You’ve survived another Thanksgiving and its attendant glut of crappy butternut squash, pontificating relatives and lopsided football games. What awaits you now is a year’s worth of schmaltz and cheap sentiment tightly packed into the next month. There are many things that will drive you up the fucking wall in the following weeks and chief among them are, other than unending hype about the Bears, Colts, Tony Romo and Jake Plummer (just funnin’, Broncos fans – he’s terrible), constant exhortations to do goodly shit you would never consider otherwise because it’s “the holidays,” agonizing about how you’re going to spend less on gifts for other people than they do on you without looking like a cheapskate and that local radio station that plays 58 shitty soft rock artists covering seven Christmas songs.

Okay, that was Gloria Estefan singing “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” Up next, we have Michael McDonald with “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” After that Bing Crosby, Clay Aiken, Aretha Franklin and Rosemary Clooney sing, you guessed it, “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” We can keep this up all day, people. Call the station and complain why don’cha? I’ll tell you why: I’ll play a block of Burl Ives for an hour. That’s why. I work for Clear Channel and I’m not afraid to die.

Worse still are the omnipresent holiday jewelry ads. These are the most cynical and insulting things on TV, save maybe beer commercials, and not just to women. But unlike beer commercials, they don’t have the saving grace of being occasionally funny. The men are all gawking, emasculated, clueless submorons while the women are calculating, hypermaterialistic rockfiends who can only be appeased by being handed a diamond locket in front of a roaring fireplace with a tinkling piano overlay every fifteen minutes leading up to December 25.

The fundamental problem I have with them is that they operate under the notion that anyone is stupid enough to have a clear preference in crappy chain jewelry stores. I mean, you’re getting something substandard regardless. It’s like having an adamant desire for signing a particular journeyman quarterback. I can see the ad now – a woman slaps a bumbling GM, who then turns to the camera and exclaims, “Aww, I knew I shoulda signed Steve Beuerlein.”

Of course, if I had my druthers (whatever it is druthers are) the following two ads would play on loop during every commercial break throughout December.


Why, yes, I am single. However did you guess? That’s okay. My customary masterbation gruel will suffice, thank you.

Anyway, I’m still a wee woozy on tryptophan and several kinds of alcohol, so this isn’t the most football intensive post ever. Feel free to speculate in the comments on which store Peyton Manning goes to for Kenny Chesney’s diamond-encrusted cock ring. I’m leaning toward Zales.