December 5th, 2011
It’s time to start getting in the Christmas spirit here at MAD, so I thought I’d wander over to the Santa’s Village at Union Square Park and then share a magical true Christmas story with all of you. So that’s what I’m going to do.
Bagpipes in the park, it kind of sounds like a pack of lambs in heat. I put a dollar in his tip box, but he continued playing, so it's time to move on.
And here we are, Santa's Village. I don't think it's officially called, Santa's Village, but that's what I've always called it because it's like a little village in the park. Which always makes me think of this band.
There's lots of people here tonight.
Thanks, but I just had a big sandwich a little bit ago.
Never mind the bollocks...
Here's Elvis and a fat naked lady.
At first glance I thought this said, "Diarrhea Boxes." How ironic that I was quite relieved when I discovered it actually said, "Diarama Boxes."
Why, hello Mrs. Davy Crockett!
Nothing says, "Christmas," like a bunch of old locks.
And "Rosebud" seems like the perfect place to end this journey and begin the Christmas tale below.
A Moment Of Christmas Magic In New York City
It’s hard not to get caught up in the Christmas magic in a city like New York. Even the most hard-hearted cynic cannot ignore it. It kind of melts your heart, like cheddar cheese on a Ritz cracker sentenced to five minutes under a broiler by Andy Griffith reprising his role as Sheriff Andy Taylor.
The other night when I was going to see the tree at Rockefeller Center was one of those nights. I got off the subway at 50th Street and started casually strolling towards the big Christmas tree. As I walked down the street I noticed a huge pile of garbage taking up half of the sidewalk. I stopped and then looked over and saw a homeless man sleeping on a filthy, oily sleeping bag right in front of the Tad’s Steakhouse that’s there in the middle of the block. He had dirty, raggedy clothes on and a big white beard, not unlike Santa Claus’s. Except his was really greasy and probably had a large family of lice doing the Charleston Two Step inside of it. It was then I noticed a growing puddle of urine emanating from his crotch area.
I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk watching a passed out bum pissing his pants and took in the combination scent of rancid grilled meat from Tad’s, rotting garbage behind me and the unique odor of fresh hobo urine rising right in front of me. It was exactly at that moment that I thought: “You know, this really is a magical time of year!”
Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Further reading: EV Grieve, Public Urination and Funny Or Die.
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