Tag Archives: christmas

Christmas Traditions

I’ve heard that some Christmas traditions have been passed down from generation to generation for more than twenty and, in a case I heard about recently, over forty years!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, ‘It’s A Charlie Brown Christmas’ turned forty-seven this year. I didn’t even know they had TV way back then.

What’d they have to do? Rub a resistor and transistor together and hope it sparked up the cable?

However they did it I’m sure you can see we need new traditions that move past such barbaric times.

The ideas those old timey people had prove we should set-up traditions of our own. It’s time for us to say,

“Hey, Grandma, put down that friggin’ puddin’, put it down, Grandma. That’s Good. Now, down this shot of Jager. Down it! That’s a good girl. Ya feelin’ it, Grandma? Good. Now, unzip your pants and flash Fred your titty.”

Okay, so some of the finer points may have to be worked out but you get the drift.

Who wants friggin’ puddin’ anyway? What? It’s figgy pudding? What the hell is that? Damn, if you’re not kidding and that’s the ‘tradition’ I’d rather see granny’s nipple.

We at Bound & Gags spent a literal minute coming up with a sampling of updated traditions that speak to us in this time of our lives.

First, we think the songs are stupid. Not cute; not festive; stupid. Fa la la la la, la la la la? That’s a lyric? I’ve been to the desert on a horse with no name. THAT’S a lyric. But it has nothing to do with Christmas unless you’re a Bedouin but I don’t think they celebrate Christmas so we should move on.

From now on ‘Fa la la la la, la la la la’ is to be updated to

Friggin’ Line Are Long
Why buy these gifts?

Although we may have messed with the ‘traditional’ feel of the verse I think we captured the existential angst we feel at bring herded into flocks to be fleeced into purchasing crap for people who, if you look even of the surface of your heart, you’d rather stick in the eye with a bough of holly.

Speaking of boughs of holly, what are they and why do we want them decking our halls? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for hall decking. I just think it needs a little updating. So, from this point on, instead of boughs of holly we’ll be decking our halls with border collies.

It puts you in the same festive mood but with an added playfulness of a moist nose in your crotch and it also adds quite an effective deterrent to robbery. That’s just what we need in these on the go times, multitasking decorations.

We’ll close this episode of ‘Throwing Out The Old’ with a look at that roasted chestnut, kissing under the mistletoe. Huh? What’s that about? How convenient is that? Blocking a doorway from people with armfuls of gifts so you can get a smooch from some tipsy and over perfumed aunt? Yeah, that sounds appealing.

Like most traditions this one had to be started by a guy drinking heavily at a tree lot. Our research points to a guy around twenty years ago in Massachusetts named Michael Fortier.

It seems during some down time Mike was cleaning the lot and wondered if he could slap some ribbon on the crap he was sweeping and sell it to the saps who entered his lot.

Hence the ‘tradition’ was born.

Pretty smart, Mike, but not smart enough to get past us! From now on we’re going with a no cost and plentiful alternative to mistletoe.

Camel toe. It’s everywhere, you’ll finally enjoy a holiday tradition, and you won’t block any gift givers entrance. So many benefits to the new!

Tune in next week when we tackle the fruit cake controversy by telling you to cut out the middleman. Forget the cake, just give us the bottle of rum.

What? This is our last episode because today is Christmas? Damn, I’d better get shopping. I’ve got to go get some tight pants for a certain beautiful loved one.

No, Grandma! I’m not telling you who!

I hope you all have a great Christmas and all those other holidays they cram into this time of year. You’d think holiday planners would better schedule their things during the other eleven months. I’m going to have to find one of them and have them give me their reason. And it better be a good one.

We hope you have a great holiday season and thanks for encouraging our behavior.

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Happy Crimble

The Complete Beatles Christmas Greetings To Their Fans

On the first day of Christmas. . .

. . .my kitty gave to me, six facial scars.


Seriously, this would last all of eight seconds in my house before the bloodletting began.

Xmas ’09 Poem

Stockings were torn
from ankle to thong
due to the frenzied
maniacal throng.

They grasped and they clawed
ripped a zhu zhu in two.
A grandmother shoved me
while screaming ‘Fuck you!’

I watched in amazement
as a mother of six
with an arm full of adverts
furrowed brow and began tricks.

She pummeled and elbowed
and smashed through the crowd
grabbing boxes, leaving corpses
she’d make Liz Lambert proud.

On Debt Watch , Foreclosure
and Stimulus Foe.
On Credit and Lay-A-Way
lead by Negative Cash Flow

I just had to follow
as she tore through the store
and wondered what happened
to the Christmas of yore?

