The Conspiracy of the Week!

Back when I was young, there were no shopping malls. There weren't any cell phones, either. It was chaos. People were dying senselessly. They had to revert to cannibalism because they couldn't phone out for a pizza. When their cars broke down they actually had to walk. It was pure insanity. But I digress... Where was I? Oh yeah, shopping malls.

I remember Christmas when I was a kid. I got an orange, a shiny new penny, and a sock puppet for Christmas. That was when I was four. And those things were expected to last. The next time I got anything for Christmas was when I was twelve. But I loved that sock puppet. I didn't even mind only having to wear one sock with my shoes.

But you see, the thing is, I didn't know the difference. Everybody got the same thing for Christmas. Oh, sure, there were the rich kids at school who got a shiny new nickel, but we weren't even allowed to talk to them in school, so it really made no difference. And we were happy. We'd get up on Christmas morning, peel our orange, and enjoy each other's company for the rest of the day, or at least until Uncle Ralph came over. But that's another story.

Hell, back then we didn't even call it Christmas. We called it Xmas.

But then came the shopping malls. This idea that all these stores could be grouped together, selling absolute shit that nobody, nobody actually needed. And nobody really wanted. (hey, it's my conspiracy, I'll use fragments if I want) The dream was that these malls would be packed with people all frantically trying to find the perfect gift for somebody they really didn't like, all for under $10 (either the gift or the person, makes no difference). Predictably, these malls were a flop. So instead of turning them into Junior Colleges, which historically don't turn a good profit margin, the developers had to find some way to drum up business. Enter Xmas.

What if...what if people could be convinced that God, that Jesus, that even Mary, Joseph, and the stupid ass that they were so fond of (that's a donkey, for those of you who thought I was just slipping in another dirty word) -- what if all these guys actually wanted us to buy all this useless shit (now that's a dirty word), all in the name of God? What if they could convince people that they (the people) would only be happy giving and receiving all of this useless crap? (not officially dirty, but mildly offensive just the same) That people -- you and me and that guy over there by the latté machine -- the target audience -- will actually feel guilty if we don't give stuff to people we really don't know, and truly don't like? That it is better to go in debt than to go without? You know...Christmas.

Case in point: Quickly! What did you get for Christmas last year? I thought so. Couldn't even think of one present, could you? Even more pathetic: Quickly! Name a gift, any gift, that you gave to anybody else. Now there's the true spirit of the season.

But see, it worked! Here's the deal: Christmas (at least the Christmas we've all come to know and love) was invented by retail marketers. It was all concocted for no other reason than to sell stuff, all in the name of God. And we bought it. More importantly, we continue to buy it. Boy, howdy, do we buy it. But it's not too late. We're not too far gone. We can break the cycle! Do it! Get up right now! Go get a hammer! Go out to the garage! And beat the living hell out of your bicycle! Don't worry. It's OK. You can ask for a new one for Christmas. And if you've been good, you might actually get it. Karma-mas.

Comon, folks! Let's put the Mas back in Xmas! More X!

(My editor thought that I should explain that "mas," in Spanish, means "more." But I said, "Screw 'em. If they can't speak Spanish, they need to climb back over the wall." Then my editor reminded me that I really don't have an editor.)

Which all leads to the following poem, which could be about editors, or Christmas, or Karma, or just an afternoon in suburbia...