Christmas is the most wonderful time of year, especially if you love candy, shopping, and singing about sleigh bells ring-a-linging (and depending on just how much you love those things, Christmas might need to make up for a lot of sadness in your life). It's also one of the busiest and most expensive times of year, and one of the red-and-green-iest times, I guess, although admittedly that is of questionable relevance. The point is that it's that magic time: Christmas.*

Perhaps you’re having trouble getting into the yuletide mood. This year brings with it all the perennial problems of the season: some of us miss our loved ones, others wish it would snow, and at least one of us is disappointed that Marty McFly isn’t bringing her a hoverboard on Christmas (again). But with major sectors of the economy on the verge of collapse, this year brings unique stresses as well. It’s starting to seem like the only thing that could spread joy to the world on December 25th would be a made-for-TV special, Barack Obama and Van Halen Save Christmas.

Well, have no fear, Barackoteers. Your friend, Zombie Kim, is on her own personal mission to save Christmas. Your Christmas.

*I should mention that I use “Christmas,” “holiday season,” and “the holidays” interchangeably to refer to the overall celebratory climate of the month of December. It’s problematic, I know, and I do apologize. Let me say here: Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Ramadan, Happy Solstice, and Happy Athiesta, the party day spent busting open religious un-truths and also busting open piñatas.

There are many ways to get excited for the holiday season. Some people enjoy baking cookies and other festive treats. I don’t understand those people. Baking, for me, equals flour-induced suffocation and frenzied crying, and holiday baking just throws in the extra “fun” of gingerbread houses. Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how hard it is for me to make cookies that are shaped like circles? Now you want me to build goddamn Buckingham Palace with a Neco Wafer roof? But clearly someone enjoys preparing Christmas food, because the holiday season is built around baking and—worse still—cooking. And every year, someone has to trot out the same stale jokes about how much weight he or she has gained during the holidays and how terrible fruit cakes are. First of all, fruit cake jokes are about as fresh and timely as Monica Lewinsky jokes—no, make that as timely as Monica-Lewinsky-riding-a-Segway-while-making-OJ-Simpson-jokes jokes. Second, you can say you ate “all the milk and cookies” this year, but don’t blame your indulgence on innocent cookies. You're going to spend December 24th drunk and by yourself, eating a whole pumpkin pie, half a turkey, and a can of Reddi-Whip in front of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (followed by the similarly-titled but dissimilarly-themed Home A-Bonin’ 2).

Christmas, however, is a time of loving others—and not, ahem, yourself— and many people look forward to the season’s boundless romantic opportunities. A gift is the perfect way to reveal non-platonic feelings; the cold weather can bring two people together; and even as late as New Year’s, there is still a chance for a midnight kiss. (By the way, the point of that last sentence was to help you shed those holiday pounds, by way of ipecac.) Love blooms in winter. Well, okay, not really. You honestly think your crush doesn’t already know who their “secret” Santa was that gave them vanilla-scented body lotion, or the scarf in seven shades of green, their favorite color that also just happens to match their eyes? While you’re casually hanging out near the mistletoe, they’re downing peppermint Schnapps and trying desperately to avoid eye contact with you during “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Listen, I’m not saying that holiday romances are out of the question. What I am saying is that you’re at least as ugly in December as you are in July, so don’t get your hopes up. If you want to feel all warm and fuzzy inside, your best bet is hard eggnog and an electric blanket.

Of course, by the time you want to get into the seasonal mood, you’re probably already unable to escape that ultimate symbol of Christmas cheer: Santa Claus. Kris Kringle. Jolly old St. Nicholas. It’s hard to imagine celebrating Jesus’ (pseudo)birthday without a vaguely-Norwegian, obese, philanthropist in red. I guess taping a paper party hat onto a crucifix wasn’t cheerful enough for kids, huh? Kids understandably see Santa in mythic proportions. He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, so you damn well better be good unless you want coal in your stocking. Then again, by the time most kids even grasp what coal is (let alone develop a working knowledge of the coal-to-Xboxes desirability ratio), they’ve also learned that the only kids who don’t get what they want from Santa are the poor ones. And poor kids know that it doesn’t matter how naughty or nice you are when all you’ve got to look forward to at Christmas are a gray-haired baby doll from the 99-cent store and a can of sweet potatoes from the Salvation Army.

Yet even adults view Santa as an indispensable part of Christmas, albeit in their unpleasantly adult way. Do a Google Image Search for “sexy Santa” and you’ll find hundreds of bulgy hunks and baby-oiled bimbos, barely attired in red-and-white suits, doing unspeakable things to candy canes. Having trouble finding stocking stuffers? Try red fuzzy handcuffs, peppermint body oil, and condoms with mistletoe attached. Okay, cool, fine, if you like NIGHTMARES. How is it we go from seeing Santa as a grandpa figure (or, depending on who dressed up in your house, as Uncle Vic, smelling like Old Spice and Southern Comfort) to seeing Santa as a sex machine with needs—and we’re not talking about milk and cookies here? I guess in both cases you have to sit on Santa’s lap. Listen, I understand that you still want to enjoy Christmas even after you’ve outgrown your belief in elf-staffed toy workshops. I’m just asking that you keep the fat man in the red suit out if it. If nothing else, we could all do without the “naughty or nice” puns and the jokes about coming down the “chimney” to deliver a “package.”

