Thompson is that it's now December. 'Tis the seaon for consuming a stupid amount of beer and drugs. For the upcoming parties as well as the annual burdon of family gatherings.

Feels like a while since I've clogged people's in-box with tales of boredom. Laziness being a key factor. Darren having hidden the computer another. I tell ya, having two of the regular fat-a-gram readers- beautiful girls both of them, say that my rantings are 'too long' put me in a foul mood for a while too. Well, a few minutes. Not often I hear girls refer to anything of mine as 'too long'. In another time, another context I'd be beaming with pride. Oh well...as I'm fond of responding these days 'It's small, but it's ANGRY'.

There has been no news from the Telstra front. Debt collectors need their holidays too,I suppose. Truth be told I haven't thought much about it- there's been too much awesome things happening- not in my life so much, but for those around me.

'Feeling Minnesota' Pollard has finally tied the knot in a grand fashion! Wedding took place at the Ripponlea Gardens on a beautiful day with Ally, a beautiful person. The groomsmen all dressed up Matrix-style which led the guests to hope for guns and bullet-time, slow motion effects. On that count we were disappointed. There was Jewish dancing that got more and more confused as it went on, people bumping into each other like decapitated chicken. Oh, and I jumped into the pool fully clothed- wearing a Kenji jacket, Peter Cassel trousers and Aquilla shoes which would nudge the price to $300, hoping other people would follow suit (Pun? 75%, Not a Pun? 20%, Undecided? 5%). Alas no one else was stupid enough.

I'd wager that I've exceeded everyones attention span and feigning-to-care to write any longer so I'll bid you adieu.

I can smell your spicy brains,
Fatman