It's the Annual Holiday Cheer Generic Newsletter

[Clutch Munny]

For those who don't know: I hate Generic Holiday Newsletters. Hate them.

Still, a couple years ago I found myself sitting down to write one, just because I was sick of watching my beloved wife hand-write mostly the same long note in every card she sent out.

But... something went wrong. The first sentence was exactly what I intended. But upon reading it I was overcome with despair at the unholy ritual of tedium I was on the verge of promulgating.


Starting with Sentence Two, the letter went bad.

It's been bad ever since. Here, then, is this year's version of my Holiday Cheer Generic Newsletter -- the one that gets sent to all my relatives and some of my friends.


A Year of Cheering for Saskatchewan Football Teams in Ontario;

or, The Regina Monologues;

or, My Kidnapping and Enslavement at the Hands of the Amazonian Life-Essence Piratesses


To begin, I would like to address a complaint from many friends and family members, that we only communicate with them once per year through these holiday letters. In fact we are faithful email correspondents throughout the year, though we rarely receive replies from you. We even choose unique subject headings for our messages, such as ENLARGE YOUR HOT FREE NAKED VIAGRA MORTGAGE WITH TEEN NIGERIAN MIRACLE CURE INVESTMENTS, just to make sure they stand out from other messages you might receive. I hope you haven’t been deleting them by accident.

But down to the business at hand: relating the news of our year from the confines of my office, where I sit nude with the door almost entirely shut. It’s been an interesting year, verging on the paradoxical occasionally. For example, just last week I decided that I would buy Christmas presents for all and only those people in our family who did not buy presents for themselves. When I’d spent nine hours sitting in the car, trying to decide whether this meant I should buy myself a present, Colleen told me she’d had enough. She’s used to my being impossible, but drew the line at my being logically impossible.

Colleen herself is riding high on the wave of incompetence by which her school is run. She was almost lured away from St. Louis School (the east side of which is a notorious slum) with a contract offer from Our Lady of Reverse Peristalsis, but ultimately stayed at her old job out of institutional loyalty plus respect for a range of restraining orders and parole conditions. As a non-Catholic teaching at a Catholic school, she still experiences culture shock – her colleagues will never forget the day they told her the principal should be canonized; fortunately the weapon was registered, the police had a sense of humour, and the principal, of course, was telling no tales. But overall her job continues to be a form of employment.

The children are their usual happy selves. As part of her Grade Three curriculum Annalise studied First Nations cultures and history, followed by the history of pioneers and settlers. This was a fascinating time for all of us, as she took these studies to heart and wove them into the storytelling and imagination games with her sister and brother. Playing the part of the native, she had the run of the whole house. She held potlatches and rain dances – it was very cute. Gradually, however, her “pioneer” sister and brother were able to confine her first to the upper floor, then to a single room, and finally to a small closet, into which they passed smallpox-infected blankets and starvation rations. Luckily social services had no jurisdiction to intervene, under the terms of a treaty negotiated amongst the children. (And periodically “renegotiated” by Madeleine and George.) One more incident and there might have been legal action – a shocking injustice in itself, given that on those other occasions the car doors were safely locked and the children were fairly well hidden beneath blankets.

As always, there’s not much to tell about me. It was a good year of teaching, with my student course appraisals expressing such plaudits as, “Some course!”, “Waste no time signing up for this guy’s class!”, and “Professor certainly understands what ‘inappropriate touching’ means.” I know the Chair of my department is quietly proud of me, as he’s drawn me aside on several occasions to assure me that he’ll be bringing me to the attention of the Dean. It’s all hush-hush, but there’s some intimation that there’s a holiday in it for me! So stay tuned; we may all come visiting soon. In the meantime,


Happy holidays!

[Godless Dave]

What a great letter! Please tell me it's the one you're actually sending.

[wade-w]

Brilliant, as always, Clutch.

:bow: :bow: :bow:

[livius drusus]

I swear it gets better every year. Favorite bits: Clutch the logical impossibility, Annalise's trail of tears, and of course, the inappropriate touching. Lucky fucking students.

[Clutch Munny]

GD, that is totally the letter we are sending.

Since you like it, and since they aren't posted here on the Forum of Forums (Fora? Forum the bell tolls?)... I include the past two letters as well:

2002: That Was the Year That that Year Was

Holiday season again, and time to pass on the news of our year. As years go, we found this one to have twelve months, more or less. All of them were jam-packed with fun, action, multi-player battles, secret levels, and cheat codes.

No, just kidding. In fact the year was a bit more quiet around the house than previous years, since the kids have grown up enough to be placed in textile sweatshops. They often complain about the working conditions – as if light and ventilation were essential to life! – but underneath it all I’m pretty sure they value the responsibility we’ve placed on them. And heaven knows we’ll need the money when it comes time to flee the country!

Colleen’s teaching went well, until her condition re-appeared after several years of dormancy. I’d been surprised to learn that it could go dormant at all, but a careful diet that avoided seafood and all other forms of nutrition had kept it in check till now. The student she bit is recovering well, and is expected to walk again if the artificial hip lives up to its early promise. Unfortunately, in the confusion of her psychiatric disorder, the “incident”, and her staff room oath that her colleagues would “come to know the meaning of terror”, it emerged that Colleen was not Catholic. Of course, standards are standards, and this discovery led to the termination of her contract with the Catholic Board of Education.

School wasn’t boring for the children, either. Annalise especially enjoyed chatting and visiting with her many new friends. However, since she was all alone on these occasions, this was just another cause for concern among her teachers, care-givers, and law-enforcement officers. But what a sense of humour! We’d told her the little joke about having stolen her from the gypsies as a baby, which she enjoyed as much as the next kid. But how many children would have the waggish wit to go out and actually steal a baby from a gypsy family, just to see our reaction? Well, the extra mouth is a burden, but you can’t deny a great joke.

Madeleine’s bout with Spanish Screaming Disease has almost run its course. We were sceptical when the diagnosis first came in – “Like Tourettes,” we were told, “but louder, with gestures, and a fixation on turbot. Oh, and in Spanish” – but the blood test proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt. She had to be home-schooled when the disease left her anti-social, paranoid, and slightly backwards. Happily, this placed her in the upper two percent of home-schooled children, and we have since been granted a four million dollar research grant by the Fraser Institute to produce an action plan called Even More Choices in Education.

Sadly, this idyll has been tarnished by George, who at two years of age spent the year under a severe delusion of grandeur that caused him to claim he was three. We explained his birthday, and counted the years for him again and again, until it finally became clear that he was claiming to be Three. That is, George believes himself to be a Trinity. He will often refuse to eat his dinner unless we tell him that it’s merely an accidental mode of a simple substance that will participate in his digestive essence without changing it. I don’t have to tell you what that means!

And me? Well, it’s the same old, same old: stuntman work when I can get it, freelance “marital aids” advisor, convenor of the annual whitewater knitting marathon, and CSIS informant. I won’t bore you with the details, except to say it was a very interesting year for some of you, judging from the files I’ve seen. Happy holidays!


2003: A Look Back at the Year in Review: A Retrospective


Another year has passed us by, full of many occasions and several events. In recognition of the holiday season, we’re sending you the news of our past twelve months, along with a smile, some holiday cheer, and a DNA sample that’s probably too small for you to notice.

Life is good for all of us, just like always. It’s hard to believe that we’re less than a year from having all three kids in some form of institution! Colleen is betting it will be school all around, but I say, Never say never! Certainly George is looking forward to joining his sisters at school, where they have been playing an intricate game called “Shakedown” with their classmates. I’m not entirely clear on the rules, but it sounds like the usual dolls, and stuffed animals, and imaginary lit matches held to fingertips. They even take real matches as props! Though they always forget to bring them home again, the scamps. However the game works, it seems to keep them in spending money.

Colleen is still teaching at the same school, having turned down a transfer to Our Lady of Illicit Procedures Collegiate. It was a rewarding year for her, in the sense that she received cash rewards for turning in several of her students. She was also able to engage the minds of several others, focusing them on the benefits of education, and away from a life of gang violence and corporate accounting. The ugly past incidents with other staff members have been expertly smoothed over and forgotten, through a combination of excellent interpersonal skills and a 700% annual staff turnover.

Annalise is her precocious little self, always befriending and petting some neighbourhood animal or other, before quickly stuffing it in a sack and feeding it to one of her “test subjects”. I have to admit, I wondered at the time whether a cage full of reptiles and a gene-splicing kit was the best birthday present, but I think the results more than speak for themselves. She has an intimate grasp of biochemistry, and the local stray animal population is tightly controlled. Of course I have to give her the occasional, “As long as you live under this roof, you won’t meddle with forces of nature you can’t possibly understand until your homework is finished” talk. But that’s just a normal part of growing up.

Madeleine greatly enjoyed working through the second Harry Potter book this year, a sign, we think, of impressive literacy for a five year-old. She’s enraptured at the adventures of the books’ heroes and protagonists, and if she’s disappointed when Harry Potter beats them, she’s always hopeful about the next volume. “Sooner or later,” she giggles, “that smug little do-gooder will roast on a spit” Her charm and very subtle sense of irony continue to shine through in everything.

George has now almost completely succeeded in moving into the house of our elderly neighbours. Disappointed with the lack of privacy and personal space afforded him by his sisters, he realized in late May that our neighbours, both in their nineties, could hardly hear and can only see motion. Throughout the summer he would quietly slip into their house when they opened their door to glare at passing teenagers. Then he’d spend a relaxing day wandering around, watching the upstairs television, and raiding the refrigerator. As long as he freezes against the wall when they enter the room, he goes undetected. Having donned frilly-curtain camoflage to covertly remove him on a couple of occasions, I decided it was better to let the behaviour sort itself out. He has since taken a suitcase over, but as long as he eats here, we’re a family.

And me? Well, you know. Still just dynamiting the mango wagon, as the saying goes. Happy holidays to you, and all our love!

[wei yau]

That was just wonderful. I applaud you. :clap:

My favorite part is the bit about email spam, excellent.

[LadyShea]

Thanks Clutch, brilliant as always! I so look forward to reading your warm family greetings.

BTW, I want to share these with two people, My dad and a gentleman I work with, both of whom need the laughs and would find it funnier if they knew you were a smart feller and not just Joe Smartass....what subject do you teach? Am I supposed to know this information already?

[viscousmemories]

Thanks for sharing, Clutch. Your newsletter has become one of my favorite holiday traditions.

[Sweetie]

That was extremely well-written, amusing and thought-provoking as well as just things interestingly phrased, irony and so on and so forth. A little editing and I would enjoy reading that in a magazine.

[RevDahlia]

Man, if anybody in my family sent Christmas letters like those, I'd enjoy receiving Christmas letters.

I'm also glad that there's a little kid named George out there. George is a great name, distinctive amidst all the Bradens and Taylors and Keegans.

[wade-w]

what subject do you teach? Am I supposed to know this information already?

IIRC, Clutch is a professor of philosophy.

[LadyShea]

what subject do you teach? Am I supposed to know this information already?

IIRC, Clutch is a professor of philosophy.

Thank you wade! See I was supposed to know that.

[Goliath]

what subject do you teach? Am I supposed to know this information already?

IIRC, Clutch is a professor of philosophy.

Thank you wade! See I was supposed to know that.

Well, it will be on the quiz! :nerd:

:D

[Clutch Munny]

I'm also glad that there's a little kid named George out there. George is a great name, distinctive amidst all the Bradens and Taylors and Keegans.

Thanks. It's a name with a long history on both sides of the family, and the wee man wears it well.

[LadyShea]

what subject do you teach? Am I supposed to know this information already?

IIRC, Clutch is a professor of philosophy.

Thank you wade! See I was supposed to know that.

Well, it will be on the quiz! :nerd:

:D
Oh shit who's administering a quiz? I will flunk for sure. My brain ain't what it used to be.

[bobeh]

A Year of Cheering for Saskatchewan Football Teams in Ontario;
or, The Regina Monologues;
Happy holidays!

Most excellent christmas newsletter...

And I digress...OT of course. I thought I was the only person in Ontario cheering for the Riders.:eek:

And to everyone else...yes, Regina does rhyme with well...you know. I've always had trouble with that word myself. Too clinical or something. :blush:

[livius drusus]

How did you cope with the first Austin Powers movie, bobeh? :giggle:

Clutch, it's just so good of you to post the whole collection here. Not only does it make me glow with pride, but also has several other far less dignified physiological effects. You are one funny motherfucker, my friend.

[Gawen]

*laffin*....why aren't you a sitcom writer?

[livius drusus]

Because he's actually funny.

[viscousmemories]

Because he's actually funny.
Dammit, she stole my line. :madrant:

Well okay her line is better than the one I was gonna come up with.

[Goliath]

Oh shit who's administering a quiz? I will flunk for sure. My brain ain't what it used to be.

Professor Clutch will be giving the quiz, of course. Why haven't you been to class? Are you ready for the Final Exam tomorrow?

And...oh my god, why are you dressed in nothing but your underwear?!

:giggle:

[Goliath]

I haven't had the chance to read all three letters until now...all that I can say is:

:jawdrop: :hysteric: :clap: :appl: :appl: :appl:

Brilliant! I especially loved the use of Russell's Paradox...absolutely brilliant! Thank you for making my day, Clutch.

[Shake]

The children are their usual happy selves. As part of her Grade Three curriculum Annalise studied First Nations cultures and history, followed by the history of pioneers and settlers. This was a fascinating time for all of us, as she took these studies to heart and wove them into the storytelling and imagination games with her sister and brother. Playing the part of the native, she had the run of the whole house. She held potlatches and rain dances – it was very cute. Gradually, however, her “pioneer” sister and brother were able to confine her first to the upper floor, then to a single room, and finally to a small closet, into which they passed smallpox-infected blankets and starvation rations. Luckily social services had no jurisdiction to intervene, under the terms of a treaty negotiated amongst the children. (And periodically “renegotiated” by Madeleine and George.) One more incident and there might have been legal action – a shocking injustice in itself, given that on those other occasions the car doors were safely locked and the children were fairly well hidden beneath blankets.
In the upcoming year, she'll be able to move out into her own place due to the income from the casino which she'll set up. Right? That's if she doesn't become an alcoholic. :D

[Clutch Munny]

The children are their usual happy selves. As part of her Grade Three curriculum Annalise studied First Nations cultures and history, followed by the history of pioneers and settlers. This was a fascinating time for all of us, as she took these studies to heart and wove them into the storytelling and imagination games with her sister and brother. Playing the part of the native, she had the run of the whole house. She held potlatches and rain dances – it was very cute. Gradually, however, her “pioneer” sister and brother were able to confine her first to the upper floor, then to a single room, and finally to a small closet, into which they passed smallpox-infected blankets and starvation rations. Luckily social services had no jurisdiction to intervene, under the terms of a treaty negotiated amongst the children. (And periodically “renegotiated” by Madeleine and George.) One more incident and there might have been legal action – a shocking injustice in itself, given that on those other occasions the car doors were safely locked and the children were fairly well hidden beneath blankets.
In the upcoming year, she'll be able to move out into her own place due to the income from the casino which she'll set up. Right? That's if she doesn't become an alcoholic. :D

:yup:

If you're trying to channel my relatives, you're supposed to ask why she doesn't get off her ass and do some work, after all the breaks she's gotten from the goddamned government.


Goliath, glad you enjoyed!

[wei yau]

Again, I need to state just how much I enjoyed these letters. Great humor, intelligent and witty.

How does your family respond to these letters?

[Clutch Munny]

Again, I need to state just how much I enjoyed these letters. Great humor, intelligent and witty.

How does your family respond to these letters?

thanks!

One tail of the distribution: with great hilarity.

The centre of the distribution: with a mix of tolerant puzzlement and outrage tempered with resignation.

One tail of the distribution: with considerable offense.

[wei yau]

One tail of the distribution: with great hilarity.

The centre of the distribution: with a mix of tolerant puzzlement and outrage tempered with resignation.

One tail of the distribution: with considerable offense.

And which of these tails is your primary target audience?

[Clutch Munny]

One tail of the distribution: with great hilarity.

The centre of the distribution: with a mix of tolerant puzzlement and outrage tempered with resignation.

One tail of the distribution: with considerable offense.

And which of these tails is your primary target audience?

The whole thing is. I write it knowing that it will have these effects, and I am happy with all of them. :yup:

[wei yau]

The whole thing is. I write it knowing that it will have these effects, and I am happy with all of them. :yup:

You are like a river to your people.

:bow:

[livius drusus]

Mother Nile? Father Volga? Skanky Chattahoochee?

[wei yau]

Ganges? Mekong? Orinoco? Rio Grande? Rubicon? Shenandoah? Yangtze Kiang? Yukon?

yes, all I know about rivers, I learned from DS9

[livius drusus]

Don't make me bring up the Mighty Mississip.

[godfry n. glad]

Don't make me bring up the Mighty Mississip.

Now, now... Your emesis skills may be prodigious, but that is just plain hyperbole.

godfry

[LadyShea]

Clutch, please change your title to Skanky Chattahoochee. That provided a belly laugh for me today liv.

[livius drusus]

Now, now... Your emesis skills may be prodigious, but that is just plain hyperbole.

That's what they all say until the great cataracts start a'roarin'. That'll learn you to make mayo and bacon jokes around me.

Excellent idea about the custom title, Shea. Excellent. :yup:

[seebs]

Wow.

Clutch, you really could write professionally with skills like that.

However, I am not sure that you want to migrate into the only known discipline which pays worse than teaching!

[Clutch Munny]

Wow.

Clutch, you really could write professionally with skills like that.

However, I am not sure that you want to migrate into the only known discipline which pays worse than teaching!

You're closer than you know. I was in a rock band before I decided to go to grad school; I tell my colleagues I'm one of the few who can claim to have entered philosophy because the job prospects were better than my alternatives!

And thanks for the kind words.

[Dingfod]

Okay, fess up Clutch Munny, you wrote the book this article (http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=857&ncid=757&e=10&u=/nm/20041213/od_uk_nm/oukoe_life_letters) is about, didn't you?

[Clutch Munny]

Well, it's about that time again.

The Yearly Annual Holiday Letter Appearing Once Per Annum Every December

Another year in the books for us: an incredulous year in its own way, yet highly cromulent as it flew by interfrastically.

I feel particularly lucky to still be alive and writing this letter today, given my role as a soldier in the Attack On Christmas™ that we’re all hearing so much about. Tomorrow I’m slated to take part in a dangerous daylight raid, bombing and strafing Christmas. I’ve already survived a fire-suppression strike against Peace and a supply interdiction mission against Good Will Towards Men, but the Attack On Christmas remains our highest and most dangerous priority. Christmas is deeply dug-in and heavily fortified, so every mission could be my last.

Still, all warriors respect a great foe. In honour of the season, our family would like to share with you a Christmas haiku: a form of Japanese poetry constructed on conventional principles that liberate rather than shackling the creative spirit.

Christmas Haiku
First, five syllables
Then second line: seven more
Now I say ‘Christmas’!

Forgive the tear stains on this letter. The sentiment of that poem gets to me, I confess.

But how about our news? Things were a bit rough at the outset, as George was declared a member of the International Axis of Evil in February. George was already under international sanction for violating the Geneva Convention by repeatedly performing a vicious maneuver, the so-called “Running Crossroads”, on his father, who was under the mistaken impression that this constituted both judo practice and father-son quality time. (The Running Crossroads is recognized as torture by the European Union, as a violation of the Charter by the Supreme Court of Canada, and as a form of “natural family planning” by the Vatican.) The crisis deepened when George was revealed to be “actively seeking to acquire” a watch with a radium “indiglo” face. With only seven billion more such watches he would have possessed enough radioactive material to heat a croissant; so it was only by tense negotiations that we avoided regime change and the democratization of our household.

Perhaps the stress of this crisis got to Colleen. She was already fed up with work, and was contemplating a transfer to Our Lady of Incredulous Stares Collegiate, when she heard the news about George’s WMD* and my being sentenced to the Chair. She broke and ran, disappearing for three weeks and eventually showing up with a bag full of Chinese knick-knacks. Initially it was thought she’d gone to China. Later it emerged that she had been in the crawlspace the whole time, sorting through unopened wedding presents from 1989. Rumours of a go-go dancer with similar features touring Southeast Asian dance clubs have been put down to a combination of sporadic delirium caused by avian flu, an accidental spill of LSD in the Yangtze, and a secret twin sister also named Colleen. Rumours of a hiker with similar features on the Buddhist holy mountain of Emei, snarling at monkeys and sleeping among the monks (or possibly vice-versa), have been put down to a secret triplet sister, also, remarkably, named Colleen.

Madeleine, now seven, took up hockey in the autumn. Her suspension began shortly afterwards; there are signs that the other kid will regain movement in his toes sometime in the new year. As always she’s a bright and cheerful soul, looking ahead at good times to come. “Ooo, I can’t wait until Christmas,” she says, “gets bombed and strafed.” She’s also often heard to squeal, “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to have my ears pierced!” and “And I can’t wait until I can gamble legally on the Internet!” She does quite well gambling under her assumed name, and as long as the elderly neighbour doesn’t miss the credit card, it’s all financially risk-free.

Annalise’s fixation on pioneers and natives faded this year in favour of an obsession with medieval times and customs. She loved her school unit on the history of the era, frequently pretending to be an alchemist in her imaginative play at home. While she never succeeded in turning lead into gold, her home chemistry set came in handy when she was able to introduce the Black Plague into her school, wiping out the teacher and four-fifths of the class, and abruptly ending the Middle Ages study unit. “Just like history!” she enthused. She’s an imp, all right!

Of course things never change much with me. As I mentioned, the Dean has sworn that I’ll be getting the Chair if he has any say in things. He says it’s for “every damned thing” I’ve done around the university; I’ve never seen anyone so committed to rewarding academic service. (Apparently there’s even some sort of “strapping-in” ceremony!) So I’m looking forward to the leadership role, which the Dean promises I will find electrifying.

And that’s our news of the year. Have a happy and successful 2006!


*Watch with Mickey Dial.
“Attack On Christmas” USA © Fox News Corp., Canadian © CanWest Global Media.

[livius drusus]

You could sell spots on your Christmas card list. There's nothing I wouldn't pay.

The sleepy bear salutes you, sir. As do I. :bow4:

[Legs]

That was great Clutch!

(last years too)

[Plant Woman]

Oh, I love, love, love it. What a great letter. I try to write something off the wall, but yours sure beat mine, by a landslide.

[viscousmemories]

Excellent as always, Clutch. :bow:

[Petra]

:laugh:

Great letter, Clutch. Every line is my favourite bit.

:laugh:

[Dragar]

Oh, I adore them Clutch. Thank you!

[beyelzu's sockpuppet]

damn clutch,

i love the whole attack on christmas thing. fucking hilarious, the haiku was indeed an emotional tear jerker. :tmgrin:

I just read over previous years as well, and i loved the history theme you have for annalise. first the native american bent followed up with the black death.

good times, good times.

[livius drusus]

Hey, could we have regular bey back now, please?

[beyelzu]

are you suggesting that bey's sockpuppet and I are the same person, liv?

how dare you :tmgrin:

[livius drusus]

Yay! :dancebey:

[LadyShea]

Thank you, Clutch! I can't believe I look forward all year to the letter a person I have never met sends to his family, LOL!!

[beyelzu]

actually now that I know about the holiday letter, i will be looking forward to it every year myself.

[livius drusus]

Hell, my mother looks forward to it every year.

[wei yau]

Another wonderful example that fills me with mirth, joy and insane amounts of jealousy.

[Clutch Munny]

Watch yourself. We have surgical strikes on Mirth and Joy planned for the new year.

[livius drusus]

Well, tonight thank God it's them instead of me.

[wei yau]

Well, tonight thank God it's them instead of me.

:laugh:

Have I told you lately that I love you?

:kiss:

[livius drusus]

No! It's been days! :hmph: :teddyhug:

[Clutch Munny]

From the clip-clop noises on the roof I get the feeling that Santa’s reindeer are here again. Which is excellent timing, since we just had a delicious roast that finally freed up enough space in the freezer for another reindeer. No, Virginia, that’s not a bright maraschino cherry on your potatoes, and yes, it does look like a nose! Anyhow, that means it’s time for the Annual Holiday Letter. I can’t believe how much family news can accumulate over the course of one year, just like compressed strands of felted wool beneath a toenail.

It started in January, much like last year and maybe the one before, too. Colleen quit her job at Our Lady of Awkward Silences Collegiate to pursue a dream: she seemed poised to fulfill her life-long goal of becoming an astronaut when she was nominated to be the Canadian member on a future space shuttle launch. Her formal title on the mission was "3M Duct Tape Consultant in Holding Things Together So We Don’t Explode".

But in order to test her ability to cope with such NASA job demands as weightless environments and incompetence, she had to take a trip to Florida to visit Cape Canaveral for tests. She satisfied the second requirement by not even finding Cape Canaveral, but failed the first requirement by blundering into Disney World and blowing chunks on the Tower of Terror. Fortunately she had the children with her on the trip, who enjoyed the park immensely; unfortunately the children throw up convulsively during all forms of mechanized travel. The Homeland Security National Vomit Alert spent ten nervous days on their maximum Pea-Green level as a result.

After they returned home and were hosed down, the children went on with their busy lives. Annalise, now ten, took up fencing as a sport this year, and quickly progressed from a Positions, Movements and Balance class into Stabbing Things Viciously, before proceeding on to one-on-one instruction in Advanced Butchery and Introduction to Mayhem. The sport is quite good exercise for the legs, they say, and if it seems to encourage violent behaviour, well, Annalise does have a point in observing that the neighbour kid “never shoulda yapped, the little biatch.” Annalise also cut her hair short this year, a cute pixie-ish style. Then she filed her teeth into points and had them stained black. The rapscallion!

Madeleine started off her year by planting some beans from school in a small planter beside the kitchen window. She has such a green thumb, the wee pumpkin! The beans grew wonderfully, which Maddy rather oddly pronounced a “proof in principle”, before taping tinfoil over the basement windows and taking over the lower floor as her “special playroom”. Whatever games she and her siblings are playing down there sure must need some bright lights and lots of water! The electricity bill has tripled and the house has never felt more humid. Anyhow, she still loves her imagination games, and even gets Colleen and I involved when she pretends to be a “police visitor” and gets us to pretend that we have glaucoma and arthritis. “Remember,” she grins cheekily, “just keep saying medicinal purposes. That’s how the story goes!” She’s growing like a weed, the darling.

George, as you may have heard, was recently named the federal Minister of the Environment by the Harper government. His letters to Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny were of course already being monitored under the Grabbing Porn And Cash From People’s Mail Act of 2002, as a result of his involvement in last year’s unfortunate terror incidents. But when the special freedom forces realized that George genuinely believed in the existence of Santa and the rest, he was recruited and fast-tracked into a position where he could fight against the junk science of so-called global warming. Don’t be surprised to see new legislation regulating the effects of light sabers on the ozone layer, and massive funding for research into emission-free cars that move just by the driver kicking the dashboard and making “racing noises” through his lips.

As for me? Getting by, getting by. I seized the reins of departmental power in a nearly bloodless coup this year. That’s gone quite well. There was one unfortunate incident, a miscommunication with a local benefactor who identified himself as "a donor" and said he wanted to "endow a Chair in Philosophy". Who wouldn’t leap at the chance?, I said later, in my defense. Anyhow, I was lucky it was only a soft-tissue injury, the university lawyers said. On the brighter side, my increased commitment to bicycle commuting is being co-sponsored by Viagra, Preparation H, and the manufacturers of those skinny little bike seats. So it’s all looking up!

Here’s hoping your year is, too. Happy holidays!

[Leesifer]

Marvelous, as always.

:applaud:

[livius drusus]

You know, from the minute I read the first holiday newsletter I knew George would end up in politics. :sadno:

[godfry n. glad]

Here's looking up yours!

[Dragar]

Ah, it's not the year's end without that letter. Great stuff. :applaud:

[Ensign Steve]

Excellent! :yup:

[LadyShea]

:applaud:

[Shelli]

:chuckle:

It's awesome that you actually send those instead of the usual drivel. :lol: :thumbup:

[viscousmemories]

Fabulous. :clap:

[Plant Woman]

Enjoyable as always! :bow:

[Julie]

Oh my God! Those are wonderful!

[Clutch Munny]

I know how much you look forward to getting our Christmas letter, when you finally get to read about the momentary doings of people even we barely know, described in detail even we can hardly bear. One of the high points of our year was a three-hour visit over coffee with the Huffman-Jorgensons, near whom we lived briefly in 1975, and who now live in the charming town of Hirsute Frontbum, New Brunswick. Bob, his wife Carole, and her husband Ted told us that their middle daughter’s best friend Marianne and her boyfriend Lucas have decided to populate their basement aquarium by purchasing a plastic baggie full of guppies, whom they are naming Flipper, Puffer, Guppy A, Lord Manhammer, Dory, Guppy C, Lance Bass, Davy Jones III, and (chuckle!) “Johnny Deep”. We are excited, so very, very excited by their big news! And we are undeterred by the fact that you will never, ever get back the sixty seconds it took you to read that.

Whoa! Back the fun bus waayyyy up. Because that’s not our Christmas letter. No way! We’re the straight shooters, the ones who tell the incontinent truths, the ones who dare say that 2007 was, contrary to what you may have heard, a year of months, weeks, and days. And hours, and seconds. And nothing smaller than those. How have I been filling all that time, you ask? Not with chronic masturbation, no sir! Not this year!

This year the news starts with George, who became very interested in hockey during the NHL playoffs this spring. So he decided to learn something about every NHL team. Then he decided to memorize everything about every team, and indeed the entire history of the sport, including every fact recorded on every hockey card ever produced. Then, just to make sure, he decided to memorize the entirety of human knowledge, in every language and all sciences. Then he became omnipotent, and evolved past the need to be physically instantiated in a body, becoming a totally incorporeal being of pure thought and pure energy, much like the Organians in that Star Trek episode. Of course this degree of informedness put him at odds with the government, leading to the loss of his job as Canada’s Environment Minister in favor of John Baird, whose unfamiliarity with any aspect of human knowledge made for a pleasing contrast. George is also trying to get better at playing catch with the football, a project relative to which his new disembodied state is a clear step backwards.

Madeleine continues to be a precocious wee one, with all the signs of being trusted and respected by her friends. For example, she spent much of the year socializing – you know how gifted she is with the gab, when she’s in a manic phase! – and in the process she apparently met two new little chums, Conrad and Babs, over the Internet. Oh, you should hear her talk about them! Anyhow, it turns out that Connie and Babs must each have a broken piggybank at their parents’ houses, because they’ve asked Maddy to hold some money for them. “Just for a while,” they apparently told her. We’re not sure how much money is involved, but we think they’re using their pennies for a sort of treasure hunt. At least, we did once hear Maddy yelling into the telephone, “Bury it deep, Ottmar, where the damned SEC can never find it!”

This fall Annalise tried out for the school choir, got accepted, auditioned for a solo in the annual concert, got the part, sang it, turned some heads in the industry, signed a contract, was picked up by a major label, cracked the Top Ten, made a million, blew the cash, forgot the taxes, drank underage, shaved her head, crashed her car on crystal meth, cut a second album, watched it flop, released a sex tape, shaved everything else, mounted a successful comeback, and went on Dancing With The Stars anyhow – on her own terms. She has a beautiful singing voice, the little dear, and is also thinking of trying the Drama Club.

Colleen has finally left Our Lady of Arch Intimations for good, having really achieved all the personal goals for her job that she’d set for herself, and being ready for new challenges and new frontiers, and also having embezzled money from the school budget, blackmailed her partner in crime, and had two potential witnesses whacked. Everyone needs personal growth, and for Colleen that meant finding a new work environment. She spent the fall working from home, exploring her literary side by writing dramatic serials, which were published in a cutting edge multi-media magazine, apparently owned by someone who lives in a Penthouse and accepts letters.

And me? Working hard, or hardly working? Well, the truth is, I’ve used my position at work to ascend the innovative ladder of entrepreneurial transformational leadership, which is to say that I have spent the departmental budget to build an empire and buy myself minions, hatchet men, and thralls. It’s an experimental project, to be sure, but so far I must confess to enjoying the thralls, and especially the minions, far more than I’d ever enjoyed having colleagues. Colleagues are swell, but they do get uppity. Minions? You pull their finger unexpectedly, and they don’t give you any “I find that unprofessional, and am filing a grievance.” No, they shatter the wind or fill their pants trying. And that’s the sort of can-do, innovative, entrepreneurial, community outreach accountability measure that I think we need more of. Here’s to a dictatorial 2008!

[D. Scarlatti]

Hirsute Frontbum, New Brunswick.

:laugh:

[livius drusus]

HAHAHAHA JOHNNY DEEP HAHAHAHAHAHAHA *breath* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OMG SO FUNNY

[Ensign Steve]

It's officially Christmas! :vibes:

[freemonkey]

Bob, his wife Carole, and her husband Ted :lolwat:

[Dingfod]

What about Alice?

[Clutch Munny]

Gould for you! You wood be culpable for not recognizing part of the film cannon.

[Dingfod]

That was so punny.

[Legs]

Wow, I missed last year's addition so I got a double dose of holiday update cheer tonight, thanks Clutch. You be a funneh guy :mushroom:

[LadyShea]

Thank you!

[Qingdai]

Mmmm. Minions, congratulations. Everyone could use some minions.

Thanks for the laughs.

[Clutch Munny]

Thank you!

No, thank you, O Conscience! My Conscience!

[biochemgirl]

Ahhh, NOW I'm ready for Christmas! :bow:

[Ensign Steve]

I am sorry for bumping this thread and getting everybody's hopes up, but I'm trying to light a fire under an ass here.

Christmas can't start without it!
:eager:

[livius drusus]

YEEEEEEEES!
:loud:

[Adam]

OMG Clutch is warring on Christmas by not publishing his letter! :ohnoes:

[Leesifer]

:excited:

[Ensign Steve]

In the meantime, let's curl up with a much of :cocoa: and read the past deliciousness.

[Legs]

Oh yeah, I look forward to this more than granny's fruitcake. :hellyes:

[Qingdai]

Yay! Now this is a good bump.

Is Clutch at the veteran's hall for the War on Christmas warriors?

[godfry n. glad]

Yay! Now this is a good bump.

Is Clutch at the veteran's hall for the War on Christmas warriors?

Yeah, those Agent Redngreen sufferers...I feel for them...those blinded by the lights...them, too. But it's the PHCT (post-holiday credit trauma) victims I pity the most, particularly those who will be terminated in the wake of the poor retail sales and obscene superfluous executive perquisites. They will lose their arms and legs, and maybe even their asses.

[Clutch Munny]

:afullday:

[Sock Puppet]

OMG you lulz-tease! :shakebrain:

[livius drusus]

Yeah! :glare:

[Clutch Munny]

Busy December this year, put me behind schedule. Thanks to Lady Shea for the poke. And no, sadly, that's not what she said.

The cards go in the mail tomorrow.

A Dynamic Year of Change in the Ever-Increasingly Global World

It’s Christmas! Yes, we’ve again reached that snowy, frosty, magical time of year during which we spend money recklessly in a doomed attempt to douse the oily oceans of rage aflame within each of our consumption-addled souls. It’s also all about the children, of course, and the Santa hats! Those hats are very popular at this time of year.

What a year it was for us! We learned to love ourselves, which is the greatest love of all, but don’t try it in public. We climbed every mountain and forded every stream, because I wouldn’t ask for directions. We bobbed and weaved, lifted and separated, compared and contrasted. We were general and specific. In the past week alone we fought in the War on Christmas, the Police Action against Hanukkah, the Border Skirmish against Eid, and the spirited game of Battleship against Kwanzaa, which we won by putting our minesweeper right alongside our aircraft carrier! Ha! Kwanzaa’s rubbish at Battleship.

