Dead Santa
On a recent trip back to my homeland, The Midwest, I noticed a growing trend toward really cheesy holiday decorations in the form of giant, plastic blow-up lawn ornaments; what my sister-in-law dubbed “Get Her Done” red-neck holiday décor.
When these petroleum-based masterpieces are not inflated by their tiny life-giving respirators, they lay about the frozen landscape like piles of laundry. I just assumed that the mounds were a result of a domestic dispute. You know, a “Here’s all your shit, asshole. Now get the fuck out” kind of altercation which kinda bummed me out. After all, ‘tis the season to be jolly and spread the joy and can’t we all just get along and kiss under the mistletoe and eat cookies. I was wrong. Sometimes it’s a burden being so cynical. I have considered therapy.
But I digress.
I have to admit that I was oddly obsessed with these plastic creations. Fascinated is probably a better word. There were so many. And they were everywhere! I wondered if there was some sort of competition going on that might result in prize money or a trip to Dollywood or something equally tantalizing. I never did find out so I judged for myself. Here are the results:
Honorable mention has to go to: Dead Santa. Or maybe he’s a hopelessly drunk Santa. I can’t really be sure. Either way, it’s kind of metaphoric, wouldn’t you say? Maybe it’s just me.
But the Grand Prize, The Palm d’Or, The Jury Prize Extraordinaire, goes to Outhouse Santa.
I would love to meet the schmuck who designed this beauty.
Santa, sitting in an outhouse reading, how festive! This is NOT a joke. It really is an outhouse, albeit a jolly ‘ole outhouse complete with candy cane embellishments and a lit-from-below toilet seat.
Any guesses on the publication?
I’m thinking Hustler.
P.S. Special thanks to my sister, Joanie, for conjuring Allen Funt.
This is great…
Hey kids, lets all get in the minivan and head on down to “The Wal-Mart” and get us a blow up Santy…Cuz nothing says redneck like a blow up Santy….get er’ dun
You make me proud, Bro! Please, please, please get the Santy with the crossbow. Or maybe it’s with the shotgun. No… that’s the blow up Dick Cheney. Sorry.
Looks like parts around here. I often wonder what it looks like inside. Could be scary.
Michele,
You mean you have them too?? These things are totally new to me! I’m fascinated!
God you took the observation right out of my mouth — I drove by a house with FIVE of them, including Santa in a helicopter on the roof. What are they thinking?
Irbs,
A helicopter?? What?? I thought the outhouse was bad. This is sacrilege pure and simple!! What next? Blow up Jesus on a skateboard followed by the three wise guys on mountain bikes??
I think Dear St. Nick has an old Sears catalog. It’s his sitting position that makes me ‘ass’ume this.
Clever, very clever, Joanie. But I’m still thinking Hustler. Or possibly Penthouse. With all that facial hair, Santa has a lot of testosterone to wrangle. Makes sense to me.
Outhouse Santy is hilarious.
I wonder if the homeowner modded something to make it look like this or they bought him like that.
Kitty,
I’m sorry to report that this masterpiece of holiday cheer was sold just as it appears. What I’m curious about it what the box said. Santa On The Can? Santa’s Private Library? Jeeez!
I wonder if Santa squeezes the Charmin? I also wonder if those Johnny-on-the-spot cleanout guys have stopped by yet? Oh Lord I am thinking like those people!
It’s January 10 and there are still yards with deflated Santas and snowmen in them. You gotta love Illinois and it’s simple Folk!
I say break out the flame thrower! Or maybe just leave a nice note on the front door.