Hall of Fame Christmas Gifts

When I was a kid I used to absolutely love Christmas, the decorative lights that the neighbors would put up yearly, the welcomed holiday mood that my father would display, hell, I even embraced the perennial guilt that comes along with being raised a catholic. But most of all, cutting the bullshit for a moment, I enjoyed the gifts that I received each year. I remember it like it was yesterday, me not being able to sleep as my eyes are fixed upon my alarm clock, openly wondering if Santa had eaten the cookies that I had sprinkled some ground up sleeping pills over(yes, I wanted to subdue Santa and jack him of his gifts), then finally getting out of bed and knocking on everyone's door screaming "Wake up, It's Christmas. It's Christmas!!"

Those great memories seem like a million miles away because now, I wouldn't say that I am a Grinch, but I have become very indifferent about December 25th. What was once a holiday for spreading cheer, drinking eggnog, and trying to poison that gift giving fuck Santa, has now become a excuse to further my alcoholism and using the birth of Jesus to get some miscellaneous ass that I will regret later. But this year, for some reason, I feel like spreading the Christmas cheer, somewhat. No, that isn't a obvious set up for a sex joke where I name one hooker's leg "Christmas" and the other leg "cheer" and commence to
"spreading", and I won't go Christmas caroling and being a complete boob about the holiday season either, just this year I don't feel the agenda of hate towards it as I usually do. Granted, this season I will do what I do every year and that is sleep with some woman that I hardly know, but this year I will be more festive about it.(Giving the phrase "Ho, Ho, Ho" an entirely new meaning)So, since 'Ti's the season" to blog about Christmas ad nauseum, here are a few Christmas gifts that I have received that stick out in my mind.

He-Man Action figures: "By the powers of Greyskull, I have the Power!!" is not just something I say when I ejaculate, it comes from the He-Man cartoon that I absolutely loved as a kid. I know, looking back with rose colored glasses He-man was pretty homo-erotic, wearing outfits that made him eligible to be the next member of the Village people and shit. But, he undoubtedly kicked ass whenever possible and the action figures that accompanied the cartoon were great in my opinion. I have never seen a toy company try its hardest to come out with every character the way they did with the He-Man dolls. I can't remember all the name of the characters names but there was a fish character that my father, for some reason, nicknamed "Pussy".(He was a role model) There were certain ones that threw things, had various outfits, came with animals that they used for transportation, you name it they came out with it. I even remember, and if anyone knows the name of this character please speak up, a dude who looked and smelled like pine. I'm not shitting you, it has been damn near 20 years and that motherfucker still has a pine smell, which scares a paranoid fuck like myself because I figure that it is toxic and the real reason that I am childless. Getting those action figures exposed that I am a pervert though, because I vividly remember when He-Man and his boys "took turns" with She-Ra.

Be-be gun: The reason that the movie "The Christmas Story" will always be important in my life is because it seems so god damned autobiographical. It started when my family would go to visit my aunt and uncles in Sumter South Carolina each year, where my father and brother would shoot cans in an open field. I don't know how Sumter is now, but back then it looked like you could have shot "The Color Purple" there because it seemed like things hadn't changed much in 40 years, so shooting guns in public seemed like a fucking birthright considering the location. Anyway, this one particular year my father thought that I was old enough to partake in this yearly Critic ritual even though my mother protested aggressively. My father handed me the gun, I gripped it with both hands like I had seen Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson do a million times, aimed it at the miscellaneous tomato can and pulled the trigger. *Whap*!, I had hit my first target that I had ever shot at, and continued to hit whatever my father and brother put in front of me that day. I must have shot a hundred bullets that day at various objects, my father damn near pissing his pants at his baby boy's pin point accuracy. Fast forward the following Christmas when I opened up my presents and saw that my father had given my a pistol, a be-be pistol to be accurate. My mother lost it, lost it to the point that my parents argued the entire day about it. My father calmed her nerves by assuring her how responsible I was, and the gift was something to practice shooting objects with in the backyard until he could get me into some sort of marksman program.

