Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Thursday, January 16, 2003 Down the Chimney
Recently, Trash got something rather amusing at work. It came from her company’s downtown office inside an interoffice envelope. It was Bendy Santa.
You’ve seen those toys made of flexible, posable rubber in a humanoid shape. Somehow they always end up in some kind of self-sodomizing pose within seconds of being liberated from their blister packs. Bendy Santa, a Bendy toy made up to look like Father Christmas after a gastric bypass, eight months on an all-fiber diet, and a strict torturer’s rack regimen, was no exception. He turned up in one of our Christmas stockings one year. My sister-in-law, who lived with us back then, and I took turns putting Santa in various poses that would have been too risqué to make it into a Cirque du Soleil contortionist’s copy of The Kama Sutra for One and leaving him that way on the bookshelf for the other to find the next day. Once in a while, Bendy Gingerbread Man would be enlisted into these toy-pr0n tableaux, but it was really all about Santa.
Once we ran out of illicit poses for Santa, things began to escalate. I came home one night to find Santa at the keyboard of my computer, apparently having just finished typing a threatening message to me. SIL walked into the study one day, only to be ambushed by a small plasticine personification of Yuletide spirit that had been rigged to fall on her when she opened the door. There was the time I lifted the toilet lid to see the jolly old elf staring up at me in apparent terror. I don’t remember everything we did, but it took us well into the spring.
One day, I dropped Santa into a pitcher of water and stuck the pitcher in the freezer. Hours later he was entombed in a block of ice, frozen up solider than Han Solo. I left SIL to chip him out. And thus, I won.
For some reason, Bendy Santa came out of retirement again recently, even though SIL is long gone from our home. In October, I stuck him on a ghost decoration that dangled from the light fixture in our entryway. He hung there for days before anybody noticed him.
Then Trash’s coworker MC stopped by one day and noticed Santa splayed out on the kitchen table. While Trash was upstairs changing clothes, I brought MC up to speed about Santa’s peculiar domestic history. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but somehow he agreed to mail it to her interoffice. He jammed the inedible forked Twizzler™ into his pocket just before Trash came back into the room. A couple of days later, it was, inexplicably to her, on her desk at work.
“Did you get anything at work today?” I asked her at the end of the day, practically vibrating with suppressed mischief.
“Bendy Santa,” she monotoned, her voice radiating volumes of “whatever.”
I think it’s time for Santa to retire again. posted by M. Giant 3:16 PM 0 comments