The Dysfunctional Christmas Tree: PART ONE


Every year I seem to be getting more grumpy and cynical about Christmas.  But I have a family that quite frankly, is ready to kill me in my sleep if I don’t ease up.  Therefore, instead of spouting the evils of Christmas Trees, I am altering course and going full freaking force into creating the most bitchin, awesome, and all out apex of all things Christmas tree.   You want one?  You’re gonna get one!!

First things first…obtaining the raw materials.  I have an artificial tree in the basement, but that’s just not acceptable now.  Unless I’m having an active role in reducing a perfectly capable oxygen producer into road chips, there’s just no point in going ahead with this plan.  If everyone is going to chop a tree down, then damn itso am I.  It’s the Canadian way.

My search took me to my local shopping mall and there I met Shabab Al-Beely.  I asked for a tree that had the screaming souls of the forest spirits still draining from its sap like tears.  After a few nervous glances I was shown a scrawny Douglas Fir.  At that point I did what any sensible person would do…I sucker punched him in the stomach until he dropped to the ground in the fetal position.

DP:  A Douglas Fir?  I should kill you now.  Now you listen and listen good, I want the best Christmas tree you’ve got, not some stunted twig I wouldn’t give Helen Keller.  I want a perfect conifer that has the breath of its cut-off existence still resonating in its bark.

Salesman:  Please sir, I cannot…

DP:  Me and my pal Chuck Norris ( nod to fist ) don’t much like the word “can’t” buddy.  Now either you take me to your best or I give Homeland Security an anonymous call about you selling WMD’s.  You MIGHT even get a trial…

Saleman:  No, no sir!  You win!!  Follow me…

I was taken to a secluded corner of the tree lot, and shown a blanket, which was obviously covering something reverent. Something holy.

Salesman:  Sir, what you are about to see has not been shown to the eyes of normal men.

DP:  Consider my loins girded.  Show me your forbidden wares.

The blanket was lifted to reveal a Scotch Pine of such exquisite quality that if it were allowed to live it would have become a brain surgeon for Ents.  Yet now it was destined to join my voyage of the damned.

Saleman:  Sir, you should know that such a rare find does not come without great cost.

DP:  I’m prepared to take out a second mortgage to have the best tree and then throw it to the curb a week later all in the name of misguided tradition!  Name your price cretin!

Salesman:  $500 and your immortal soul signed over in blood.

DP:  I can give you $25 and my neighbours cat.

Saleman:  Sold.

And with that I tied the tree to my car and made for home as vehicles slowed to catch a glimpse of the radiant glory that shone from my cars roof.  Children pointed, joggers froze in mid stride, and grown men fell to the ground crying.  But this was only a foretaste of what was to come next…


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About Author

John Paul Parrot ( aka. The Dysfunctional Parrot ) is a disgruntled Systems Analyst who wanders the Canadian wastelands saving small villages with the power of Kung Fu.  His chair is also a little too close to the twenty year old microwave.  As you can well imagine, this has had certain side effects.