OH OH.... CHRISTMAS TRIED TO STARE ME DOWN!!

Okay, so yesterday was like any other day in my life... I went to work, was playfully rude to customers, chewed some gum, worked far longer then desired, and eventually found myself watching Back to the Future. But something unexpected reared its menacing head as i was habitually gazing blank-eyed at air molecules...

"Tis Christmastime," Something whispered.

Hearing voices in my head was odd but not wholly undocumented in my life, so I played it cool, which to me means huddling in the corner flogging my face with my fingernails. After my corporal punishment I brushed my face off and got back to work. But before my facial flagellation could even stop throbbing The Voice made an unwelcome revisitation.

"Two Days...two days......" The Voice whispered again.

Then it dawned on me. Oh its Christmas, pardon, TIS CHRISTMASTIME! This realization must have been brilliantly beaming from my eyes because everyone was looking at me as if in terror, or maybe the stares were from the still recent wounds left from my fingernail horsewhipping. Either way, the important part of this story was my new gained knowledge that Christmas was here. Wait, the important detail was actually the weird voice i heard in my head. What was this strange voice? Why did he speak to me? Beats me.


Okay... so I just checked my voice mail and everything is starting to makes some sense. I had 12 days of messages from some phantasm that went by the name "The Ghost of Christmastides That Simple-Minded Ninnies Have Forgotten" So, I called to tell him that his name needed some work.

So, with all the loose ends mended, and no questions needing answered, this charming seasonal greeting comes to an end. Maybe Santie Claus will bring me what i truly desire these holidays...An expensive root canal! OH t'would bringeth me yuletide cheer!

Tis Christmastime, Tis Christmastime!

May its nearness bring you bliss.

And frighten off those Christmas ghosts,

to a seasonal abyss.

It may not be His birthday,

Just a pagan winterfest.

But to all those whom I'm grateful,

pray your merry days be blessed.

I think Eisenhower, or Einstein wrote that, or maybe it was Old Man Winter himself...Wilford Brimley.

Will i lose my strength??

So, I have been going through a struggle lately. its not your average everyday struggle for survival either, no, this is far more important. Everyday when i wake up I usually do four things before beginning my day...

1. Confusingly search for the alarm clock emergency shut off switch while simultaneously realizing that my high speed truck chase down a forested mountain road was most likely NOT reality, nor were the zombie lumberjacks i was chasing...pity.





2. As my brain slowly meanders into consciousness, my first thought is a prayer...I pray that I don't have to work today. As the disappointment of my unanswered prayer washes over me I then...





3. Go back to sleep in a futile attempt to end what I hope is still a nightmare. When that doesn't work(it never works)...I then move on to the forth and final thing i do at the beginning of my day, the struggle I mentioned at the beginning of this post...





4. I look in the mirror, and say to myself, "Is that you Rapunzel?! Wait, no it's just me...Shoot, I really need a haircut. I know I say this to you all the time Kevin, but this time i mean it! This week we cut these precious ashy brown locks. It's been a year! Quit your trepidation and get it done!" With that pep talk I then begin my day.

The problem arises as the day progresses. I begin to second guess my morning pledge. The loss of my long time good friend and neck warmer to the barbarity of barbery begins to weigh on my conscience. I start to ask myself, "What has your hair ever done to you to deserve such backstabbing savagery?" I respond, "Other than it dangerously blocking my view, spelunking down my throat at night, clogging my shower, greasifying my appearance and stubbornly refusing to follow any of my grooming instructions at all? Kevin, let's forget your delusional Porter Rockwell fantasy for the moment and stick with the facts. You are not Samson. For once in your life let's experiment with this odd concept of being "well groomed" who knows Kevin, people might even begin to respect you."

This internal struggle continues, almost repeated verbatim, throughout the entire day. At one moment reminding myself of the long history of hair shaving as shameful punishment: Jews in concentration camps, African slaves, French civilian wartime collaborators, Olympic swimmers...I'll ask myself, "Do I really want to be another statistic in this brutal practice? I need to stand proud of my mammalian class and retain that which defines us, the mass removal of hair is demammalization in its cruelest form!" In the next moment I will shift allegiances with myself and rebut my argument, calling to attention the common practice of removing ones hair as a symbol and sign of purification, humility, renewal, or to mourn the loss of a loved one. "Do you not see the power of this practice?" I ask myself, "Did you grow your hair or did your hair grow you?" I usually scoff at that lame faux-philosophic reply, I don't know why i still use it.

Anyway, I think you get the point. I am a house divided. Or so Abraham Lincoln claimed when we had a deep conversation recently. As the following photo proves:

Plagiarizing himself, he warned me, "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand." With Honest Abe's tutelage I realized that if I continue to be frozen by indecision, if I allow myself to become petrified by internal squabbles and bickering then my destruction is all but guaranteed. I must come to a decision soon...the world is counting on me.

"Yes we can."- Bob the Builder, later stolen by Barack Obama

Speak friend and enter.

The ghoul above is me, but fear not, for as luck will have it my ghoulification lasted but one halloween night.

Oh.... hello there. Here i am jumping late onto the blogwagon. why you ask? First, i don't know if its any of your business, and second, I have heard stories whispered to me when the shades are pulled that its a blog eat blog world wide web out there. Frightening to say the least. However, it has slowly come to my attention that even children have blogs....CHILDREN! Now, i don't know about you, but i for one will not have some amateurish callow bottle swallower as my pace car, recklessly guiding me down the information superhighway. So, although my body quakes with foreboding apprehension, and for nights now i have woke trembling in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest like the foot of a twitterpated Thumper, I have made the difficult decision to take my first steps into electronic self-journalism. If I survive the night you may find that I will make further posts as need warrants. Note my emphasis on may.

The only other reason I can fathom I would embark on this foolhardy expedition, is that my sister already has a blog on this site......to think...my own sister..... this shall not be allowed to continue. Her one sided reporting, though "technically" 100% true, lacks the competition that our capitalist society has deemed necessary to combat the greed, corruption and sluggish innovation that almost always occurs when there is a monopoly. That threat is magnified when you realize that the blogmongering mastermind behind this savagery is none other then my sister Erinn. Well guess what.....I REALIZED.

So here it is, my trumpeting herald of truth, a harbinger for my dawning resplendence, the last bastion of hope for all who yearn for a nonnarcotic stimulant. I was tempted to refer to this site as my Sistine chapel, but that would be selling this blog short. Suffice it to say that this continuing edict will make all arts, sciences, entertainments and histories but ramshackle remmants of a past best forgotten. Antediluvian and archaic, these relics will fade unnoticed as the eyes of humanity become transfixed on the euphoria that has just now materialized.

Ash blog durbatulûk, Ash blog gimbatul.

Ash blog thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul