This is the Message Centre for paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 1

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant


CURSEDMAS

Tableau #1: Sonia Hedspin's Nightmare

"I had the most terrible dream," Sonia said, sitting up in bed.

I opened one weary eye, saw that the clock gave me fifteen more minutes in which to sleep, and closed it again.

"You're awake, aren't you, Ralph?" Sonia said, having noticed the movement of my eye. "It was so lifelike, I'm not positive it really *was* a dream."

I had no choice but to surrender to the situation. I sat up, turned to her with bleary eyes, and said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, "Your dreams are always fascinating, Sonia. Tell me about it -- we've still got fifteen minutes before we have to go downstairs for breakfast."

"I dreamed that I was visiting the Joneses, who were in Hell and celebrating Christmas."

"Okay, that dream is unusual, I admit. The Joneses would never have been caught dead celebrating Christmas."

"It's almost as if the people who hated Christmas on earth were forced to celebrate it in Hell."

"As a sort of eternal torment?" I exclaimed.

"Yes. Like having to eat your pancakes every day for eternity."

"Ouch!" I knew I was probably the world's worst pancake-maker, but it still hurt.

"Except the apple-pecan ones. Those are good." She kissed me.

It was clear by now that there was no hope of any extra sleep for me. Luckily, pancakes would not be on the menu. I kissed Sonia back, got out of bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 2

Reality Manipulator

They will be watching TV repeats and trying to outdo their neighbours with their outdoor and indoor Christmas/Yuletide/Winter Solstice/Festival of Light decorations. The world's best pancake maker is a Deadpool the merc without a merc.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 3

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

Tableau #2: D. Truman Frothspew's (possibly) demonic idea

I didn't think about Sonia's dream again until midmorning, when my boss approached me with one of his many outlandish ideas. I worked for a speculative magazine called "The Top of My Mind," aimed at erudite readers who wanted to be ahead of the zeitgeist. But not *too* far ahead, as that would not have been cool.

"Hedspin, our big December issue is coming up," he said. "You have a knack for looking behind the meaning of holidays -- your 'What do we have against turkeys?' was a winner last November."

"No kidding," I said, remembering that that one article had made the magazine profitable for the first time in sixteen years. Still, the praise made me wary. I wondered how far afield Mr. Frothspew wanted me to go this time.

The answer, it turned out, was pretty far. "Our algorithm points to the incipient popularity of the diabolical element in Christmas," Mr.Frothspew said. "People are starting to say, 'The hell with Christmas.' See if you can develop that thought in an essay. Who knows, you might win the Gudfernuthin prize again."

The Gudfernuthin Prize was one of the world's best-kept secrets. Only 600 people knew of its existence, and of those, fewer than 100 actually cared. Still, those few had had enough influence to make last November's issue of "The Top of My Head" a best-seller. Mr. Frothspew's grandmother had been subsidizing the magazine for 15 years, and suddenly she didn't have to. Not that she would have batted an eye either way. She was unsentimental enough to have sold stock in her late husband's company six hours after he died.

The Frothspew coffee cup had made a fortune for the Frothspews' company: it kept the coffee warm, but protected the customer's hand from getting burned. A truly useful product, considerably more useful than the family's magazine. Maybe this even proved the scientific theory of entropy.

But pointing this out would have jeopardized my meal ticket. "I will get right on it, Mr. Frothspew," I said


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 4

Reality Manipulator

In Girvan Scotland they have coffee morning season from May until November where they drink tea instead of coffee.

There could be the spoonerism's entropy theory where their efforts of spoonerisms slowly spirals into chaos.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 5

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

Rosa, the Scots are not famous for coffee. The French, the Italians, the Swedes, and the Americans (among others) are capable of making drinkable coffee without having to add whiskey to it.



Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 6

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant



[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

[Tableau #3: Long, dark coffee break of the soul]

I mulled over Mr. Frothspew's assignment over coffee. Saying that a lot people disliked Christmas was not exactly news. Saying that their *reason* for Christmasphobia had to do with demonic elements would be taking it further than I cared to go. How badly did I want to continue working for the Frothspew juggernaut anyway?

Well, however weak my pretense of being a serious journalist was, I at least had to look for some pros and cons. But should I start with the pros or the cons? That was the question. Any clergyman could lay out the holy aspects of the season. The unholy ones would take longer to tease out, so I figured I should give myself a head start. Lucifer would be the best source, of course, but I knew nothing about summoning him.

Then I remembered Sonia's dream. I picked up the phone.

"Sonia, I'd like to go over your dream about Christmas in Hell," I said. "Strangely enough, I've been assigned to write an article on that very topic."

"So........, what can you hope to get from my dream?" Sonia wondered.

"Names, for a start. Were there particular demons in charge of trimming the Christmas trees, wrapping presents, etc.? Or was the whole thing done by black magic of some sort?"

"This is a conversation I would not have imagined having with you in a million years," Sonia exclaimed.

I was silent. Maybe this was not the way to go. "I'm sorry, then," I said. "It was a long shot, I know, and apparently a very bad idea. Forget I asked."

I went for another cup of coffee. The Frothspew coffee cup was working perfectly to keep the coffee hot and my fingers comfortable. Maybe Hell was the sort of place where the coffee always burns you when you try to drink it?


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 7

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

Cursedmass, 2018 NaJoPoMo



CURSEDMAS

Tableau #1: Sonia Hedspin's Nightmare

"I had the most terrible dream," Sonia said, sitting up in bed.

I opened one weary eye, saw that the clock gave me fifteen more minutes in which to sleep, and closed it again.

"You're awake, aren't you, Ralph?" Sonia said, having noticed the movement of my eye. "It was so lifelike, I'm not positive it really *was* a dream."

I had no choice but to surrender to the situation. I sat up, turned to her with bleary eyes, and said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, "Your dreams are always fascinating, Sonia. Tell me about it -- we've still got fifteen minutes before we have to go downstairs for breakfast."

"I dreamed that I was visiting the Joneses, who were in Hell and celebrating Christmas."

"Okay, that dream is unusual, I admit. The Joneses would never have been caught dead celebrating Christmas."

"It's almost as if the people who hated Christmas on earth were forced to celebrate it in Hell."

"As a sort of eternal torment?" I exclaimed.

"Yes. Like having to eat your pancakes every day for eternity."

"Ouch!" I knew I was probably the world's worst pancake-maker, but it still hurt.

"Except the apple-pecan ones. Those are good." She kissed me.

It was clear by now that there was no hope of any extra sleep for me. Luckily, pancakes would not be on the menu. I kissed Sonia back, got out of bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------








[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

Tableau #2: D. Truman Frothspew's (possibly) demonic idea

I didn't think about Sonia's dream again until midmorning, when my boss approached me with one of his many outlandish ideas. I worked for a speculative magazine called "The Top of My Mind," aimed at erudite readers who wanted to be ahead of the zeitgeist. But not *too* far ahead, as that would not have been cool.

"Hedspin, our big December issue is coming up," he said. "You have a knack for looking behind the meaning of holidays -- your 'What do we have against turkeys?' was a winner last November."

"No kidding," I said, remembering that that one article had made the magazine profitable for the first time in sixteen years. Still, the praise made me wary. I wondered how far afield Mr. Frothspew wanted me to go this time.

The answer, it turned out, was pretty far. "Our algorithm points to the incipient popularity of the diabolical element in Christmas," Mr.Frothspew said. "People are starting to say, 'The hell with Christmas.' See if you can develop that thought in an essay. Who knows, you might win the Gudfernuthin prize again."

The Gudfernuthin Prize was one of the world's best-kept secrets. Only 600 people knew of its existence, and of those, fewer than 100 actually cared. Still, those few had had enough influence to make last November's issue of "The Top of My Head" a best-seller. Mr. Frothspew's grandmother had been subsidizing the magazine for 15 years, and suddenly she didn't have to. Not that she would have batted an eye either way. She was unsentimental enough to have sold stock in her late husband's company six hours after he died.

The Frothspew coffee cup had made a fortune for the Frothspews' company: it kept the coffee warm, but protected the customer's hand from getting burned. A truly useful product, considerably more useful than the family's magazine. Maybe this even proved the scientific theory of entropy.

But pointing this out would have jeopardized my meal ticket. "I will get right on it, Mr. Frothspew," I said

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------





[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

[Tableau #3: Long, dark coffee break of the soul]

I mulled over Mr. Frothspew's assignment over coffee. Saying that a lot people disliked Christmas was not exactly news. Saying that their *reason* for Christmasphobia had to do with demonic elements would be taking it further than I cared to go. How badly did I want to continue working for the Frothspew juggernaut anyway?

