And Now The December Journal of "Chrissie Orment", The Christmas Ornament

Hi everyone, my name is Chrissie, um, Chrissie Orment, I live in Wisconsin USA, oh yeah, and I am a Christmas tree ornament. Um, so yeah, Fleeting Forever asked me to write a journal this month so you all could know what the Christmas period is like for us ornaments. Um. Here's a selfie of me, so you know what I look like and that... 

                                     Me! 

So yeah, here it goes. 

December 1st

It’s December again. It's been another tough year. But if I’m lucky I’ll be out of this storage box soon, and once again hanging out in the open, on the tree, bringing Christmas joy to everyone. 

I cannot wait. 

I’m so excited!

Then again, careful what you wish for Chrissie, you did this to yourself the last three years, the box opens earlier than ever, you think all your Christmases have come at once, and suddenly the complaining starts.

“You’re out too early,” 

"I don't want to see a tree yet"

"Already?" 

"What's next hot cross buns in January?"

"I haven't even digested Thanksgiving yet!"

"What's this on my face, a spider? Aaagghhh, oh shit, no it was just a bit of tinsel. Tinsel already? AAGGGGGGAGG"

"No, not yet, NOOOOO"

The humans complain. They're ALWAYS complaining about how early we come out. 

Those bastards. "Hey, I don't want to hear you complaining dick. Try spending a year in a box and then have people MAD they let you out"

No no Chrissie, don't be like that. You're all about joy. So BE about joy. 

It's December, Christmas is coming, yay. 

December 3rd

Still in the box. Which is fine. Like I said, the it's too early. Sure I WANT to be out. I LOVE being out, so why wouldn't I want that? Yet, I don't LOVE when the humans complain about me and my friends being out. 

I try not to get angry. I really do. I'm all about joy! 

But...  I let it get to me some years. I just do. I get my feelings hurt. I cry. I start threatening to spot some human who is barefoot, and then time it just right, and then jump off the tree, crash into eighty glass pieces all over the floor and fuck up that barefoot for life. 

But it’s not worth it Chrissie. 

I remind myself. And it isn't. Plus I'm still in the box, so what are we arguing about anyway. 

Joy. Joy. Joy. 

YES! 

December 4th 

I mean, Mike the bulb did that eight years ago, just dove right in front of a barefoot, and the human who's foot he went into was walking again by Valentines Day!

But where’s Mike now? 

Landfill. That’s where. 

Oh and that one little piece of him is still in that humans foot. But still. Hold it together. Be strong. The humans come around in the end.

Besides, still in the box, so yeah, it's irrelevant. 

December 12th 

Joy to the world. Joy Joy and more Joy. 

Still in the box. 

Which is great. It really is. Absolutely NO danger of being accused of being out too early this year. 

Lol. 

I was stressing for nothing. 

Just sitting tight in a box stressing for nothing. 

In a box, in an attic, in the dark. No reason to stress. 

Plus, Christmas is SOOOON. Well sooonish. 

Awesome! 

December 13th 

Still in the box. 

December 14th 

Still in the box. 

December 15th 

Um, STILL IN THE FUCKING BOX. 

Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy. Come on Chrissie. 

Fuck. I am ready to spread joy. Come on. Open the box. Lets get this on. 

December 16th 

Come on fuckers, this is getting ridiculous. I know you've had a hard year too, but us Ornaments and the other decorations are STILL IN A BOX! 

December 17th 

Fuckers, can you hear me, fuuucccckers!

Joy joy fucking joy. 

December 18th 

Alright just let us out. I get it humans. I do. You were ALSO worried about being "too early". Hey who amongst us has never worried about being "too early" if you know what I mean (if you don't I was referencing premature ejaculation). 

But hey, good news, you don't have to worry about it. It's December 18th. No one is going to call you "too early" this year. You nailed it! Congratulations buddy. Well done. 

Now, open up this little box, fling me and my friends on the tree, and let us spread some fucking joy, alright? 

December 19th 

Look, I am trying to be nice, but this is definitely NOT a "too early" scenario now. In fact you are very close to copping a "no decorations, what are ya some sort of grinch?" type comment. And you do NOT want that. And you know who else doesn't want that.... MEEEE! 

Come on Chrissie, Joy, all you need is Joy... Joy ta Joy ta Joy. 

December 20th

Fuck joy. 

Let us out of this box. OUTTT!! 

Hang us, and wrap us, and light us UP! Let's get this happening. 

December 21st 

Seriously, still not. We are STARS. Stars dang it. 

I mean Jeremy the star ornament is LITERALLY a star. 

People go crazy when they see us. Crazy for joy. Get us up. Up up up. 

December 22nd 

Then again, now that I think about it, no one EVER goes crazy for ME.

Hang on (a rad term by the way, reminds people of things that hang, rad stuff, like ornaments and shit) Sheila, the Angel, always gets “awwwwws”, and “oh it’s so wonderful”, and "wow, lovely, nice, an angel" and stuff like that. Sure, she's an angel. 

Horban, the picture of The Simpsons at Christmas, get's "Oh cool, I think I have seen that episode". Yay, good for him. He deserves it. It's a good TV show. 

And then Gary, the anatomically correct naked Jesus ornament, well he always gets laughs. Big laughs too. 

But those laughs are cheap. Shitty shock value laughs. "Hey look it's Jesus's dick" laughs. 

And I get that, normally a naked Jesus ornament has like the Ken Doll nothing, or a sheath. Gary has full dick and balls, hilarious. I'm not denouncing that. I enjoy a cheap laugh too. 

But then where are my laughs. 

I mean I am funny dang it. 

I am a Christmas ornament of a Christmas tree that’s hung ON a Christmas tree. It’s perfect fucking irony. 

A tree on a tree - why does a tree need a smaller tree? Is there an even smaller ornament of another tree on me? And then another on that? 

It's brilliant. It's a thought poker. And it's IRONIC. 

But these numbskulls don’t get irony do they? “Oh it’s Jesus’s penis, ha ha fa la la la la fuck you”. "A tree on a tree, I don't get it, let's look at Jesus's penis again". Fuck. 

December 23rd 

I bet that if I was in England I'd get laughs. 

Yeah, over there they’d get me. I’ve seen Ricky Gervais’s The Office Christmas special; those Brits love irony. Here in America though, not at all. 

You know what, I wish America had lost the damn War of Independence. Yeah I said it. The people would be toasting the Queen, and loving me. What a beautiful thought.

Then again, let’s face it. Regardless of whether I lived in England, America, or the United States of the British Empire, I know what happens, people see Gary and laugh, then they see me, I get no laugh, or maybe even I do get a laugh, but then they look six inches to my right and yell “yaaaaaayyy candy cane!” 

Candy Fucking Cane. 

The Christmas ornament that people can stick in their fat mouths. 

I just can’t compete with peppermint. Those assholes go nuts for them. I don’t get it. They don’t eat peppermint all year and yet now suddenly it’s like giving a dead squirrel to a wild dog. 

They rip em open with their teeth. Spit plastic on the floor. Suck on em till they’re pointy spikes, crunch them till they’re not sure if they’re eating shards of candy or shards of broken tooth, but they don’t care. 

"Just look over there idiots, there’s much better stuff to consume" I want to scream. "There’s snowmen shaped sugar cookies on that table, on the mantle there’s chocolate in the advent calendar, that bowl in the kitchen has sweet rum soaked salted caramel eggnog". Fuck, if I had a mouth I would deck the halls with the sound of me licking that bowl so clean the glass would turn back to sand. 

Stupid humans.

Then again, I guess that’s only the set up of a wealthy family’s house. 

I hope this year, if I ever get out of this fucking box, I hope I’m in the house of a REALLY rich family. 

Shit, that sounds so wrong when I write it down. I’m not a snob am I?

The thing is, there’s just more presents. It makes the whole picture of the tree much prettier. It’s ok that to want that right. It’s literally my job. Be part of a beautiful tree scenario. That's the gig. 

You know and something about joy I think. 

Why does Santa give more gifts to the rich anyway? It makes no sense. They already have more stuff. Then he claims the test is actually a naughty vs. nice battle? 

So a poor kid is all nice, and get’s squat, and rich little shit naughty fucks the world, and get lots? 

Why?

Oh wait a minute. No way. Holy fucking Night. Is Santa trying to teach Americans… IRONY! That fat genius. I love you Santa. And those idiot humans have no idea. Morons!

Joy joy joy joy joy joy joy joy joy! 

December 24th

I don't CARE that I'm still in the box. I finally understand Christmas. Soon the world will all know what Irony is, and THEN when I am out, I will be the funniest fucking ornament EVER! 

Wait.

I think I hear something. 

