A Very Southern Christmas

1 12 2008

So what makes a Southern Christmas?

What does “Southern Christmas” mean? Does it mean gifts on Layaway? Does it mean life-size Baby Jesus replicas and “NO ROOM at the MOTEL 6” for the poor guys offering Frankincense and Myrrh? Does it mean another year of your parents tricking you into polishing off a gallon-size plastic bag of homemade black-pepper jerky over a long weekend, jerky which they later admit was VENISON, that’s right, Deer Meat. deerurineIt has nothing to do with Bambi. I could care less about Bambi – I just don’t like the idea of eating something someone caught after watching the “crack of dawn” every day of hunting season up in a tree stand covered in DEER URINE.

But I digress.

I like the idea of Southern Christmas smells, like burnt fuses, a woodstove, and a potential for house fires. Mix that with a Ham in the oven that you got from work and the overwhelming aroma from Mother’s apple pie (and by “Mother’s apple pie” I mean the shit brown wax encased in glass from Yankee Candle at the Mall, not an ACTUAL apple pie, which isn’t necessarily horrible. Her pies are not* consistently… edible).

But I digest.

* the part about inedible cooking was not exactly true. My Mom didn’t really make pies. She did make cakes, and those were always delicious. And Baked Ziti. Southern Italy, Anybody? But the DEER JERKY, fuck that Christmas.

But seriously, I can’t wait for the Holiday Season.

So many trips. So many comedy sets. So much.

– Mister Zach Ward




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