The true meaning of Christmas


There are questions that have baffled scientists for millions of years: What the heck is eggnog? Better yet, what the heck is “figgy pudding?” And why do the carolers who sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” always force their listeners to get in the kitchen and fix them several batches of it? Talk about rude! I mean, let’s get real — if the main ingredient in this stuff truly is figs (I don’t know what they are, either), can it really be that delicious?

These important issues naturally lead into a slightly less important, yet equally relevant question: What is the true meaning of Christmas? To find out, let us examine a few of this holiday’s most cherished traditions.

According to the disciples of Jesus, the most important element of Christmas is the depletion of one’s bank account via purchasing gratuitous numbers of gifts for one’s parents, siblings, friends, cousins, second-cousins, second-cousins’ cats, ex-spouses, and ex-spouses’ brothers’ nephews’ pet sheep. For years humans, particularly of the female gender, have been wandering aimlessly into stores and buying random cute, little items in bulk, which they then cover in cute wrapping paper and couple with cute Christmas cards depicting fat, bearded men and large, antlered mammals. This strange practice, one that many women begin as early as July, apparently originated in biblical times, when shepherds got sweet deals at Best Buy and were able to buy the baby Jesus an Xbox 360 and Call of Duty: World at War for the price of just two arms and a leg. As the infamously incoherent Little Drummer Boy so eloquently explains in his famous song, “Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum, to lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum…” Continue reading The true meaning of Christmas

The art of manliness


It’s a question I get all the time — “Nick, how did you get to be so darned manly?”

The answer I give to people is never clear. Typically, I just demonstrate the old front double biceps pose, followed by a simple front abdominal/thigh isolation pose and then insist emphatically, “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The signs are all there: gigantic cinder blocks of muscle popping out of every conceivable area of my body (scientists recently discovered that I have more muscle in my index finger than the average adult male has in his entire arm), massive amounts of facial hair, a tendency to single-handedly construct large buildings when bored, hitting puberty at age seven and owning more Old Spice products than socks. Continue reading The art of manliness

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