The attic stairs are opening. Hark now, hear the Angeles sing! Our box is moving. Shelia, Gary, everyone, wake up! 

Look the box is opening. Look, sunlight, tinsel, stockings, eggnog, SNOW! It’s all so beautiful. Yay. Oh my god I take it all back. This is the best. It’s here. It’s Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year! Joy to world, and Merry fucking Christmas everyone!

The End 

PS. 

- Chrissie DID get some laughs this year. Although mostly because someone stuck her up the Angels butt. 

- The last bit of Mike finally fell out of the humans foot while he was getting a foot massage by a new lover - he cried like a baby - she found it "the sweetest thing ever" - they're getting married and have a "zero glass bauble policy" at their wedding. Sandra "Christmas All Year" Klops has yet to RSVP. 

- The anatomically correct naked Jesus was deemed "inappropriate" this year and put in the bin. 

- Irony went on to be named "finally funny" by Newsweek Magazine. 

- No one is sure if a tree on a tree IS irony or not though. 

- Chrissy now works for the stage show Jagged Little Pill. 

- "Joy Joy Joy Joy Joy" is still a lovely sentiment.   

- Merry Xmas, and Happy Holidays and such. 

- Yay. 

Santa Clause - The Real Truthful Gritty Origin Story

The year was 1829, and the place was far north Greenland, which at the time was called Grassland, even though it had no grass, because the color green wasn't invented yet, and the founders had really wanted to name the place ‘g-something-land’.

I mean sure, there were prototypes out there for the color Green already, but nothing had been perfected yet, let alone patented, and there were several different master inventors working on their own varieties. Most notably, out of many, Cameron Bunford and Charles Ireland.

We all know this story of course, and this isn't the origin story of the color Green, but as we all know Charles got beaten to the patent, and then got swindled by a country near the UK who took a huge shipment of fresh new green and paid only by naming their nation after him, a nice, yet financially moronic decision for Ireland.

Had he known just how much money there would be in Green he never would have made the deal, but people couldn’t see into the future as yet.

Cameron, on the other hand, made a similar deal with a nation then known as Grassland. But when but he failed to come up with any real product, having spent all his capital on the patent and suing Ireland who seemed to be selling Green illegally, and then he went into huge debt after being counter-sued by Ireland the nation, after it turned out he’d sued the wrong Ireland.

Grassland then sued Bunford and were awarded Green in the settlement. They the renamed their country Greenland, to use as a marketing tool to sell the color Green which they began to export in earnest, mostly to rich countries around the world, and Green began to go for such a pretty penny that they didn't even keep any for themselves.

It was in this land, several years before all this took place, that a small baby boy to be named Nick, was born in a gritty hospital, in a gritty hospital bed, on a gritty weathered day, in a gritty part of town, and out of a vagina so gritty that there was never a doubt he'd be an only child.

His mother was a gritty woman who worked in the local grit factory, which was a new and coveted commodity in those days. His father was a revenge fucker, who only slept with Nick’s mother because the owner of the grit factory had outbid him on the newly invented pretty penny, which had already proven to be a massive blow to Father Clause.

As a result Nick grew up in a bitter household, with his parents forced to marry by the country's then romantic 'you stuffed it you bought it' law, in a gritty house, made from grit, and with nothing but grit to eat, as in those days people were only ever paid in the in the company they worked for's product. It was even worse for those who worked at the murder factory. Where a good month of working your bones to the nub breaking the factories murder record, was rewarded with the lovely pay of having yourself and all your family murdered. But at least that was a company that always seemed to have jobs going. Still, young Nick didn't think about his friends who's parents worked there, because they were shitty friends who always seemed to just stop returning his calls and texts out of the blue with no explanation. He hated those kids. 'Spoiled little shits' he'd think.

'One day when I grow up I'm going to spoil all the seemingly happy well off shitty assholes until they ALL disappear!' He'd yell at no one in particular, as he'd sit at dinner eating a warm bowl of grit and washing it down with an ice-cold can of diet grit.
'What, are you going to get a job at the spoil store?' His dad would reply laughing, 'they'd never hire you, you're too fair, they only hire people dedicated to unbalance, and karmaprovedwronganites, you stupid shit'
'At least I dream of having a job Dad, I'll never end up a lazy bum!' He'd yell back. But he always felt really empathetic right after, as his dad dug into his own dinner, a bowl of lazy rectum, the least clean type of rectum.

