Have A Mercy Mild Christmas To All

Hope you're having the best-ever Christmas season, etc., etc., that your Yule is bright, and all your wishes come true, and Santa doesn't have any trouble reading his list in a snow-laden sleigh that very well could ruin his computer system.

It's a great one for me so far, except I'm getting sick and tired of the Salvation Army bells everywhere I go. That coming from a guy who actually rang the bell one Christmas, now fairly far back, in the 2000s some time. I look at the current crop of Salvation Army ringers and wonder if they feel as uncomfortable as I did doing it, but none of them betrays the slightest reticence about it. And I'm one of the world's best readers of body language; if anyone feels remotely uncomfortable, my consciousness swoops in like a hawk and picks up on it. I saw a bell-ringer, I believe it was yesterday, who was even singing "White Christmas." It gave me the chills to think she'd put herself out like that, as though the bell itself isn't annoying enough. But of course it does a lot of good, presumably, that's what they say, but who can really tell? There's probably an annual report at the website.

The family has basically given up Christmas as a thing. Mom and Dad are of course passed on, which definitely saves money on gift-giving. I always had a hard time trying to think of something to give them every year. Then they died and that challenge was gone. Yes, I miss them something awful. There was a picture of them on the table today, how it got there I don't know. (I've been cleaning out boxes and it might've fluttered to the floor, then I picked it up -- let's say -- and didn't realize what it was.) Anyway, they're in their later teens. Dad's got glasses on, which he didn't usually wear. Mom's in a fancy dress, like maybe they were on their way to get married. I stared at it. Dad's staring at the camera, so I'm looking right into his eyes. Mom's looking to the side. I wouldn't know what to get them if they were alive. Maybe a tin of Topsy's popcorn.

I could go to church for Christmas. But don't think I will. It's almost better to celebrate the Blessed Story on your own and in your own way. When I read it and meditate by myself it doesn't sound as trite, not as much of a rerun. And really I am into it. I've got a whole system going of getting to the nub of everything in a holistic way. I'll keep the details to myself. The more I publicly explain it the worse it sounds. In which case I may as well go to church. (I love church, usually, but sometimes I don't as much.) I wouldn't mind going to a Catholic thing. Even though I'm not Catholic. The only reason I don't go to the Catholic church is because I'm not Catholic. Otherwise, I think it's cool, exciting, and profound. But probably one look at the priest thinking "This guy ain't Catholic" would do me in, and that'd be it. Last thing I'm ever going to do is take any kind of initiation. Am I right? Screw it. And I don't especially want to go to my own church. I've been through all the possibilities there, and for personal reasons I've been a lot on edge there. Yes, I know the objections to that kind of attitude.

About the picture above, that's my hand. I can't remember what I was doing, but it involved the camera on my phone. I somehow accidentally snapped a picture of my hand when I was taking a blue wastebasket out. I looked at it and thought it was inscrutable enough, it ought to be a Christmas-greeting picture. Something Hallmark would pay big bucks for, if I were money-grubbing enough to sell it. Let 'em take their own pictures, and leave me the heck alone.

OK, friends -- far and wide -- people who read this blog, people who used to read it but got sick of it and moved on -- Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Other holidays that may exist, I respect your various greetings, too. And would say them to you if I knew them. Seems like there's something called Kwanzaa, which is something. Happy that. And Hanukkah, that means something very great. Happy that. If you're a native of somewhere and you have a tribal greeting, Merry that, Happy the other thing. Happy Holidays to those who are politically invested in exploiting the holiday bullshit ... I have no respect for that at all. Live and let live, leave well enough alone, eh? Happy Solstice, which was a few days ago, maybe ... I didn't hear a word about it this year. Hasn't the moon been dark lately? I don't usually look at the sky, but made the mistake of looking at it recently when there wasn't much to see. Merry Meet to all my Merry Meet friends. I recently bought a Porta-Potti, so Happy Holidays to other Thetford toilet owners. All the best to Catholics, those who go and love it and those like me who would love to go but hate to give priests the heeby-jeebies (See above).

I hate to bring this post to an end. But what else can I say to keep you dangling on the line? Most of you dropped off already. I'm happy, though. You be happy! OK? I'd love to be like Santa Claus, and come down your chimney and give you a big happy hug, or talk you into happiness, peace and harmony. But obviously that's not going to happen. Me out!

I Shall Be Pope Ye

I had moderately optimistic feelings about the new pope, Pope Francis. Which was only natural, considering the last guy having been such a scourge. Francis came in, naming himself after one of my favorite saints, a friend of birds and wolves alike. And one of the coolest garden statues ever. And he's done honorable things, like washing the feet of the poor and children and has been Mr. Cool in other ways.