Well, however weak my pretense of being a serious journalist was, I at least had to look for some pros and cons. But should I start with the pros or the cons? That was the question. Any clergyman could lay out the holy aspects of the season. The unholy ones would take longer to tease out, so I figured I should give myself a head start. Lucifer would be the best source, of course, but I knew nothing about summoning him.

Then I remembered Sonia's dream. I picked up the phone.

"Sonia, I'd like to go over your dream about Christmas in Hell," I said. "Strangely enough, I've been assigned to write an article on that very topic."

"So........, what can you hope to get from my dream?" Sonia wondered.

"Names, for a start. Were there particular demons in charge of trimming the Christmas trees, wrapping presents, etc.? Or was the whole thing done by black magic of some sort?"

"This is a conversation I would not have imagined having with you in a million years," Sonia exclaimed.

I was silent. Maybe this was not the way to go. "I'm sorry, then," I said. "It was a long shot, I know, and apparently a very bad idea. Forget I asked."

I went for another cup of coffee. The Frothspew coffee cup was working perfectly to keep the coffee hot and my fingers comfortable. Maybe Hell was the sort of place where the coffee always burns you when you try to drink it?







---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

[Tableau #4: Mirror, Mirror, Mirror on the wall]

Sonia was working late, so I picked up some takeout food for supper on my way home from the office. Being somewhat clumsy, I managed to get sweet and sour sauce on my shirt as I was taking the packaged food out of the car. This would require some cleaning up, so I headed for the bathroom. I was not prepared for what I found there: someone had removed the mirror and replaced it with a three-way mirror. Worse, my image was very different from one mirror to the next.

I got it sorted out, though: the middle mirror showed my normal reflection. The one on the left looked rumpled and annoyed, and didn't move when I did. The one on the right seemed to be in touch with a higher plane of being, but certainly not the one I happened to be on.

I was a bit spooked by this!

I proceeded cautiously downstairs to eat my cold Chinese food, food that no longer had enough sweet and sour sauce on it to make it palatable -- if it had ever been palatable. My favorite Chinese restaurant had been bought out by people who thought that you could put Chinese sauce on a BLT. I tried eating the BLT without sauce, and tasted ersatz bacon that might have been made form tofu on a bad day. The lettuce was gritty (had they forgotten to wash it?), and the tomato had last been fresh a week earlier.

What was happening to the world, I wondered? I left the sandwich half-eaten and went back to the bathroom to wrestle with the mirrors-from-hell. What was the worst that could happen? I soon found out.....


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 8

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

Tableau #5: Granny Frothspew's ulterior motives

I got to the bathroom just in time to see the grumpy guy in the lefthand mirror pick up a phone and start talking. My jaw dropped as I heard what he was saying: "Yes, Donaloca, I am sure Ralph Hedspin will be overwhelmed by his assignment and either quit or be spirited away by some lesser demon."

Donaloca was my boss's grandmother!

I could hear her reply: "You'd better make sure of that! He accidentally did a good job last year, and I lost the best tax deduction I ever had. You know how I hate to pay taxes on corporate profits!"

So the magazine I worked for was a deliberate tax-loss scheme. Did my boss have any inkling of his grandmother's true intentions? Probably not. He was, let's face it, a twit.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 9

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

Tableau #6: Christmas through the looking glass

The guy in the lefthand mirror froze, and the guy on the right spoke: "Be quiet, Alpha Ralph." To me he said, "Don't jump to conclusions. It's unlikely that anyone has changed the mirror in the your bathroom. More likely, everything you see now is happening in your own mind. The conversation you just heard never really happened. Compare it with Donaloca Frothspew's generosity over the years. She gives Christmas bonuses, and even helped chip in for the down payment for your house....."

The guy on the left was getting quite angry. "You weren't supposed to say any of that, Beta Ralph!" he exclaimed, whereupon the righthand mirror vanished entirely.

He then reached out of the mirror and took my hand. "Come into the looking glass with me, and I will show you how the evil ones use Christmas for their own ends. The mirror became soft, and I was pulled through it into a world that initially looked similar to my own, but became different once I was beyond the bathroom door.

"Let's face it, you need to see the holiday's dark underbelly in order to write your article,"
he said as we descended a staircase that was the same size and shape as my real one, but covered in carpet that bore a primrose pattern. Was this the famous primrose path?

A well-dressed man in a Glen Plaid suit was sitting in the downstairs parlor. He saw the wariness in my face, and gave a chuckle. "I'm not the devil," he said, giving my hand a friendly shake. He was bald and plump and middle-aged, with laugh-lines in his face.
"Several respected Christian denominations choose to not celebrate Christmas, arguing it's essentially a birthday celebration. The Bible mentions birthdays only for the pharoah of Egypt, and King Herod. As pagans. these were hardly examples to be emulated."

"So, Christmas itself is based on pagan practices?" I said, sitting in the easy chair (a much nicer chair than the one in my real parlor) across from him.

"You already know this," the man said. "Christmas trees? Jeremiah condemns the decoration of them as idolatry. Choosing December 25 as Jesus' birthday? No one knows when he was born."

"I thought this was based on the belief that Jesus was conceived on March 25," I replied.

The man nodded. "They came to some interesting conclusions in the early church," he said. "Anyway, I'm just here to help you begin your journey. The Jehovah's Witnesses, the Seventh Day Adventists, and historical Puritans have refrained from celebrating Christmas, without in any way losing their commitment to Christ himself."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

Tableau #7: A stairway to paradise it's not.

"You've heard how Christmas is arguably not even a good religious practice," the man said, leading me through the kitchen and dining room to an unfamiliar door. Now I'd like you to meet some people who consciously and deliberately work to make Christmas indubitably unholy." He opened the door, revealing a stairway that descended into the darkness.

"I've never seen this door before in my life," I protested, shrinking back from it.

"How do you get into your cellar, then?"

"By going outside and around to the side of the house. It's a quirk of the architect."

"Look, do you want to meet people who can help you with your article or not?" He sounded cross.

I nodded feebly. He gave me a powerful flashlight, patted my hand, and pushed me to the edge of the stairs.

I had no idea how far down the stairs would go, but as soon as I was on the top step, the door was firmly closed behind me. With a sigh, I began my descent. Thirty steps down, I reached a landing, which led to yet another descending staircase. This happened 42 times, after which I reached a large, brightly lit room full of people monitoring computer terminals.

"Ah, there you are," said a man who looked like the cheerful soul I had met in my parlor. "I'd like you to see the breakthrough we've just made." He hurried me down one aisle and up the next, showing me examples of children who threatened their parents with grievous injury if the children didn't get what they wanted for Christmas.

"It's a perfect storm of breaking the Fifth Commandment, which requires that children honor their parents."


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 10

Pierre de la Mer ~ sometimes slightly worried but never panicking ~

"By going outside and around to the side of the house ..."

Ha! That's the only way to get into my cellar smiley - biggrin

smiley - pirate


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 11

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

The house I grew up in also had an entrance from outside.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 12

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

Tableau #8: Tell us if you're jealous

I was led to the entrance to another large room, similarly full of people glued to their screens. Here the Commandment being broken was the Tenth, which frowned on covetousness. Every time someone became envious of the gift that someone else received, a cheer went up. Judging from the noise, this was happening quite often.

"Do these things just happen by themselves, or is someone going around whispering disparaging things in people's ears?" I asked the woman who seemed to be in charge.

"We have hardworking agents almost everywhere this time of the year," she explained. "We find out what someone wants for Christmas, so we can urge the people choosing a gift for him not to get it. Then we make sure some other family member will receive it. gift."

"You say that you 'urge' people to do this," I said, still puzzled.

"Yes. If someone is choosing gifts in a department store, one of our agents happens to be the person who helps the gift-buyer. Or, if the purchase is being done online, we have special software that intercepts the process. If people discuss what they intend to give on Facebook, we have a very large number of agents who keep close tabs on what people express a desire for..."

"So they don't, in fact, receive it," I finished.

"Exactly. Last Christmas we dashed he hopes of fifty-seven million people. We have some new software and an even larger workforce to increase the number this year."

I was starting to regret I had ever agreed to write on this topic.

The third room I entered held an interesting surprise that raised my spirits somewhat.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 13

Reality Manipulator

My mam and her mother and aunt stayed at guest house in Scotland where the staircase to the bedrooms was on the outside of the building.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 14

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

I imagine that that is not uncommon. smiley - smiley


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 15

Reality Manipulator

Hogmanay is more popular than Christmas in Scotland.


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 16

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

But it doesn't even come at the same time. smiley - huh It's the last day of the year, a week after Christmas. There couldn't possibly be a conflict, could there?