When Families all gathered
around lights every night.
All faces shiny, all smiles bright
as we gazed at each other in the flickering light.

I wandered all wistful to my boyhood days.
To photos inside Santa’s red sleigh.
Then it dawned all quite sudden
that it was never that way.

The gnash and the pressure
was just as intense.
All the hustle and bustle
it never made sense.

Like the year dear old Nana
shattered her hip
reaching for that GI Joe
with the strong kung fu grip.

It was always such bullshit
when you look at those days.
Dad was always quite hammered
and that uncle quite handsy.

Mom always ended up crying
pissed because only she was trying.
Your cousins and nephews
and all their useless junk.

But it must be worth saving
these traditions of ours.
Or why would we keep them
and make them all ours?

So put on your game face
and sucker punch that twit
’cause for holiday survival
it’s either got or get shit.

Bound & Gags would like to take this moment to (offer you the generic greeting that fits with your holiday beliefs, traditions, mood) and hope that you and yours (obtain whatever unrealistic goal you which to achieve) for the rest of your life (our sincerity may vary).

Home For Xmas

I ran into a guy I’ve known for a few years, not well, but I don’t know most people well. He’s a good enough guy, pretty happy generally. A while ago he told me he was shipping out. As with everyone else I know who’s been shipped to Iraq or Afghanistan this decade I wished him the best and to get home safely. Some have heeded my words, others haven’t.

This guy is telling me that, as his days grew few, his nerves grew worse. I’ve heard that from many people. The closer to being discharged the more their mortality plays with their heads. His discharge, as happens too often, had been changed a few times. So, this time, it was less mortality then wanting to get back for Christmas.

“Every day I’d sing the line, ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’ to try to make it true.”

His mantra worked. He’s here. Right in front of me. Able to touch his family and friends. Able to be home for Christmas.

“And it bothers the fuck out of me.”

He told me how he didn’t expect to get blindsided by the disconnect from his family and friends. How even the song, ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ causes his stomach to tighten. He wasn’t prepared for the guilt.

“All I can think of are the guys and the ones who got to come home for Christmas in body bags.”

I won’t bore you with the details. They’re nothing special I’m sorry to say. I’ve heard it since I was a kid laid up in a military hospital listening to guys tell me they’d shoot my toe off because so I wouldn’t experience what they did. Knowing these guys it’s good they found another way to keep me out. It seems the only son of guy who died on active duty was safe. Unless he enlisted. And, trust me, many of those guys kept in touch with me. Just to make sure. I’m happy to say I still have all my toes.

While listening to him, phrases kept jumping around my head. Jarring phrases. I knew I’d write them down. I also knew it would be with no idea what form they’d take. After he left the words came out quickly in somewhat lyric form.

I’ll be home for Christmas
just in a body bag.
An RPG left me DOA
so I’ll be coming home
for the very last time.

I’ll be home for Christmas
but don’t try to see me.
It won’t be worth the effort because
the parts of me you held
aren’t here. They’re over there.

I’ll be home for Christmas
just like I said I would.
I didn’t want to be over there
but was. If only so
you’d be home for Christmas

I’ll be home for Christmas
but think of those who won’t.
I hope they never join me and will
be back home for Christmas
for more than one last time.

Requests!

Yeah, I do ’em. Not often but it happens.

Last night a friend of mine asked if there was going to be any ‘holiday’ bit out there.  I’m not one to write ‘holiday’ themed stuff but he said he remembered that I had, in fact, done one. He was right so I told him he could come here and find it.

Find it?!?!?

Himself?!?!?

Silly me.

So here it is, a rebroadcast of a bit most of you haven’t read so I don’t feel that bad about bringing it back for a second helping.

Christmas Tradition:

http://tinyurl.com/4kmrf7

Seasonal Songs

Yeah, yeah, here’s my yearly thimble of cheer. Be careful it’s spiked.

I know you’re probably still reeling from last years entry but this year is actually a song I love. Since the 70’s there’s been a force on the Boston music scene, Rick Berlin – http://rickberlin.com/ – and he’s created some of the most impressive bands and music within this vibrant scene.

In the 80’s he fronted a band, Rick Berlin: The Movie, I happened to see at a Christmas show at the late, lamented Channel. They played this song and I was blown away.

Not that I wasn’t used to being blown away by this man (in Somerville at Jumbo’s – I think – he played a set by himself called Rick Berlin Backwards and it was one of the most electrifying one man shows I’ve ever seen) but everything about this song was magical.

There really isn’t much more I can say that’ll make it any better so, without further hor dourves:

I’d be remiss if I forgot my little Kosher cowpokes: