December 13, 2010

All I Want For Christmas

These are desperate days for Jan.  The holiday draws near, and despite her repeated pleas of "What do you want for Christmas?", I can't give her an answer.

Yes, I'm one of those assholes.  I inhabit a niche that I believe is reserved primarily for guys.  If I want something, I go out and buy it.  I don't want to wait for Christmas.  I don't want to wait for my birthday.  If I want it, I want it now.

And since I'm turned that way, the things I want, I already have.  A watch?  I have two.  Clothes?  I have some.  A winter coat?  I bought it already.

Sure, there are a couple of things I'd like for Christmas. I'd like a camera.  But the one I want costs 2 thousand dollars.  I'd like a new truck, but the one I want runs around 40k.

Rather pricey,  n'est-ce pas?

This reminds me of when I was a kid.  My parents were tone-deaf when it came to taking hints for Christmas presents.  My earnest suggestions were met with indifference, and so, on Christmas morning, I opened half-assed shit like a twirler's baton (did I exhibit sexuality issues at age 8?) or Lincoln Logs (actually, the pieces made great projectiles).

As the formative years passed by, I gave up hinting and just accepted whatever I received with as much graciousness as a youngster could muster.  However, there were two occasions that I fell mesmerized by two toys that I was convinced that I couldn't live without.  I campaigned relentlessly for these items, but in the end, my cheapskate, clueless parents disappointed me ... again.

To this day, I wonder how my life would have been different if only I had gotten my wish these two lousy times.  Why, I might have grown up to become the President of the United States if only I had received ...


Yes, I know the dick/balls resemblance is uncanny, however an eight year old boy has not been schooled yet to the ways of phallic images, although I can imagine everyone at Topper Toys code-naming this device "dickfinger".  The fact remained that this "gun" shot hardened plastic projectiles at high velocity.  It stung like hell when you were hit in the shirt or jeans with these things, and if you struck bare skin, you could even draw blood!

And of course, as much as I wanted it, I remained Sixfinger-less.  But, I would have taken a volley of Sixfinger fire on my bare ass to get my hands on The Holy Grail of all Christmas gifts ...

Hoochee Mama!

Yes!  I could be Agent 007 being pursued by Goldfinger's crazed North Korean henchmen up hills, through tunnels, across oil slicks ... all the while being subjected to withering machine gun fire!

Wait A Minute

A pink Aston Martin?  Being chased by Tilly Soames?  Oh well, details, details.  That's what imagination is for.  It doesn't matter anyway, because I didn't get this either.  I had held out hope right up to the last minute, because even at a young age, I played the "Made in the USA" card which I thought would win at least my Dad over.  After all, the James Bond 007 Road Race set was manufactured by:

Sears?  Seriously?

Well, I guess even Sears was cool back in the olden days.  Check out the creepy looking James Bond peering over Rusty Racecar's shoulder there.  Kind of looks like Robert Vaughn, doesn't he?  Close enough.  And after seeing this ad, I can kind of understand why my parent's didn't get it for me.  $34.95 in 1963 is kind of like $24,375.23 in adjusted 2010 dollars.  Pricey ...

So Jan, if you're reading this (and I know you're not), here are two great gift ideas for your husband.

And if you'll at least get me the first one, I can promise you some hot "Sixfinger" action.


  1. Uh, I think I want one of those fingers....

    BTW, my asshole Mom got me a fucking Coleman tacklebox instead of a Caboodle to hold my makeup in when I was young. She said it was the same thing.

    I'm still slightly bitter about that.

  2. Talk about weird! My Mom got me a Caboodle instead of a tackle box for my 10th birthday! She's an asshole too ...