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 17

Pierre de la Mer ~ sometimes slightly worried but never panicking ~

There is here. Winter solstice is usually 21 December. Three days before christmas which we celebrate the evening of 24 December. And a week later we get stuffed again on new year's eve smiley - puff

smiley - pirate


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 18

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant



[The story's premise in a nutshell: Ralph Hedspin writes provocative articles for a postmodernist magazine. His December assignment: tease out the diabolic elements in the Christmas season. Will he need an exorcist before he's through?]

Tableau #9: A way out

It was a much smaller room than the others. Only one person was there to greet me: Beta Ralph, who had graced the righthand side of my mirror in the bathroom.

"How did you...?" I exclaimed, but he shushed me.

"I read your mind," he said. "It's easy to do when you're dreaming."

"I'm....dreaming?"

"I've told you this before, in your bathroom. If you don't believe me, try looking at the last room you visited, to see if it's the same as before."

"It can't be!" I exclaimed as I beheld a broom closet.

"That proves that this is a dream. What's *not* a dream is that you can't report *any* of what you've seen so far in your article. Caverns under your house, where demons are manipulating millions of people in an effort to thwart their enjoyment of Christmas? Come on! No one's going to buy it."

"Do you have anything I *can* use, then?" I said sadly, sinking into a chair that conveniently seemed to be right behind me.

"You're a journalist, aren't you? Journalists go out into the world and ask people what they think. You could ask, 'do you think Christmas is a good thing or a bad thing'?"

"Ah, I see! But wouldn't I burn a lot of gas going to the hundreds of strip malls in my area?"

"You could make a bold move: Ask your boss for airplane fare to the Mall of America, the country's largest shopping mall. 40 million people visit it every year"


Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 19

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

Tableau #10: Never forget that you could be replaced by a computer

Beta Ralph snapped his fingers and I promptly woke up. I was sitting on the bathroom floor. The mirror was the way it had always been, and Sonia was knocking on the door, asking if I was all right.

As I sat down to supper, I wondered if I should tell Sonia about my dream. After all, I
had listened to her dream. In the end, I went with the most abbreviated version possible.

"Demons in the cellar plotting to turn children against their parents and steer people away from giving appropriate gifts?" she said, chuckling. "That's one for the ages."

"Do you think I could include it in the article I'm writing?"

"They'd think you were going bonkers, unless it was labeled a short story or, better yet, a comic book."

The next morning I arrived at my office determined to get started on the article one way or the other. On the wall facing my desk there was a poster of a robot with its finger pointed i my direction. There was a caption: "Remember that *you* could be replaced by a computer."

At one time or another, Mr. Frothspew had threatened all of us writers with giving assignments to Sir Artifice (our artificial intelligence program) if we refused to write them ourselves. This usually convinced us to write any articles that he wanted us to write. Just for fun, though, I decided to run my dream through Sir Artifice to see what he/she thought.

Sir Artifice's analysis was sobering: "You should never tell anybody about your dreams. Here's a website that explains why:
http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/observations/why-you-shouldnt-tell-people-about-your-dreams/ "



Cursedmas, a NaJoPoMo project

Post 20

paulh, vaccinated against the Omigod Variant

Tableau #11: There are some assignments even a computer will refuse.

I then asked Sir Artifice about the wisdom of going to Mall of America and asking people if they thought Christmas was a good or bad thing.

Sir Artifice was not encouraging about this idea either: "You don't have the resources to do a proper poll or survey. Let's say there are 100,000 people in the Mall on a given day. It's physically impossible to query all of them. If you asked every hundredth person, you'd still take days asking the thousand people you've selected. And you don't have many days available. Your article is due by November 23rd so it can run in the online issue on December 1. There's not much margin for error. I have other objections if you'd like to hear them...."

"You might as well tell me," I said with a sigh.

"Objection 2 is that people are not thinking about Christmas yet. They *will* start thinking about it on the day after Thanksgiving, which is November 24, the day *after* your article is due."

"Is that all?" I asked

"No, one more big objection: much of the important work on public attitudes to Christmas has already been done by other people, and better than you could do it. For starters, here's a website that finds people losing interest in Christmas:
http://www.pewforum.org/2017/12/12/americans-say-religious-aspects-of-christmas-are-declining-in-public-life/
Your boss is a blockhead for even giving you this assignment. He would get no cooperation from me if he gave it to me to write. For better or worse, it's all yours."

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