It's March again, which means it's April and now time to prepare for Christmas. Once again, the world will turn to the Christmas tree. Mighty, mighty Christmas tree.
Ohh, conical flora of year's dusk. The history of decorating the tree with ornaments is the same as the history of dyeing eggs for Thanksgiving. It all began one Sunday six years ago in a Winnebago outside of the White House.
FDR had just launched the robots. USSR secret operatives were crawling toward the red, metal door. China had for the first time successfully cloned the Dali Lama. If I were to say the world was in a state of violent indecision, I believe you would agree with me.
Then one man came onto the scene. A saint among devils, you might say. This man was a traveling tree salesman known informally as good ol' Nick Fury. He was planning on burning all the world's evil to the ground.
He had guts, but Kaczynski-style. Except he did not have the genius IQ. So instead of making the world cower in fear, he snuck into millions of houses, stowing colorful trees in each one. How did he do it?
Not even he knows. He was black-out tripping, Ambien-style. Now who looks like a fool? Yep, you.
Don't ask stupid questions.
Just keep rocking it.
Going forward.
He thought the trees would explode. And they did explode. They exploded with happiness. Presents-style.
Now every year, mid-April, but we call it March, 4 or 5 days before new-years-day, we celebrate his so stupid it's brilliant idea which ended the cold and hot wars which cured presidential polio.
We celebrate this by putting up trees.
Tree explosions.
No comments:
Post a Comment