Can we get a picture of Jack Skellington and Santa Claus duking it out under a mistletoe? Never mind, forget the mistletoe–no one can look at that and think violence–and instead go skull crazy. I am talking six foot skeletons holding giant Grim Reaper scythes…and those creepy cow skulls you see in almost every Western horror movie; it is as if the director is whispering “Beware the cows…” into the set designer’s headset.
But to talk about the picture: give Santa some beefy arms and a biker mustache, stick him in a spandex suit with a belt of candy canes; opposite him put Skellington on a fire breathing motorcycle that hums the theme from Halloween in a never-ending loop–
We have to wait on the picture?
Fine–I suppose I can them entertained until then.
Is he gone? Good. What a piece of black licorice….
You are obviously wondering the purpose of this artful picture–not to give myself credit or anything. As a matter of fact it is the essential image of the war waged between Halloween and Christmas since the dawn of the Tootsie Roll and the stocking stuffers.
Marketing–that selfish fruitcake!
Pardon my French, ladies.
To illustrate this further I see I need to educate you on your role as a consumer in these colossal money suckers. For both Halloween and Christmas there is this feeling; and this feeling–in laymen terms we call it anxiety–pushes you, the tradition following citizen, to leave the safety of your home and venture out to the treacherous soul stealing–in laymen terms we call it your wallet–pit known as Wal Mart to purchase either latex masks and candy bags, or aluminum trees and freaky elves you like to see staring at you from the shelf…
In short: the repetitive ankle twisters of the holiday season.
Imagine a man breaks into your house; and while you are stuffing shells into your shotgun–it was an early Christmas present–he rushes up to you and twists your wrist so far you wish it did snap. He tells you the only way he is letting go is if you buy him a roll of present wrapping and a gingerbread house kit. This man is Twister Tommy–the bastardized version of your favorite holidays; and he lives on Consumerism Avenue.
Do the right thing–eliminate the Twister Tommy who intrudes on your season. This has been a Public Service Announcement from the Bureau of Protecting the Values of Holiday Fun Times.
Is that picture ready yet?