Happy Christmas Eve! I have made several decisions, one of which involved buying peach-flavored fizzy wine. I’ve also watched How The Grinch Stole Christmas, as has been family tradition since the 80s, and gotten sniffly at “Welcome Christmas,” and marveled at Dr. Seuss surreal architecture.
Speaking of surreal:
Well, this is…an egg.
A headless babydoll egg.
Because babydolls are insufficiently creepy by themselves (hint: they are not).
With an envelope, and Christmas greetings. And puffed sleeves.
I could sort of understand if this were for New Year’s, because egg and hatching and new life and all that. I’m not saying it wouldn’t still be UNNERVING AS HELL, but I could understand it. But no. There is no understanding to be had here.
As with the Goat Card, these kids have the only appropriate expressions for this situation.
he was made of snow
but the children know
that he came to life one day
May your holidays be free of creepy sun gods and their snowcromantic creations.
These kids, however…I mean, clearly stoned. As you’d have to be.
You know how every survival horror game has one inexplicably plant-themed boss?
Do the unopened buds also contain moppet heads?
One may well wonder.
“Food that wants to be eaten,” is a known if disturbing trope in ads and occasionally fiction, but this…this is the final boss of the aforementioned Victorian-Christmas-themed survival horror game. This balances Little Mermaid-style upon legs and feet totally unsuitable for the position, with EATING IMPLEMENTS STUCK IN ITS FACE, and it’s SMILING ABOUT IT.
Well, it’s smiling about *something*.
You don’t want to know what.
While the letters for “Christmas” are doing their best to ignore this whole…situation…the ones for “A Merry” have just given in to the eldritch horror.
(The carefully-balanced glass of milk/eggnog/PROBABLY ECTOPLASM SERIOUSLY atop its head would, naturally, be the only vulnerable point it has during the final battle.)
Merry Christmas, to those who celebrate it! Happy Tuesday, to those who don’t! And let us all be thankful that we’re not ruled by Fygge’Puddin, who dances mindlessly to the eternal piping of Bing Crosby.