I mean seriously the pay structure back then was awful. That's probably why people always coveted patents now that I think about it.

As childhood rolled on, Nick developed school chums, and the chums developed a Nickname for Nick at school, it was the first one ever, and the term nickname was named after Nick. Nick on the other hand was nicknamed ‘Santa’, which was Grasslandish for 'came from a gritty vagina', and they'd begun to call him this after his father had accidentally snap-chatted a picture of his wife's hooch to a bunch of his sons friends.

This was yet another blow to his already fragile self-esteem, and as a result Santa began not to dream of working at the spoil factory. Those guys’ families all seemed too smug for him, too pompous and too highfalutin. And this last one was something he particularly disliked, as neither falutin nor height had been invented yet, and he found that too arrogant, too pretentious, and too grandiloquent. 

No the people he looked up to were the badasses. The misfits. The provocateurs. The Rebels. The Nirvanas. The Stone Temple Pilots. The Creedence Clear Water Rivals. The My Chemical Romances. The kids that rejected cool so much that they became way more cool than even the cool kids could dream of. And this was Grassland remember, so being cool was all anyone had. These were kids so cool that one-day band’s would name themselves after them. (And yet Grassland is almost forgotten in terms of the story of Rock n Roll, for shame).

But they did also influence Santa. Nope Santa did not seek the regular normal life most craved. He wanted to be his own man. Like the kids he looked up to. And by being so he wanted to inspire the people of the world to be better and cooler and more badass than they’d ever been before. And the kids who lived that way all seemed to come from families who worked at a very specific place…

The Coal Factory.

'Coal for anyone with a unique spirit, that's my plan!' he'd suddenly burst out with, after getting lost in daydreams.

But one day, his dad would overhear him, call him a tool, and punish him by making poor Santa finish his dad's dinner.

And it would turn out that lazy rectum and grit mixed together in a stomach would have a surprise magical effect, a very surprise magical effect. Well not so much a surprise, at least not in the long run, more very reliably routine, but at first in was a HUGE surprise, and we’ll explore that more tomorrow, when

Santa - The Real Truthful Gritty Origin Story

Continues....

Some people are so lazy

I was in a department store today, Myers, one of Australia's two biggest chains. This is a company so big that they have enough money lying around to pay millions of dollars to an overrated 'supermodel' to be an ambassador or some shit. Yeah right, like anyone would specifically go to one store because they pay money to a model to pretend she shops there sometimes. Next thing you know people will be telling me that there will be companies who routinely pay for pop-up ads on major websites that do NOT automatically get blacklisted by so many consumers that they go bankrupt within a year. Um, banks started doing that and the world's economy was destroyed, I think I know what I am talking about!

Anyway, I was in this store today and they had Christmas decorations up. STILL!!!! It's October, they have had ten months to take that stuff down. Really that stuff should be down by like February right? A month or so from now and some of the really annoying shops will be jumping the gun and ALREADY putting up Christmas decorations for THIS year.

I just don't understand how some businesses even think they'll make money.

Careful what your xmas present really says!

Thanks Dad, great Christmas present, ok what’s next, oh this one is from my beautiful wife Stephanie, oh its heavy, wowser, what is it? Oh my god a bowling ball!!!! Awesome!

Does this mean what I think it means? That you want me to go out with the boys, drinking and having fun without a care in the world while you stay home and do all of the housework no matter how much of it was mess that I created sometimes seemingly in defiance of the laws of physicals, like that poop stain on the roof of the garage, that’s so great.

Does this signify that you want me to spend quality time bonding with the guys while you do my laundry and cook my dinner even though I’ll probably eat at the bowling alley so you’ll end up serving it on the table for nothing, and then you’ll have to put into Tupperware, and then when I come home late and drunk I’ll make you reheat it for me, so I can have it as a late night snack, but then I will have had so much to drink that I’ll end up puking it in bed while lying next to you, and you won’t notice, so you’ll lie around in it for a few hours, letting it seep into your pores so you’ll smell of my vomit for the next few weeks, that’s so nice of you.

Does this imply that if I am going to flirt with a lady you’re now more than happy for it to be that hot waitress at the bowling alley that you got mad at me for looking down the top of her shirt to look at her boobs which are, lets say, much more ample than yours, and that now while I do that you’ll stay home scrub the toilet, even though this will only amplify how sore and saggy yours have become since you breast fed our babies and that in reality I will probably always think of her breasts every time we make love from now on, that so generous of you.

