Uncouth Heathen’s Third Annual Holiday Gift Guide
(I started this weeks ago and intended to post it before Christmas but then I decided to go off my medication (more on that later) and then I got wrapped up in my Christmas craft projects and Christmas decorating and Christmas shopping and Christmas house cleaning and unmedicated Christmas insanity! So obviously we’re a little belated in the holiday gift guide arena, but you can just bookmark this shit for next year because, really, if you think about it…I’m just ahead of the game now. I’m posting it 11.5 months before Christmas so you have enough time for shipping and all that shit. I AM SO NICE AND CONSIDERATE.)
And just like that, it’s Christmas! Hanukkah! ChristmasHahukkah! Christmakkuh! HOLIDAYS!
I can hardly believe it, really. This year has flown by, but also it hasn’t. It’s like…every day is the longest day ever but at the end of the week I think…That’s IT? I thought there were more days but it’s the weekend already? Are you sure we had a Tuesday? I know that’s crazy and doesn’t make any sense but HELLO!? Are you new?
I’ve not been very funny lately, I know. (And, seriously. Fuck you for pointing that out. God!) I’m trying to figure that out and I’ve got it narrowed down to two options 1) I was never really funny before but I just didn’t realize it until now or 2) It’s the medication. Medication isn’t funny at all. I’m leaning towards number two because if I went for number one I’d just drive off a cliff already because HAHAHA…SO FUNNY.
I don’t really know what I’m doing.
Once I made my girlfriend throw up a little bit from laughing. Not only is THAT funny, but obviously I AM FUNNY ENOUGH TO MAKE SOMEONE PUKE. Even if it was because my iPhone auto-corrected something and it looked like maybe I referred to her as a “fatty.” Only slightly related: Can someone help me fix it so my phone stops changing “hahaha” to “asses”?
And just like that, it’s time to discuss what gifts I think you should be handing out for the holidays.
Sometimes people don’t understand nature and basic facts like hedgehogs are meant to live in my house and cats do not understand the phrase GET OUT OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE no matter how many times you scream it. That’s why I’m glad someone came up with this t-shirt – as a reminder that bears…yes…they will eat you. Because sometimes we forget.
P.S. My birthday is December 29th.
This is the ideal gift for a white elephant exchange or that one person who when you ask what they want for Christmas says Oh nothing, I can’t think of a single thing! Maybe just a card? and you think Oh really!? Well, DO YOU HAVE THIS HORSE HEAD MASK!? And you walk away satisfied, leaving them in stunned silence. Because no. No they did not.
Also, maybe a perfect gift for your neighbor. Get it? NEIGHbor. NEIGH-bor. NEIGH! NEIGH! NEIGH! Fine, just nevermind.
This wooden radio retails for $300.00. Because it’s wood and it’s made by Indonesian villagers.
Look. Here are two things I want to point out before you click to purchase. This radio is VERY pretty. That’s why I put it here. And maybe you’re rich and you need ridiculous things to spend some of that money on that you have too much of. I won’t judge. Whatever. But listen. 1) I can go to RiteAid down the street and buy an AM/FM radio for $6.99. If I feel particularly high-class I can get one with a built-in CD player for $12.00. 2) Also, that drug store radio will be made out of plastic by some 5-year old kid in China, so when I drop it (I drop things a lot) it won’t shatter into a million slivers. Just sayin’.
Look, sometimes you’re so desperate for a baby that you’ll do anything. One day you’re sitting at home with your broken reproductive organs crying while you watch the evening news because LOOK AT ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO USED TO BE BABIES! and the next thing you know, you’re looking online for fake kids who have been put in time-out because the only thing sadder than not being able to have a baby is not having a toddler to punish. Don’t judge me…you don’ t know my life!
But seriously. What. The. Hell.
Look. I like art as much as the next person who doesn’t really care about art. I understand that there are things about artistic expression and deeper meanings contained therein that I will never EVER begin to understand. But I also know when things are…you know…fucked up. Look. We all like it when people make paintings out of reclaimed objects, like cardboard or wood or that one time, my garage door. Garbage sculptures can be fun and send an important message about recycling and whatever, I don’t really know because I don’t care. But when you start making art with your own feces, I believe you’ve gone too far. TOO FAR. But maybe you have an art lover on your list…someone who can wax poetic about Caravaggio or Bernini for hours upon hours until you want to stab your brain through your ear with a horse hair paint brush. Well, for that person, I can only recommend one thing…
This “REAL POOP Cubist Painting” of a toilet. Lovingly retitled “Shart Exhibit” by our friends at Regretsy. FREE SHIPPING, you guys. FREE! Also, it comes with an amazing artist statement about which portions of the painting have more shit than others. “Though is I had decided to switch the fecal concentrations and made the top less concentrated, I am positive the result would being [sic] interesting also.” Okay. Sure. But really. NO ONE BUY THIS. We shouldn’t encourage this kind of thing.
