Bah, Humburg

I like saying "Bah, Humburg" even more than I like saying "Bah, Humbug," and I stronly urge each and every one you to say this phrase and repeat as necessary until you're filled with the desired level of Scroogeyness. I'm not Scroogelike, honest, I bought lots of presents for my Christmas-celebrating roomie and wrapped them in Hanukkah wrapping paper, and we have a teeny tiny fir tree with a big red bow and i'm pretty sure there are not one, but two Robosapiens waiting for us under (er, next to, rather) the Christmas tree. But sometimes (fuck it, every year) I get a little melancholy on Christmas Eve -- wait, i think it's still pre-Christmas, doesn't Christmas eve not start until 8pm or so -- anyway, I get a little depressed on Christmas because I desperately want Santa to come to my house, so every year I hang a stocking on my blocked-up chimney with care, and every year I get all wrapped up in rememberances of holiday-commercials past, like being the runty boy on the skating pond that no one wants to skate with and then suddenly Ronald McDonald is there and he takes your hand in his and you're the BEST SKATER EVER -- anyway, I get sad that Santa isn't coming to my house, not now and not never. Sad.

I'm also rather sad that I didn't get to attack anyone under any Mistletoe this year .. not YET, anyway.

So we're on our way into Chinatown for our annual stoned soul Christmas of deep-fried vegetarian food, and then I think we may wander around Chinatown and buy toys so that our Robots will have presents to unwrap in the morning.

Happy holidays, tigers. All i want is a hug.