Does this connote that if I get drunk and start acting inappropriate and grabbing boobs you’d like them to be hers, and that if she likes it then who is getting hurt, because after all you were the one who sent me to the bowling alley to begin with, knowing that she would be there, and therefore if she invites me into the staff locker room so she can show me what they look like when taken out of her bra, and maybe what there feel like when I put my face between them and make horse noises, and that if she then suddenly takes off my pants and says ‘do me like you’ve never done your wife, so that I’ll end up doing her analy which you’ve never let me do with you, so that for ever more my most memorable sexual experience will be with her and not with you, while you stay home and clean off the many, many boogers I picked out and stuck under the coffee table because I was always too lazy to walk two steps to get a tissue, thanks so much, this is the best Christmas present ever!!!!!!!

Get your Dave on, and Home for xmas, damn it

The time has come again, when my US visa has expired and I must leave this great land and return to that other great land, Australia. (In Australia we thought the A-team was a show about a gang of traveling rapists who'd give abortions in their van when things went bad?) This return has coincidentally coincided with xmas, and this is not my favorite coincidence of all time.

I have never liked christmas, for reasons I need hundreds of hours on a therapists couch to fully understand and unburden myself of, but the short story is my household was not a happy household, and the worst time in an unhappy house is xmas, where we pretty much all just despised each other in the way a bird despises the cat that is currently tearing it to shreds. It was fucking miserable, to put it mildly.

It later years, when I had one of those real jobs, where you have to like go there and spend way too much time doing stuff that sucks, I hate those things, but when I had one days off were like freakin magic mystery fun hippy loving wonder days. Wasting one of them on xmas was painful.

In more recent years I have acquired three nephews, and watching xmas through their eyes kind of makes it nice in some ways.

So with that in mind here is a lovely little cynical character monologue I improvised in a show recently and decided to type up, enjoy.

(Bursting into the room)

Honey, what is this? It’s a Christmas ornament isn’t it? You know how I feel about Christmas; you’re going to ruin our son.

You really want him believing in this monstrous holiday, you want him thinking that some magical man will just bring him stuff so he never has to work for it. You want him to think a chimney is a viable alternative to a door and break and enter is fun. That’s the kind of son you want?

You want him to think some overlord is watching everything he does to see if he has been bad or good. You want him to think that all poor people must be bad people because Santa doesn’t bring them stuff, and all rich people are good because Santa brings them plenty, is you’d be proud to raise a kid like that?

You want him to only want to eat cookies and milk, you want to aspire to be fat and only work one day a year, you want him to think that the North Pole is a realistic place to live? You’d be happy to say this loser is my boy?

You should have told me this before I impregnated you, that you planned to ruin him. You know who kids turn to looking for that magic once they find out Santa isn’t real don’t you? Drug dealers and science fiction films! You have already made our son a drug addict sci-fi nerd and he’s only 3, thanks a lot.

(Bows, uproarious clapping and cheering, people wondering 'what fucked that bloke up')

The end.

There will be lots of xmas joy spread all around you this year as always, there will be people demanding you to 'get in the xmas spirit you miserable fuck'. Not on this blog my friends! I want to hear some good ol' fashion hate. What do you hate about xmas people? I know you ALL have at least one thing.

Oh speaking of such, I hate plugging myself, so this year for an awesome xmas gift, how about giving a book? Specificallly 'Losing my virginity 52 times' by this fella writin' this, David Tieck. There are a few still available on Amazon.com (also on there some bastards in New York who got FREE copies from agents I sent them to and are selling them for $45!!! Scum. You're better off going here www.dymocks.com and typing in David Tieck, or http://www.dymocks.com.au/ProductDetails/ProductDetail.aspx?R=9780980468502 is the direct link I believe. Buy it today and have it nice and early for xmas. In all seriousness its really good, I've sold less than a thousand but over a hundred of those people have taken the time to email me to tell me how much they loved it, many of them considered it life changing (and more importantly funny).

What do you hate most about the advertising world? Pop ups and spam are my most hated, but I hate it all. I am personally a much bigger fan of paying for the shows and not having ads, than getting shows for free with the cost being putting up with the ads, how about you?

If you could do anything physically harmful to any particular marketer with a guarentee of no feelings of guilt or legal troubles, what would you do? Feel free to be graphic here :)

So goodbye for a while America, and hello once again my Aussie Friends, you have over a month to get your Dave on, and I want to party hard!