my god, what is that snowman doing?
It is December now, and each night of this month brings new and fascinating horrors of Christmas decorating. Tonight, I plan on driving through town with my camera, so you can witness these disasters first hand.
Unfortunately, I have fallen prey to the tacky decoration gods - though not of my own accord.
My uncle lives upstairs from me. Last year, we put him in charge of the Christmas decorations and he did a great job. A few strings of lights on the house, a few on the hedges and it was nice and pretty and understated. Just the way I like it.
Imagine my surprise when I got home from work the other day and the house was ablaze with a carnival of lights - red and blue on the the big hedges, green on the bushes and white icicle lights dripping from every corner of the gutters.
I might have been able to deal with all that if not for the one thing that was staring me in the face - something that breaks one of my own cardinal rules of decorating. There, on the lawn, was a ten foot, brightly lighted snowman. I nearly cried.
Old Frost was standing there smiling at me, his top hat vibrating from the motor that keeps him pumped and lit. He had one arm outstreched in a wave, and the other arm hanging limp by his side.
And then the wind came. A strong, fierce wind that caused Frosty's arm to sway and move. It gave the appearance that Frosty was ummm....polishing the icicle if you know what I mean.
So here I am, the self-professed Dictator of Decorating, the one who will hand out bitchslaps and ass kickings to anyone who dares to break the boundaries of good taste with their holiday decorating, and I have on my lawn the largest masturbating lighted snowman in the world.