Of course, not everything went smoothly. Colleen is under close supervision at the university hospital right now by a team of Palintologists, having contracted the dreaded condition through massive exposure. We knew something was wrong when she went for a job interview at Our Lady of Trafficking Inlaws, and attempted to answer the administrators’ questions about curriculum and lesson plans by winking at them. Later that week the children called me at work to explain anxiously that their mom was promising “mavericks for dinner”, and would only respond to their worried demurrals with “You betcha!”. It emerged that we were dealing with a new resistant strain, moreover, when Colleen surprised us by declaring that the difference between a hockey mom and a pitbull was the Brazilian. Even then we didn’t grasp her intention at first; but for an animal with a tough reputation, those pitbulls will sure howl, let me tell you.

Annalise’s big news was that she dropped out of the French Immersion program this year, choosing instead a second language immersion program in Copspeak. It’s an increasingly valuable language in which to be fluent, I’m told, and the social aspect of the program seems an improvement too. In the old program, she and her friends would only play Team Tag at recess. Now they play Pursuit, Contact, and Supervised Release of Designated Individuals. Apparently it’s a more fun game, in which the officer in question engages in pursuit of individuals on foot, attempting to effect apprehension, detention, and controlled situation management, at which point in time the detained individual is deputized to assist the officer in question in neutralizing the individuals remaining at large. Next term they get the equipment to play Taser Tag!

Madeleine was among the sadder notes of our year, as she was diagnosed with a brief but acute bout of Nadknock, a psycho-behavioural-digestive-reflexive illness that causes the sufferer to spontaneously shout, “Nadknock” while kicking, elbowing, or kneeing male gonads. It was a testy couple of months, but we think the condition is now under control. Her spirits are not dampened, in any case. “For Christmas I want a pony,” the wee thing told us with a sparkle in her eye, “to kick Dad in the nads!” Honestly, I ache for the wee little thing.

George’s secret experiment with the stake-lined Burmese tiger pit in the front yard this fall and our mysterious failure to get our mail delivered for several consecutive weeks turned out to be tragically linked. The letter carriers’ union picketed the house for a few days, but we made him apologize to the surviving relatives – in writing! no half measures! – and eventually most parties realized it was just youthful hijinks. George was sobered and quieted by the incident for some time, but recently seems to have regained his ability to chuckle at life’s ups and downs. “Muuaaahahahah!” he says. “MuuahahaHAHAAAA!” The ability to see ironical humor in difficult situations is one we worked hard to cultivate in him.

And me? Bouncy, bright, and puckered tight. I completed the pacification of my department this year, sadly having to destroy it utterly in order to save it from misrule by extremists. But when new intelligence suggested that the Departments of Classics and Economics were supporting the insurgents, I had no choice but to launch strikes that canceled their classes and sent their students to co-op postings at McDonalds. You have to fight a dirty war dirty, is my motto. But that's all in the past. For right now, it’s peace on Earth, goodwill toward all those who send me gifts, and here’s to a supreme victory in 2009! Happy holidays!

[Legs]

Nadknock :shudder:

[Dingfod]

Man, I wish they would've had Copspeak when I was in school. All I got was dumb old Spanish.

[Plant Woman]

:clap:

[Qingdai]

Ah, whew. I thought we'd lost another warrior.

Send my regards to Colleen for a speedy recovery, you betcha!

Uh, oh. See you after quarantine.

[BrotherMan]

Palintologist
:roflcopt:

Thanks, Clutch! I wasn't aware of this tradition but I am grateful!

:zomg:

[LadyShea]

All is now right with the world. Thanks Clutch.

[viscousmemories]

Brilliant innit?

[Zehava]

Brilliant innit?

You betcha!

http://assets.nydailynews.com/img/2008/10/04/amd_palin-wink.jpg

[Sock Puppet]

Madeleine was among the sadder notes of our year, as she was diagnosed with a brief but acute bout of Nadknock, a psycho-behavioural-digestive-reflexive illness that causes the sufferer to spontaneously shout, “Nadknock” while kicking, elbowing, or kneeing male gonads.... Honestly, I ache for the wee little thing.I guess you won't allow her to get that close next time.

[Clutch Munny]

We Got Hit by a Comet Long Ago!
or, The True Meaning of Christmas

As many of you know, I have spent part of the past year on sabbatical. Most of those who know this fact seem to be under the grossly mistaken impression that a sabbatical is a big holiday, in which one sits around reading trashy romance novels and stuffing one’s face with junk food. In fact I have been hard at work, at least for the past several hours. For I was recently visited by the Ghost of Christmas Near Light Speed (that’s Christmas Past for some of you, Christmas Future for others) and commanded to write a gospel. So startled that I spat out my Mars Bar and knocked over the stack of Danielle Steel books next to my divan, I immediately went to work on this…

A Latter-Day Gospel of Boxing Day

So, there were these three wise kids, named Allythazar, Georgespar, and Maddychior. (This was because they were Persian or Metis or something, and not because their parents hated them.) They journeyed home from school, following a great light, which they agreed was probably the taillight of their father’s bicycle. He rode through the howling snow, insulated by thick hide and gelatinous fat like unto a walrus. The three wise kids knew by this sign that, where the light finally came to rest, there would be the rending of chip bags, and a great tearing open of chocolate packages, and much inappropriate snacking before dinner.

At this time Kwanzaa Chanukah, the Great Spirit of Christmas Saturnalia, ordered a census. “Why?” asked his people, groaning under his rule. “What’s a census, anyhow?” they wailed. “Does it hurt?” they called out to the heavens. “Do you need it now? Because we can probably get one 40% off if we wait until Boxing Day,” they implored him.

“Shut,” boomed KC, GSCS in his unmistakably masculine boom, corpulent with majesty, “up. There is no Boxing Day, dumbasses, I’m just about to invent it. A census is where you tell me how many of you there are. And don’t try lying, because I’ll know.”

“Your people number only five, oh great spirit,” quoth Georgespar, rending a bag of chips. “Us three kids. Mom, reading over there. Dad, peeling off his cycling clothes. Honestly, we reckoned you could count them by yourself.”