I wanted to get this for Valerie because she loves Harry Potter (and Twilight, but let’s not discuss the things that are wrong with my girlfriend.) and it would be kind of cool if one day we had a house and people walking by looked in our living room window and saw us
having hot sex shaking a stick at the television.
If you’re willing to spend nearly $100 on a completely superfluous household item that you can get a less fancy and probably more functional model of at your local drug store for $15 then have at it, wizards. But please note…this will not make your enemies develop rickets or scurvy at the flick of a wrist no matter how many hours you spend trying to train it. NOTED.
In 2012 I resolve to drink more wine. Specifically I resolve to pretend to drink more wine while Valerie drinks an entire bottle by herself but doesn’t notice because she is too drunk. You guys…Valerie is an AMAZING drunk. She’s giggly and silly and her cheeks get all red and she says things that are absolutely retarded. One time she bought a bottle of wine at the Grocery Outlet and it was awful so I didn’t drink more than a few sips and she just kept drinking and drinking and suddenly she’s sitting on the bed with no pants on telling me ” This wine is DISGUSTING” and then she poured herself another glass.
I’m going to keep all her solo drunken escapade wine corks in this trivet - labeling each with a date and notes of behavior and wardrobe – unless she keeps making regretful alcohol purchases at Grocery Outlet in which case I’ll do the same but with screw-caps.
The week before Christmas, the point in the year where I generally feel most stressed out and emotionally fragile, I decided to go off my anti-depressants because I really wanted ratchet up the insanity and do things right this year. I decided that I’d get this garland and evenly distribute my leftover pills between the two bottles on the end and in all the others I’d whisper all my overwhelming feelings of despair and holiday rage. I thought the pills would keep them bottled up, like a gatekeeper to what Valerie likes to call the Crazy Bitch Train.
Well, I can’t tell you if it worked or not but I can tell you that I cried on Christmas Eve for several hours and then again on the way to Salem the next morning and the way to Portland from Salem two days later. Valerie has not known me un-medicated until now and she told me she still loves me when I visited her in the basement storage unit of my condo building where she is tied up. SHE WILL STAY WITH ME AND MY FEELINGS FOREVER.
A while back I saw this sweet video of a little girl who found a squirrel to keep as a pet. She was stroking it and cuddling it and swinging it around like it was her best friend. Her father was video-taping her because the squirrel she fell so in love with had just been killed by her dog. Well. Valerie has been saying she wanted a squirrel for as long as I’ve known her, which is five+ months in human time but in my mind it’s been at least 13 years because we are good enough friends to talk about pooping and farts like it ain’t no thing. But I digress. Trapping squirrels in hard work when all you’re doing is sitting on the patio making clicking noise and calling out KEVIN! KEVIN COME HERE! I HAVE PEANUTS! Turns out that squirrels, specifically Kevin from the block, is on to me because I haven’t seen him in weeks. Once at a park we saw a fat squirrel in a tree and I tried to catch it by screaming HEY SQUIRREL and then chased it into a garbage can near the swings but then it bit me on the face and ran away. Then I got rabies and went all Cujo on my neighbors, trapping them in their car until the drunken wife who keeps dropping Bud Light beer cans onto my patio came at me with a baseball bat and knocked me into unconsciousness. None of this is real except the part about the video and Valerie wanting a squirrel, I just got carried away. Anyhoo…squirrels, it turns out, are not so good as just appearing in a cage in my house so I decided instead to get Valerie these terrifying squirrel paw earrings.
But mostly I just keep them hidden until she falls asleep and then I gently caress her face with them. I think she’ll really enjoy the tasteful nudes I’ve taken of her and the paws while she naps, too.
FETAL PIG! FETAL PIG! FETAL PIG!
This is what I now repeat to myself when I start to feel things. Feely things. And then the thinking starts. It’s my new non-medicated way of dealing the THE FEELINGS. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before my anxiety gets ramped up and I repeat it so ferociously in my head that I accidentally scream it out loud at a staff meeting and then pass out.
Valerie is teaching me to knit and crochet. She lent me some yarn and sticks and I’m pretty sure that I’ll be knitting fetal pigs in NO TIME AT ALL so that I can supplement my income with fetal pig sales. But until then you’ll have to settle for this one.
Hmm. I just…umm…I don’t…yeah.
However…I CANNOT WAIT until Valerie opens her front door to find me wearing these “handmade boneclaw rings” and one of these horned skull masks. This is exactly how I plan on proposing marriage one day unless she beats me to death out of fright before I get a chance.
HAPPY BELATED HOLIDAYS!! I love you all..even the stinky ones. Let’s make 2012 the best last year before Armageddon EVER.