Not that sexifying Santa is the only way he’s been made creepy—he has a whole history of questionable associations. For example, St. Nicholas, believed to be the Bishop of Myra (Turkey) in the 300s AD, was literally legendary for his kindness. Some of the delightful stories that have been passed down about jolly old St. Nick include the one where he secretly gave three orphaned girls bags of gold so that they could marry instead of being sold into prostitution, and the one where he resurrected three boys who had been murdered and their bodies pickled during a time of famine. To reiterate: holy shit. And these were the stories told about the GOOD guy. You can make all the cutesy-lame jokes about busy holiday shopping and wacky family get-togethers you want, but oh, man, do we ever have it easy now, in the Christmases of the future.

Make no mistake: I think making fun of Santa is somewhat akin to making fun of Mr. Rogers, only about a hundred times less bad, of course. We don’t have many cultural figures that can make so many children feel loved and special. God, Santa, the aforementioned Mr. Rogers—the list is short, so let's not screw it up. Not to mention: bearded, fat, super-nice, old men. Come on, how is your heart not warmed by that? That’s why I’m saying we shouldn’t have Santa peddling sex toys.

Now that you’re ready for some sweet, sweet Christmas joy, you may be faced with the universal problem of what to put under the tree. It’s always hard to find great presents for the ones we love, but when you’re broke, the problem can seem insurmountable. It isn’t. It just takes a little creativity, a lot of hard work, and possibly detailed lies to charitable organizations.

Homemade gifts are one great way to save cash—if, that is, you’re talented and you already happen to have several bolts of fabric, a hot glue gun, and a Beadazzler just lying around the house like so many riches. But even if you are a lower-moderate achiever, you can still craft some unique presents. Try: macaroni drawing, warm-fuzzy made of yarn, Christmas somethings made out of pipe cleaners. The possibilities are endless. Shitty, but endless.

A word of caution on the homemade-gift front, though: receiving a gift of your services is not as desirable as you might think. Chances are that if your friend wanted a massage, an aura reading, or some Frisbee golf lessons, they would have asked you a long time ago, two-time Hippie Frolfer of the Year award winner. Ditto on “coupons” as a gift. It is not original or cute to give someone a sheet of Badtz-Maru stationary with “IOU 1 fRee HuG LOL <3” scribbled on it. If your giftee ever redeems said coupon, which is unlikely, then you can bet that hug will be so laden with obligation and resentment that that person will never touch you again.

Gag gifts are a fun holiday tradition, although the giver might have more fun with them than the receiver. When you give a gag gift, you are saying, “I care more about briefly being the center of attention with my wit and cleverness, than about giving something you will actually want or use.” Since this is how I live my life, I am clearly a fan of gag gifts. However, in this economy, they are a poor choice. Your brother in the Marines laughed when you got him that Johnny-Depp-in-the-tub poster and bottle of Lubriderm only because he knew you also bought him Halo. Try to get away with that level of immaturity when the joke gift is the real gift. If your loved ones are anything like mine, you’ll spend December 26th dragging that bag of religious-icon dildos and plastic hillbilly teeth back to Spencer’s Gifts. And the only thing you’ll get from “Santa” this year will be a lecture on Why Grandma’s Weight Problem Led to Her Diabetes and Isn’t an Appropriate Topic for Novelty Shirts, Kimberly Ann.

Really there are precious few ways to save money during the holiday season. You can buy presents for fewer people, for example, or buy them less-good presents. It’s an important lesson about the true meaning of Christmas: does your love really need to be quantified? Of course it doesn’t. Love is all you need. Unless, that is, you want to not quantify yourself as a douchebag.

Snarkiness aside, the truth is that I love Christmas. I believe in Christmas. I know that the season can be hollow and consumerist; after all, the only reason that Santa is a jolly fat man in red is that Coca-Cola retooled him to boost winter soda sales in the ‘30s. And it’s true that no matter what your religious beliefs are, this is often a chaotic and downright discouraging time of year. But though it feels crummy when reality doesn’t quite match up to our high hopes for the holiday spirit, the important thing is that we DO have high hopes. It’s still the sweetest, the shiniest, and for better or worse, the most come-together-iest season of the year. So I say, go ahead, embrace that spirit. Watch corny TV movies about Christmas miracles. Bake your little heart out. Stand casually near mistletoe. Sing along to "Santa Baby." Make bad jokes about how your family is wacky. Leave milk and cookies out for Santa—no, gosh darn it, bake Jesus a birthday cake and buy Santa a case of Coca-Cola.

And speaking of gifts, do you still need a little help polishing off your shopping list? All right, because I care, I’ll let you in on my secret, no-fail, present idea for this year. Two hints: laser tag and Che Guevara tee shirts. Shh!

Happy holidays and a zombiepocalypse-free New Year, from my home to yours.

 

play laser tag with Santa to go back to BRAINS