Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Antisanta

You know, honestly, I had a quirky little math piece all worked up for today.  Remind me tomorrow.

For now, however, I offer this:

You really are going to have to take the twelve (I timed it) seconds it takes to click on the image above to really take in the whole scene.

From whose demented mind was this image conjured?  Let's break it down.  The sleigh looks like a Viking war vessel painted by some ancient Egyptian potter.  Santa has some off-brand polyester running suit on and his boots tie, for heaven's sake.  His beard is like an infested, comic, bee's nest tornado and his hat is ridiculously small.  His nose is flattened, the sad legacy of a short, forgettable career as a heavyweight boxer and he is smirking.  I don't even want to know how he got that horrendous scar on his left arm.

And those eyes, I mean, is this a rendering rejected from the studio of Tim Burton, even he found this character too freaky?  It's like one of those pope paintings where his eyes follow you.  He looks like Jack Nicholson on crack.  This guy is so woebegotten he can only manage one  "Ho."

And, dear God, what, in the name of all that's holy, happened to the reindeer?  Look, stare, gawk...  no, don't let your mind go there.  They're gone and Santa looks like he just secured his thirty-ought-six.  Oh, the reindeermanity.

So that's it, just try to let the sugerplums come tonight.

(Sorry, Nick, I know there has to be a legitimate story behind this drawing.  Please, son, tell me there is a reason you did this, please...)

From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat...'

"Eat your own elbow."

Them's fightin' words where I come from...

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