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The Fictitious Felonious Fatso |
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Written by Scott Meadow
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Sunday, 11 December 2005 (read 2096 times) |
Once again we're at a time of year when we toss all rationality into
the snowbanks (or receding toxic hurricane slurry) and believe instead
in very bizarre things. I'm talking, of course, about the belief that
an extremely obese man -- in a flaming red costume
no less -- will sneak uninvited into our homes while we're asleep (a
felony), and -- instead of robbing and killing us -- leave us with a pile of
presents and then vanish, leaving everything else we own
undisturbed, except for a few cookies and
an unrefrigerated glass of milk.
Grown people, with responsible jobs who collectively control trillions
of dollars of our national economy, pass this belief along to the
smaller people in their households as well, usually accompanied by
jovial renditions of their own over idealized stories of years gone
by. These smaller people, besides for the small genetic gullibility
inherited from the taller ones, otherwise would have been perfectly
capable of becoming rational, responsible individuals with little to no
need to believe in felonious fat guys. Here, have some nog.
 So choking down the curdled milk, we are to believe this fabulously
obese man then continues house to house, breaking and entering usually
via a chimney pipe, accompanied by a posse of eight wild animals, who
themselves commit untold billions in
shingle and roofing damage under the cloak of darkness. This is
all done as part of a obviously insane quest to give presents to each
and every human child on the earth, despite three
glaring facts: 1) only a slim minority of humans ever possess a
"chimney," 2) it's impossible to fit the fat guy's enormous girth
through such an aperture anyway, and 3) if UNICEF can't reach all the
children in 40 years, one winded blimp in a costume hasn't got a
chance, especially while consuming billions of empty
calories from households that, statistically speaking,
are barely able to feed themselves let alone waste dairy products and
precious dessert items on criminal fatsos.
 Yes, that's billions of empty calories. But -- and this is really
strange -- instead of instantly volunteering to join "The Biggest
Loser" in the hope of lowering his vast cholesterol level, this
behemoth runs around proudly flaunting his
extreme fatness -- indeed becoming the poster man for
morbid obesity itself -- while the world
acts as codependent enablers by feeding his food addiction instead of
organizing an immediate global
intervention. Not only does nobody
feel guilty about helping his public
self-destruction, people actually feel pleased and happy about it, it's
really quite bizarre. People who count the calories of each wheat
cake and low-fat latte are quite glad to introduce their children to an
over-indulgent fattie as a role model for
caring. What's up with that?
Now aside from having a life-threatening eating disorder, this
gargantuan guy is also believed to possess -- by the same otherwise
sane people with important jobs -- vast psychic ability and an unerring
bookkeeping system, capable of cataloging and maintaining billions of
people's daily behavioral patterns and then, for some reason, quite
possibly storage capacity limitations,
reducing them all to a boolean "naughty" or "nice," criteria which are
never adequately defined and for which no documented guidelines
exist. No guidelines exist because he himself -- this
ginormous criminal mastermind -- is the
sole and final judge. Those who are deemed "nice" by the fatman's
secret criteria will receive desired gifts and those declared "naughty"
are punished by receiving only coal or nothing at all. Again
instead of rebelling against this arbitrary standard of behavior,
everyone is fine with it and this bizarre fatty's benign worldwide
fascist dictatorship continues to rule human behavior, especially small
ones.
Yes, no matter how you cut it, this is an extremely strange set of
beliefs. You want a really disturbing thought? The people who
believe in this stuff vote. That's
right. In large numbers.
Here have some more brandy.
Glad I can offer something to reflect upon during this holiday frenzy of mass
public consumption, when you're not, you know, figuring out how to tell your significant
other that the explicit gag gift from Spenser's: a) cannot
really be used as directed, no matter what the
packaging says, and b) had no place being opened in front of your
mother.
Here have a shot of tequila.
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