“Listen, wise kid, I want to hear the Capital Letters when you say my name. And don’t pop off at me, either. I can count to five, but I choose to avert my gaze from your household when your father and cycling shorts are in mutual proximity.”

And the Kwanzaa Chanukah spake unto them, saying, “Fear not! Too long have my people paid regular prices for shoddy goods. A savior shall come unto thee; and ye shall call his name Lennox Lewis. And he shall beat the everloving beancurd out of retailers in thy region, so that they put on a sale of one day in which high-quality electronics can be purchased at wholesale prices, and thou shalt call that day Boxing Day.”

“Whoa!” quoth Maddychior. “Cool” quoth Allythazar. “Colleen, these shorts have bonded to my skin. Could you help me peel the damn things off?” quoth their father. “No, dear.” quoth their mother.

“Yeah, anyhoo,” boomed KC, GSCS. “All I need to get this ball rolling is a virgin birth. It’s sort of a standard convention, with this sort of project. You, there – Allythazar. What are you, thirteen? How you doin’? You have the honour of being chosen to – aahh!”

For Allythazar’s mother, moving in strange and mysterious ways, had grasped Kwanzaa Chanukah by the holiest and most sensitive godparts, and was dragging him to the door. And the Spirit moved upon the face of the carpet, and got a very nasty rugburn on his nose.

Later, the family did sit around in their warm, cheery living room, playing games of crokinole and telling jokes, like “Where does a snowman keep his money?” and “Why does Santa carry an umbrella?” and “Peter McKay!”. And they were happy.


Colleen did 2 triathlons. Ally went to the finals in a fencing tournament. George started a dance club at his school. Maddy’s playing rep hockey. I’m on my ninth Danielle Steel. There. Happy?

[D. Scarlatti]

lol@crokinole -- brilliant touch.

"Boxing Day" gets a blank stare from the 'Murricans.

[Clutch Munny]

From some, no doubt. Not from the cosmopolitan types at :ff:, though!

[livius drusus]

Santo Stefano, baby. I totally got it.

You brought a tear to my eye, Clutch, although I must admit I missed the yearly update on your children's descents into psychosis.

[Clutch Munny]

You know, I was really quite sure that I wanted to mix it up a bit -- get out of the same format the letter's had all this time.

But looking back on this year's letter, it just hasn't done it for me. Sometimes the old way is the right way, after all.

So, with your indulgence, 2009 is the Year of Two Letters.

Thoughts, Reflections, and Ruminations: Ideas and Ratiocinations of 2009
Or, Shloshed on Shabbatical
Or, Touched Inappropriately by an Angel

2009 is gone, and 2010 is ready to tackle us like it was a frenzied worshipper and we were the Pope. Who knows what the new decade will bring? Some weather or other? Some achievements and other disappointments? The loss of some bodily fluids, counterbalanced by the synthesis of more? Nobody can say, which is why we face this decade quivering with terror and rampant with ennui. One thing is certain, though. I’m not sure what it is, of course, but it stands to reason that at least one thing is certain.

What was our news, you drunkenly mumble? Well, Colleen has focused on “supply teaching” this year, with a regular and strangely lucrative gig at Our Lady of Provocative Demurrals. Several of the other teachers even request her by name – funnily enough, even when they aren’t absent themselves! I assume that she’s consulting with the staff on how to avoid terribly ineffective teaching strategies and how to use highly successful ones, since I heard her describing her “Dumb ‘n’ A-tricks” service over the telephone. She seems to think that up until now their hands have been tied with red tape, but she’s committed to whipping that school into shape. Those other teachers are definitely bound to succeed!

George had a very profitable year, once he realized that by stenciling a prominent Conservative Party logo on a large sheet of paper, he could forge ceremonial government cheques. He spent the past year writing himself cheques for such “shovel-ready” federal infrastructure projects as buying shovelfuls of hockey cards, and a constructing a large mini-stick arena adjacent to his bedroom. His financial acumen was matched by success at school, the little go-getter. Following up on his earlier work, he won the Exxon Essay Prize for his 4th grade advanced class, for his research project, “It Was Recently Cold For a Day Where I Live, So There is No Global Warming.”

Annalise’s pink hair and the additional earring she got this year really grew on us as the year passed. I have to say, when she asked permission to get the extra earring, I didn’t quite understand that she was also surgically getting an extra ear to wear it in. But you know how these kids like to stand out from their peers! I’m pretty sure that once a few other kids have additional ears grafted onto their heads, Annalise will just forget hers and let it heal over. The involuntary ear donor wasn’t very pleased, of course, but like we say around our house: if you want to retain your body parts, don’t fall asleep in a bus station! Anyhow, Ally is thirteen now, physically maturing very quickly, but still young enough to accept our explanations for why boys never visit twice, and why the new infestation of “super-moles” keep digging up the backyard.

Poor Madeleine received a rude shock when her child textiles sweatshop forcibly renegotiated her pay downward by 50%, as a condition for the company’s receiving federal stimulus funding. Since she was only making 12 cents per hour – after we took our cut for overhead, that is – this really put a dent in her finances! At the last minute we were able to avoid the cut by listing her as senior management on her T4, and by stating her salary in Zimbabwean dollars, so she looked like a millionaire. At that point, the federal government agreed that contracts are sacred, and instead gave permission for Maddy to receive a 2 million dollar performance bonus! After we took our cut – for overhead – this amounted to a tidy extra hour’s pay for the little darling. Don’t spend those 12 cents all at once!

Of course you all know that I’ve been spending my year on sabbatical (from the Latin sabbaticus, derived from the Greek sabbatikos, derived from the Hebrew shabbat, derived from the Ugaritic shabby, meaning “a year of poodle-seducing, spent unshaven and slovenly”). Of course I miss being at the university, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. The Dean sends me notes telling me to stay away from the office as much as I’d like – a practical joker from way back, he doctors his notes up in the form of convincing-looking “restraining orders” – but there’s a definite undercurrent of affection from him, from my students, and from my colleagues. They even held a big meeting to vote me persona non grata (from the Latin, meaning “a person who never grates on us”). Here’s hoping that 2010 is every bit as non grata for each and every one of you!

[livius drusus]

Now my Christmas is truly complete, bless their psychotic little hearts.