Last week I experienced my first ever spasm of Santa-Claustrophobia. It was in the King of Prussia mall–my favoritest place in all of America. I’d just walked out of Starbucks when the Christmas tree caught my eye. When I say “caught my eye” I mean it kicked me in the balls with combat boots made of concrete and then smashed my eyeballs out with a titanium-headed sledgehammer before making sweet, sweet love to both gaping eye sockets with two of its 666 prehensile devil-peni.

That last sentence doesn’t even begin to describe how traumatized I was by this Joseph, Mary and little baby Jesus buggering monstrosity of a tree. I shat myself, snorted espresso out of both savagely dilated nostrils and projectile vomited semidigested green tea and chirashii-zushi over the balcony and all over a party of knitted-beanies-with-brims-wearing slack-jawed stoners on the floor below.

Nothing unusual there, sure–just another Saturday evening in the company of a can’t-handle-his-Vietnam-War-era-Jacob’sLadder-style-combat-acid-flashback limey lightweight. But I tell you that tree fried my freaking brain. Go see for yourself. If you dare. It’s got like 100 full-size drumming bears tied to it, 250 caroling virgins, 698 skating penguins, 42,000 masturbating dolphins and more than a billion lobotomized baby spider monkeys swarming all over the upper branches like some vile semi-sentient furry fungus, flinging dung, howling like car alarms and screaming, ‘Where’s my fucking dinner, bitch?” in 12th-century Welsh.

Okay, my wife says I almost certainly hallucinated the talking monkeys, but it was like the tree had been dipped in liquid peyote and repeatedly rammed up my ass by demons in pink gimp masks with silver lip-zips.

I felt disgusted, violated, nauseated. I felt Claustrophobic. For the very first time I understood the Chrizzy-freeked blather about having to fight the almost irresistible urge to whip out twin uzis and start blasting fellow shoppers into bloody dog food every time they hear “Jingle Bell Rock.”

But I’m better now. So here’s my Crimbo ’06 top stocking filla’ tips:

1) Gun ornaments from Urban Outfitters. Aren’t there like real guns you mewling shitgibbons could get all excited about, ya?

2) Chinese kid’s gun-coloring book. Look it up on Flickr. ‘Nuff said.

3) God-is-a-bastard Lego. Check out thebrickbible.com. It’s the Old Testament–in Lego. My fave is “God Commands Amalekite Genocide.”

“Please not the children! Not the children!” whine the sissy Amalekites. But the Israelites stick swords into the babies anyway because Jesus’ dad tells them to. Hilarious and educational. And in a very real sense, it’s exactly what this holiday season is all about.

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