Sunday, May 30, 2010

Santa: Sexual and... Scary?

It has recently dawned on me that Santa is NOT the jolly old man we think he is. In fact, he is quite the opposite. Oh, sure, people have had such realizations before: "OH MY GOD SANTA IS SATAN CAUSE THE LETTERS CAN SPELL THAT OMG OMG!"

But, really, people. Let us analyze this ever-popular figure in a manner of truth and logic.

Santa is overtly sexual. Call him a pedophile, if you will.
Hey, little boy, why don't you sit on my lap and tell me what you want? Wink, wink.
In the meantime, your child is giving Santa a lap dance while bouncing up and down in delight over his fantasies, and Santa over there is creaming in his red suit. That sheen on his "rosy cheeks"? Yeah, that's not from the type of joy you think it is. Got it?

Now let's take the image of Santa: his suit is red. What is red but the color of lust, the color of evil? Red is SEXY. When you want to look hot, you wear a red dress on that date to meet the man of your dreams hoping to get laid. What does Santa wear? You got it: red.

How about facial hair? What else is the sign of manly prowess? Hey, I can grow a beard. Think about high school, when all those boys struggling to reach the peak of puberty were dying for a touch of 'stache, just a little goatee. Santa is the epitome of a man: he's got the facial hair to prove it. Thus, he is flaunting his sexual prowess. Let's just say, the longer the beard, the longer the... Well. You know what I mean.

And now, I know you're thinking: "Well shit... This makes Santa a little scary! He's an enigmatic figure of joy and giving that I've believed in my entire life up until the point that I realized fantasies would never become reality and happily ever after was a lie!"

And you're right. Santa IS scary. What is scarier than a fat person, hmm??

On top of that, what is scarier than a fat pedophile, dressed seductively in red, with the beard to prove is male prowess?

I don't know. You tell me.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Twitter: Permission to Stalk

The world is becoming increasingly narcissistic.

First, it was Xanga: a blog-like substance that no one quite understood.
Then, we started to evolve. Myspace: A space to call our own, yet shared with friends. Then, a tool for music artists to no longer have to go through the maze of Hollywood producers known as record labels.
Just when we thought having a space of our own was enough...

Facebook: a book for your face! But wait, it's just for college kids.

And then Facebook opens it's doors to the world...And what a mistake that was. Now, EVERYONE has a Facebook. Yes, even your mom. She comments on every one of your status updates with meaningless phrases that have absolutely nothing to do with the status update. She's finding her old college and high school friends and won't shut up about how she can't believe Harry met Sally and had five kids and lives in Toronto when they said they hated Canada they're entire life...

For a while, Facebook itself evolved into a living, thriving being with minute-to-minute updates of statuses, pictures, BECOMING A FAN OF SHIT, and instant chat. But at least with Facebook, it's with people you know in your day-to-day life.

Now, there is Twitter: permission to stalk and be stalked.

I'll admit it: I got a Twitter to stalk people. Mainly, Meg Cabot. Then I found out Demi Lovato had one, so I started stalking her. And Katy Perry. And Ashton Kutcher, Kim Kardashian, Hayley Williams, Max Bemis, Elle Magazine, OMG Facts, the Fashion Business... YOU NAME IT, I'M STALKING IT.

Oh, and I opened myself up to be stalked, too.

With Twitter, you can follow anyone, and anyone can follow you. It's not like Facebook or Myspace, where you have to get permission to be someone's friend and see all of their little inane updates on your screen. This time, it's freeeeee. You're like a peeping tom, except you get to go right up to the window, stand there, and gawk. But you can't.get.caught.

This is what the world is coming to.

I know that at 1:48 AM on May 27th, 2010, Hayley Williams, lead singer of Paramore, is watching Little Shop of Horrors, and she greatly enjoys it. I don't know her, she doesn't know me, but I know exactly what she is doing at an exact moment of time. Is it just me, or is this creepy? And at the same time, the people following me, most of whom I have no clue who they are, know that I am eating Chinese rice crackers. I don't know who's reading my posts at what time. I don't get any notifications when someone new starts following me. I don't have a way of letting Hayley know I know what she's doing.

But everyone is perfectly okay with all of this.

Next time someone gets killed, I'm blaming it all on Twitter.