Rhiannon Chronicles 2011 – Christmas Part II

27 December 2011 – 4:30 PM – After watching a Christmas ad on TV

Me [muttering grumpily]: Bah, “Christmas spirit”, my ass.

Rhiannon: What exactly is “Christmas spirit” anyway?

Me [irritably]: A general feeling of emotional beneficence associated with Christmas.

Rhiannon [sighing]: In English, Daddy.

Me: “Goodwill to all men” (or some such tripe).

Rhiannon: Why only goodwill to all men? What about women?

Me: Apparently they don’t qualify.

Rhiannon: Why not?

Me: Because the men who invented “Christmas spirit” were misogynists.

Rhiannon: What’s a “misogynist”?

Me: Someone who hates women.

Rhiannon: Why would someone hate women?

Me: No idea. Although some of my exes give me pause…

Rhiannon: Like… like… why is it the Three Wise Men and not Women?

Me: Oh, don’t worry about that. Those men were idiots.

Rhiannon: Why? They’re called wise!

Me: Well, would you follow a star (which was actually just the planet Venus), for days on end through the barren, God-forsaken desert to deliver gold, frankincense and myrrh to an infant child, squirming around uselessly in a stable, who already has delusions of grandeur about being the son of God? Just how stupid is that? If they had been smart, they’d have just found the nearest oasis and blown their cash at a brothel.

Rhiannon: True, but that reminds me – why is God a man and not a woman?

Me: He’s an idiot too.

Rhiannon: What?!

Me: God is the Creator, right?

Rhiannon: Duh!

Me: Okay, so how would you rate his performance in creating the world?

Rhiannon: Well…

Me: Oh, come on! Talk about a botched job! It’s because of Him that we have Barry Manilow, Pez dispensers that always get jammed, France… I mean, thank you so much, “God” –

Rhiannon: Okay, okay – I get it! But why is Santa a man? I mean he’s a good guy, right?

Me: No, he’s an asshole as well.

Rhiannon: What??!!

Me: Well, rumour has it he’s a wife beater. Do you ever hear anything about Mrs. Claus? No. That’s because she is forever locked up in the bathroom slathering on makeup to conceal black eyes. Also, his so-called “elves” are actually Eastern European sex slaves on loan from Berlusconi. Rudolph only has a red nose because he drinks too much with Santa. On Christmas Eve Santa only bothers to shower Western children with mostly unwanted presents and ignores the rest of the world that could actually use them. What a jerk!

Rhiannon: Okay, okay – I get it! Well… well… what about the Montreal Canadians you love so much? All men and not a single woman amongst them!

Me: That’s debatable honey.

Rhiannon: What do you mean?

Me: There’s a good case to be made that a good number of the Montreal Canadians are women.

Rhiannon: What do you mean?

Me: Well, most of them are lucky if they clear 5’7” for one thing. In fact, a lot of them are about your height.

Rhiannon: That makes them short, Daddy – not women.

Me: Okay, but also, during Movember, most of them couldn’t grow anything resembling a moustache and had to wear fake ones.

Rhiannon: What?

Me: It’s true! If you look closely on the replays, on many of them there is clearly a string coming out of their helmets attaching their ‘staches to their faces.

Rhiannon: Come on!

Me: Really! And that’s not the only proof.

Rhiannon: Uh-huh. What else?

Me: Well, when some of them get knocked over – rather than dropping their gloves and getting into an honest, down home fistfight, they stamp a skate petulantly on the ice and whine about how their attacker is an insensitive jerk.

Rhiannon: Daddy…

Me: Just look at Andrei Kostitsyn. “He” is a moody little girl who only shows up to play hockey when he feels like it. The rest of the time “he” simply sulks about either ducks gone to Moscow or the whereabouts of his unsupportive boyfriend.

Rhiannon: Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, I accept your spurious claim that half of the Montreal Canadians are girls – you’re still saying that girls can’t put up for themselves or fight!

Me: No, no, no!!! On the contrary! The only reason the Habs have actually won a few games this season is because when the girls get pushed too far they have intimidated the opposition with all manner of hair-pulling, eyeball-clawing and knees-to-the-crotch. That’s much scarier than broken noses, split lips and concussions from sucker punches. Trust me, I know. I’ve had the tar beaten out of me by so many girls throughout my life, I’ve pretty much lost count by now.

Rhiannon: Is that why you’re a cross-dresser, Daddy? Because you think women are better than men?

Me: Oh, no – that’s just because I’m English. Still, it was hard when my family emigrated to Canada. I got no end of grief from my teammates when I played hockey in a mini-skirt and fishnets.

Rhiannon: I bet.

Me: Still, I was a valued asset as there are no penalties in hockey for hair-pulling, eyeball-clawing and knees-to-the-crotch.

Rhiannon: Daddy, can we talk about something else?

Me: Sure – like why Stephen Harper wears pink, lacy panties hoping he’ll one day be incarcerated in one of the totally unnecessary prisons he’s building?

Rhiannon: Forget it. I’ll just go play in traffic and hope for the best.

About Requiem for the Damned

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