h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

“Christmas Normality will be restored,
But You May Have to Wait a Year….”




"Mr. Schultz, I'm sorry to say that I doubt I can offer you many gigs as Santa Claus this season....

"But Mr. Pendergast, the ladies at Golden Sunset Retirement Home loved me last year, as did the Congregation of Diminutive Saints!"

"The qualities that make you our best Easter Bunny work against you as Santa, which our customers expect to be of at least average height and have a low-pitched voice. I would offer you some gigs as elves, but I know you have six children to support, and need the higher pay that Santas receive. Anyway, the Golden Sunset People are using an animatronic Santa this year because they can crank up the volume for the hard-of-hearing residents. Meanwhile, the recent influx of Liliputian immigrants has given the Diminutive Saints people the option of a Living Creche, which is less expensive for them in this tough economy..."

Fortune suddenly smiled on Mr. Schultz, however, for at that moment someone walked into the office looking for someone to play the Easter Bunny for their Easter party, which their obscure denomination always celebrated in the middle of December.

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When Estelle wanted to act like a lady, she was quite capable of doing so, but this was not one of those times. "We want a real Santa Claus, not a stupid robot!" she declared, blue eyes flashing and faded red hair bouncing with every consonant that she spit out.

The Manager of the Golden Sunset Retirement Home glanced out the window while he considered his reply, and happened to notice, passing by on the street, the Santa he had hired the last time.

Mr. Schultz was still determined to be Santa Claus *somewhere*, and was hoping that someone would see him on the street and hire him, which was exactly what happened at Golden Sunset that day. "If you like me as Santa, you'll love some of the *other* things I can do," he said to Estelle after the party, which made some of the less ladylike parts of her tingle with pleasure.....

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Let us march off into Christmasland
With the little drummer boy and his rat-a-tat band,
And nutcrackers, a million strong, with spats,
And jackets red and tall furry hats.
Then six platoons of gingerbread boys,
Half-baked, but making lots of noise.
Ten tons of ersatz snow were made
To trim the floats for the parade,
All with scenes so darned bucolic,
Just the perfect place to frolic.
Here a charming fruitcake house,
There a Clement Moorean mouse
Stirring something. What? Who knows?
Next, bell-ringers strike a pose,
Jingly, jangly revelry,
Then a mountain of a tree.
Hanging from its branches gay
Someone's hung a Chevrolet.
Does it all make sense? Not quite.
Dreaming of a Christmas white
Haunts our days and fills our nights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Melchior, I've been meaning to ask why it is that you only talk to me on Christmas Day."

"Considering that I'm a donkey, it's nothing short of miraculous that I'm able to talk even one day a year, Athol, but yes, I do in fact talk on Christmas, and it's probably because of some magic in the Christmas bells that you hang around my neck."

"So, if I hung those bells around your beck the other days of the year, you would talk every day?"

"If you put Christmas bells on me when it wasn't Christmas, that would make you a fool, and I don't talk to fools, not even on Christmas...."

"Neither do I," Athol said, giving Melchior a friendly pat.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



This is snow, the white stuff.
It once came in decorator hues.
Then we decided that white was enough.
Easy to understand. Melt after use.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had been unemployed for almost a year, so it was a great relief when a small, obscure denomination hired me to direct the choir the week after Thanksgiving. I noticed that there were pictures of goats everywhere--along the corridors, around the walls of the choir loft, even in the stained glass windows. When we had our dress rehearsal for the nativity pageant, I realized that the animals in the stable were all goats.

Finally, I asked the pastor why his church didn't use oxen or donkeys the way others did.

"That's because we adhere to a strict Trinitarian doctrine," he replied. "Joseph is the Father, Jesus, the Son, and these are the Holy Goats."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whenever I told grownups about the "Wish Come True Fairy," they would sigh or avert their eyes. Jennifer (that's my older sister) insisted that the Fairy had done at least one great thing for Mom and Dad in the year since they lost their jobs: the Fairy had sent
a freak electrical storm that deleted our house from the bank's list of properties due for foreclosure. The Fairy had done other stuff, too, but I knew we were overworking the Fairy, especially with our project to have her deliver a new sofa for Christmas. The Fairy had also sent us Spot, a stray dog that we didn't have to feed because the overfed dog next door was happy to share. Spot was in trouble with Mom and Dad at the moment, though, because he had dragged a huge stocking into the house from God knows where. (Mom had wanted to toss it out, but Dad thought it would be cute to hang it from the fireplace mantle, next to the others.)

