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Some honest writing

Return of Fictional Autobiographies

Two in one year!

She stared at me across the fresh fruit display.

I had gotten used to this by now. Sometimes, they would curse at me in their strange tongue. Occasionally, they would try to get rough, swinging at me with their beaks. While I'd love to say that I am as nimble as my name would lead one to believe, these scuffles often resulted in some type of injury - bruises, gouged fur, chemical burns, the occasional falling anvil. I can understand the anger directed at me - it's only natural. Playing a bloodthirsty antagonist opposite their sweet, innocent, nigh iconic counterpart would naturally engender those emotions.

Yet, here was a different look. There wasn't a burning hate behind her eyes, no fire of disgust, no desire to right my fictional wrongs with pain and suffering. Instead, as she tilted her head to one side, sweeping the feathery tuft atop her head briefly across her face, I saw only pity. I froze, my basket of tofu and vegetables clenched solidly in my right hand. I expected anything when venturing outside the studio and into the public eye - anything except this. We stood, this moment in time stretched across infinity, thin and delicate, but mesmerizing.

That night, I sat on my patio, under the cold, indifferent stars, and wept at what my life had become.

In Soviet Russia, Christmas declares war on YOU

I love this time of year. People young and old from all over the country brave harsh arctic conditions (or in the case of our area, highs in the mid 60s, which as far as most folks around here are concerned are equivalent temperatures) to decorate their homes with lights, lawn ornaments, plastic figurines, and more recently, giant inflatable lit up holiday dioramas. While I admire the spirit behind such sentiment, I really do have to wonder what drives a person to look at that seven foot snowglobe, complete with "snow" that blows around inside, and think to themselves "you know, that would really compliment my three thousand icicle lights, twelve candy canes, the animated polar bear, and fifteen foot "MERRY CHRISTMAS" sign on my roof".

Then again, I guess there's not much wondering to that, is there?

Sadly, none of this may last. There's a War on Christmas out there (brought to you by proud American Christian and Eric Deegans drinking buddy Bill O'Reilly) , you know. The subject has been done to death, however, so all I'll add to the conversation is the thought that maybe, just maybe, Christmas had it coming.

You see, Christmas has already been waging war on us, and has been LONG before 9/11. A bunch of humbug, you say? If that's so, then how do you explain this? An army of Santas terrorizing the streets of cities all across not just the US, but the world! Armies of rampaging, jolly fat men, declaring Santafada, armed with a hidden cache of cookies and milk to torment both the diabetic and the lactose intolerant.

And America is responding. With judicious use of "Happy Holidays" and the removal of anything utilizing words like Christmas, manger, and frankincense, America can take back our streets and cities from these insurgent Santanista rebels. No longer will we cower in our homes, fearing that counterattack might result in a coal-stockinged retaliation from those who wish to ruin the true meaning of the holiday season. Never give in to those cottonball bearded terrorists!