We have entered a magical time where innovations are outpacing our ability to control or contain them. Case in point: Christmas decorations. We started with lit candles and slowly usurping the cultural traditions of other religions and we have quickly–too quickly progressed to electrical lights, stings of lights, to LEDs, to inflatables, to virtual displays. In our rush to capitalize on the utterly tacky sensibilities of the general public, we have (and I believe we are all responsible for not saying “no” as a collective, civilized people) created an inflatable Santa pooping in an outhouse.
This is bad for several reasons. This is an animatronic inflatable, with Santa opening the door, looking around, then sheepishly closing the door. Possibly because the toilet paper is on the outside for some reason? In what context is this okay? This is the equivalent of a truck driver having a sexy lady silhouette mud flaps or a creep having a bumper sticker that says “Cash, grass or ass, nobody rides for free.” It’s crass and worse, not funny. As someone who traffics in bodily function-based humor, I don’t deny the merits of a good poop joke, but this isn’t a joke. It’s just Santa caught pooping. That’s not a joke. An inflatable Santa and one of the reindeer recreating “Two Girls One Cup” is a humorous poop-centric inflatable.
Why are we debasing Santa by showing him at his most vulnerable? (Writes the person who dedicated a post to characterizing Santa as a child predator.) The guy works hard to reward the world’s well-behaved children on a night and we’re forcing him to poop in an outhouse? A poorly constructed outhouse with the toilet paper on the outside, no less. The least Santa deserves is a bidet with a warmed seat.
Let Santa take a grumper inside! He already has unlimited access to your house, let him poop inside. We should feel lucky that he’s not dropping Yule logs in the chimney on his way out. Are we so presumptuous that we’re comfortable insulting a magical creature by forcing him to poop in a frozen-over outhouse!?! And what kind of an outhouse is this, one that has a deep pit dug into the ground or one that gets regularly serviced by the worst vocation of all, the human-waste sucker-upers? Let Santa poop in a clean environment without all the variables, with a sink and soap. Or do you want Santa traversing the world giving children pink-eye or Giardiasis (aka “Beaver fever”)?
Or maybe don’t, because he’s eating nothing but cookies and milk and his poops are probably startling. I can’t imagine the Meconium produced by an all-cookie-and-lactose diet. In fact, maybe the nicest thing would be to leave out a laxative or anti-diarrheal pills.
All I’m asking is that if you’re going to debase Santa by showing him at his most undignified, at least make it mildly funny or even slightly less dumb. I’m not offended by the nature of this, I’m offended that it’s less clever than a Calvin peeing on something sticker. If this is the level of your humor, maybe start pedestrian with a fart joke, an inflatable Santa giving a Dutch Oven to Mrs. Claus for example, or go fully tactless and have two elves felching on your lawn. Just don’t be lame-tacky.
(By the way, I’d love to see the face of the NSA agent who has to look at my search history today.)
He’s taking a piss
He’s shaking it twice
It burns like hell
‘Cause of Craig’sList brides
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“As someone who traffics in bodily function-based humor” LOL. Me too, friend, me too. I think the Santa pooping is kinda funny. Kinda. The one where he is peeing? UM NO. Gross. And the one with a candy cane up his arse? All the NO’s!
Ok Santa pooing or pissing is not funny to me, just saying, what the hell are some people thinking
I’m not surprised at the candy cane ornament. Rule 34, right? Plus I’m sure there’s lots of adults out there with messed up childhoods who are sexually fixated on santa. Oof.
“The utterly tacky sensibilities of the general public…” How profoundly and utterly delightfully elitist of you, Green Pickster Von Green Picksterland. Sport, why don’t you pour me – nay, present me with – another glass of that superb Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee-Conti Grand Cru you’ve been showing off for the last ten minutes? I feel so collective and civilized. Now use one of those Santa decorations to piss that wonder of existence, that grapy juice of yours, into my crystal glass. Do tell me, is it a Château Baccarat red wine glass with a sharp aesthetic and contemporary design that expertly melds form and function? Is it? Splendid, indeed! No pink-eye for us, eh? Ha ha! Let’s toast: to the irradication of lame-tackiness! Let Santa take a blue grumper inside!
Hold on, did I claim to be separate from the general public in my sensibilities? I’m the one that wrote a lengthy treatise about Santa’s bowel evacuation. And my follow-up post was equally fecal-centric. Oh no, I swim in the proletariat waters of the tacky. Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize it.
Point taken. Now, where’s that friggin’ wine?