On Christmas morning we were crestfallen to see no sofa under the tree, but then we went to the fireplace and saw that Santa (or, by other reckoning, the Wish Come True Fairy) had left a very fine new sofa in the stocking that Spot had brought....


~~Quothering Thrubbes~~

Nothing is more festive during the Holiday Season than Thrubbes, but it isn't advisable to try them if they haven't been adequately quothered beforehand. You can't even *imagine* how sensitive these babies are. If a cold draft blows on them for even five minutes, they might clam up and start a three-month hibernation. Or, they might go into a song-and-dance routine, which would leave them too spent to bloom. You never know which response you'll get...

If anyone could get them to thrive, it would be Martha Stewart, who has written the definitive guide to quothering. She only gets her thrubbes to bloom about half the time, and has gotten the song and dance routine so often that nowadays she just shoots to kill if they start doing it. Enough is enough!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Thank you note from Bethlehem~~

Dear Mindy,

Your gift of swaddling clothes via a time machine was deeply appreciated by God and by the rest of the Angel host, but regretfully we have to send it back to you unopened, with an explanation.

Baby Jesus is just a few hours old now, but already there have been more than 100.000,000 packages received in this tiny stable in the small town of Bethlehem. We Angels have had to return *all* of them, because:

1.It would not be fair to accept some and reject others;

2. Most items of clothing or other fabrics were made by machines, which do not yet exist in Jesus' time;

3. Anything made of polyester exists so far in Jesus' future that it would be unthinkable to accept it;

4. Almost every written note that was enclosed was in a language too far in Jesus' future to be deciphered, and would have caused bewilderment and even shock for this family that already has a lot of stresses to deal with.

Please consider sending an extra gift to someone in your own time, because that is the best way to celebrate the holiday.

Sincerely yours, Angel #189327865

So THAT's what librarians do all day! No wonder our Tory-Coalition bad joke of a neo-Maoist Tory government's trying to shut down our libraries! (Well, the local councils are, to be fair, under Tory cuts).

THANX PAULH, a PERFECT GIFT, gratefully received.

All the best,

Jabs

(Or even retired librarians ... on this side of a big pond )

Happy Season, paulh..

From me, the better half, and our companion , Tyson!!



GT

Glad you enjoyed it.

Now I have to hunker down as a monster snowstorm comes barrelling towatd Boston. between one and two feet of storm is expected. I'm glad I got all my travelling out of the way. Trying not to hyperventilate now, but it's hard.

I drove up to my brother's house Friday night, stayed overnight, and enjoyed stocking gifts, yummy food, and gift exchanges. Then I drove back toward Boston, bringing food to my parents and having supper with them. Finally got home about 8:30 p.m.

Now it's Sunday morning, and I have to buy groceries and wash laundry before the storm comes....

If you get that much snow, Paul, send it here. We have very little and a couple of feet is dealt with by broom and shovel. Snow-blower kept for the heavier stuff.

Now that I'm retired, I don't have to worry about getting to work tomorrow. My snow shovel has been in my living room all summer, and now it's within easy reach when I need it for actual shovelling. The snow we're getting is tiny little fluffy flakes. I call them nasty, bitter little flakes from H*ll. You can tell I love them!

Keep nice and warm Paul, seems like it might be a bit of snow heading your way after all - the flights are cancelled from the UK to Boston and a few other destinations in the US.

What Lanza says, Paul... Keep warm

*hic*

lil xx

I didn't sleep all that well, with the wind gusting outside and jostling my house from time to time. The nasty little snowflakes came, of course, but possibly less than was predicted. Either that, or the winds blew some of them elsewhere, so somevody else got an extra helping.

My power and furnace continued without stoppages throughout the night. I'm listening to guitar concertos by Giuliani now, and they are very pleasant.