So I did what any "responsible" kid would do with a weapon that he obtained on Christmas, I randomly shot people the fuck up with it. Sad but true, I would sit in my bedroom window, aim the gun at random passers-by, and proceed to tattoo people with the pin point accuracy of a seasoned hit-man. I was relentless in my new found sniper-dom, I was also an equal opportunity shooter. Women, got shot, men, got shot, kids over 10 years old, got shot, siblings, really got shot the fuck up. My days of harming people from afar ended when my father saw me shoot my neighbors leg, which was not only across the street and in his back yard, but the leg was only partly exposed. After I took the shot my father grabbed the gun away from me and screamed "What are you doing you fucking Psycho!! I'm taking this from you!" He walked a few steps, turned around briefly and said, "That was an outstanding shot though." and walked out of the door. I have always, even today, been a pretty good shot which is the reason I can't own a gun, along with me having a horrible temper.

Two turntables and a microphone: This by far is the best gift I have ever received in my entire life, hands down. It's akin to a homeless man winning the lottery, a lonely man being given the women of his dreams, or a black republican receiving their dignity back, because my love for Hip Hop was only propelled when I saw that this Hip Hop apparatus was now in my possession. For hours I would be spitting freestyle rhymes with preteen angst while gripping the microphone like my life depended on it, while the instrumental spun ever so smoothly on the wheels of steel. I learned how to mix, scratch records, even do certain DJ tricks that would now seem pedestrian but then I felt like Jazzy Jeff and shit. Some people think I take my love for Hip Hop too serious on this blog and maybe they are right. But sitting here typing this while occasionally glancing over at my turntables, it reminds me of how it has become a mission for true Hip Hop lovers to spread the pure essence of said music for all of those who continuously disrespect it. Looking at the turntables also reminds me of a undeniable truth that has been lost in the current state of rap music, that Hip Hop's foundation was based on SKILL. So please, save me the "But your just getting older so of course you are going to feel differently, just like your parents" bullshit because that rule doesn't apply to that genre of music in the slightest. The love of the turntables and the microphone has taught me to respect the fact that people might like Mike Jones, Lil John and those of his ilk, but it also gave me the birthright of having this culture pumping through my veins to say that your opinions suck complete ass while holding up my middle finger, and even punching you in the mouth for good measure.

My mother at a P.E Concert: You guys know how much I love my mother, not only for the obvious reason that she gave birth to me but also because she has been a constant supporter of mine since day one, and her strength should be sculpted into a great work of art labeled "The epitome of a strong Black woman". Besides me being somewhat of a scumbag, and being as considerate as a mailbomb, I would say that I am single because no one that I meet even has a tenth of the good qualities that my mother has. I know frequenting strip clubs and having the number of an escort service on speed dial won't help my case, but the women that I have encountered over the past few years makes me want to join the priesthood.(The helping people type, not the touching little boys variety) Anyway, I have always been a Public Enemy fan and my mother bought me two tickets for a show they were doing in my town around Christmas time. I was excited, until I realized that I didn't have many good friends and the ones that I did have were out of town. I called everyone, then finally I figured that I would ask my mom if she wanted to go. When I approached her about it she asked, "You can't find anyone else to go with?" "No", I replied, which forced her to jokingly say, "Fuck you, I was never one for sloppy seconds!!" I laughed at her joke, until the possibly of my mother being in a "gang-bang" made me vomit in my mouth a little bit. But she agreed to go and we were on our way.

You would think that taking your mother to a P.E show would be awkward, but she fit right in immediately. The kids there seemed amped that someones parent would come and be open to experiencing music that their child enjoys. When the group started playing some of their songs I would occasionally glance over at my mother to see if she was enjoying herself, or enduring it like someone would a prison rape. But, surprisingly, she had a fist pumped in the air, was concentrating on Chuck D's lyrics, and even laughing at the on-stage antics of Flavor Flav. It was official, I had the coolest mother in the history of mothers, you better ask somebody. When the show ended she talked about the relevant political message of the group, and her liking the fact that I dug a group with a particular focus. I don't know about you, but you don't know what happiness is until you here you mother quote "Welcome to the Terrordome" in her best Chuck D voice. I thought I was in a dream as I heard my mother belt out: "I got so much trouble on my mind, Refuse to Lose!!" That was a great gift indeed.