But now, who knows what might become of him? It was in the news that he's staying in a particular hotel in order to get away from it all. In his own words, “I didn’t want to be pope.” And now he says he's living in the Vatican hotel "for psychiatric reasons." I think I get that. He thinks living in the papal apartments, right there in the loneliest place in the Apostolic Palace, would separate him too much from the people. He'd be living with all the various Vatican cutthroats, etc. They'd be going through his stuff, looking for dirt. Then it's simply a matter of blackmail. And next thing, you're retiring, like the last guy. I'd love to see the dirt on Benedict. Just one look at him tells you he's devious as sin. Yet they chose him! They couldn't find a more honest-looking rat than him? When even then Francis was right under their nose?

As for the psychiatric reasons Francis has, of which I've outlined some, to me this just shows that he basically has it together. If only I had the same boldness in life! Maybe I'd move away from Grandma's house here and find my own place. Really, you think I don't know the family's talking about me? He's 60 years old and still there. We ought to burn the place down, that'd take him out. Or dump out some bedbugs by his window. It wouldn't take them long to find his bed. There he is, rolling around in one of his fantasies, only to turn and see a bug the size of a pillow staring him in the face. That'd fix him! Of course, for psychiatric reasons, I'd be better off anywhere than here. Some place where they can't find me. The State Hospital, wherever, I'm not particular, anywhere.

It's refreshing to hear something honest, isn't it? Just like it's refreshing to hear the pope tell us what we've suspected all along. We sure didn't hear anything like that from Benedict. No, he was right there in the papal apartments, padding around the Apostolic Palace, he didn't care. But the walls had ears ... and eyes. He knew his time was limited. That bleeding statue? That's someone inside it who nicked his nose on a jagged piece of plaster. Watching Benedict, just biding his time, getting enough dirt on him that---- Well, you know the rest, the first resignation of a sitting pope in something like 1,000 years. What's the chances?

I'm really hoping Francis makes it a while longer. We had Pope John Paul I. He lived only a month! I'm still suspicious about that. Then Pope John Paul II. He lived forever. He was the only pope some people ever knew. They were born when he was pope, grew up, married, had children and grandchildren, and finally died. Like the queen in England, trying to outlive 'em all. And then ... you know the succession ... finally someone offed JP II, and, surprise! surprise! there was Benedict standing there, eager to pick up the crown! As devious as they come! Then he's caught doing something behind the scenes -- let's say -- first one to resign in 1,000 years -- and the Vatican decides to clean house.

But can Francis make it? He's already talking about his psychiatric health, and telling children he didn't really want to be pope, etc. I have my suspicions of what must be going on behind the scenes. And it ain't pretty.

OK, what about me? Do I want to be Pope? If elected, yes, I'd give it a go. And just like Francis chose his hero, St. Francis, so I would choose my hero, my lifelong hero ... Popeye, making me Pope Ye.

What kind of pope would Pope Ye be? All the Vatican enemies, the various cutthroats infesting the place, would have to be on their guard. Because I'd eat spinach, puff out my chest like a battleship, and destroy them all. I'd BIFF them and BOP them, and always I'd STOMP them. Let's say I punched them so hard, they flew up in the sky. Before they came down, then, I'm punching trees so hard they become boards and fall down as a dozen highchairs. The cutthroats land in the highchairs, which snap into place, leaving them there to fuss and cry, shaking violently their rattles.

As Pope Ye, I would immediately ordain women. Yes, Olive Oyl isn't the strongest role model for women. She always needs my assistance against Bluto, who's almost sexually deviant enough to qualify for the military. But once Bluto was out of the way -- a type of devil, or Benedict, if you will -- then Olive would be free to bloom and grow. I'd immediately ordain her as priest. It would be a complete renaissance for the church, which to this moment is stuck hopelessly in the mud.

Then, as Pope Ye, thinking of little Sweet Pea, the baby in Popeye cartoons, as well as Popeye's four nephews, we would immediately address the child abuse bullshit that has given the Catholic church such a black eye. I would gather all the male priests and demand them by everything holy to immediately confess their sins. The sheep and the goats. Spinach cures all ails, and in this case it'd guide my judgment. And if it's just a matter of them being too horny they can't keep it in their robes, of course I would open it up so they could get married.

That's how it'd go as Pope Ye, if I were to be chosen. Just as my patron saint, Popeye, always brings everything to a happy finish, so I would completely reform the church. Then I would take on Protestantism, ridding it of snake handlers, Pat Robertson, strychnine drinkers, fundamentalists, and mission trips to Haiti (there has to be some other place these people can do good!). As Pope Ye, just to show I care about the unfortunate, I would personally go to Haiti and knock some heads and get it straightened out down there. It has to be a corrupt government. If we were able to get rid of Benedict, of all people, the persistent failure Haiti represents shouldn't pose an insurmountable problem.

Lastly, my ascension as Pope Ye has a biblical foundation, like when Jesus said, "Ye of little faith."