Infographic: How are we waging war on Christmas?

Idiot Box by Matt Bors


Perry Bible Fellowship by Nicholas Gurewitch

Bob the Angry Flower by Stephen Notely


 

 

Look Capricorn, we need to talk. There was a committee meeting and you have officially been declared the “Too Old to be in the Club Guy.” I know it’s hard to accept, but you need to face the facts. I know you tried your hardest to hide it by shopping at the mall and paying a lot of money at a salon to look hip, but all you ended up with are clothes that make you look like a frat boy movie villain and a strip of facial hair that looks like a well-trimmed vagina was surgically attached to your chin. Deal with it, Capricorn; it’s time to take out a personal ad on Yahoo. That or you can just start hanging out with Scorpio.


Aquarius, remember that time you asked me if I thought you were an alcoholic and I just laughed? I laughed because you asked me after the time you drank so much that your nose started bleeding profusely, which was about a week before you crashed your sister’s car into the monument in that traffic circle and ran away, which was three weeks after you totaled your car pulling away from a bar. All of which is the tip of the tragicomic iceberg. I laughed because it was a question to which you knew the answer.


Pisces, I know there has been a heated family debate over putting Granny in a home but I think after everyone open their X-Mas gifts from her this year the debate will be over. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but let’s just say she has been using that Have a Heart Trap and lots of safety-pins, glue and glitter. Just remember, the important thing is to pretend you like it.


Hey Aries, I was thinking about your rant the other day when you were bitching about why your acting career hasn’t taken off and how it’s everyone else’s fault. I think you may be right because you have everything you need to be a star; you’re a blockheaded, self-centered, vapid asshole with marginal talent.


Taurus, you need to accept that “Tom Goes to The Mayor” sucks. IT SUCKS!

 

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Gemini, we have talked about the farting before and I don’t want to beat a dead horse here but you need to see a doctor about options because it has to end. FEMA has already proven itself inept to handle an environmental crisis and I can’t even imagine what will happen on all-you-can-eat tacos day.


Cancer, remember when we were kids and would fill up foil cupcake cups with chocolate syrup in the middle of winter and throw them at Metro Bus windshields and the wiper blades would smear it all over? That was fun.

Leo, I was thinking about when I ran into you at the Home Depot recently. It was nice to see you but I couldn’t help noticing that you were buying garbage bags, bleach, scrub brushes, hacksaw blades and a bunch of interior paint. Well, I was just wondering how the wife is these days.


 Virgo, you’ve been gay before and you’ll be gay again. In fact you were gay just the other night. When, you ask? Remember that night your wife went to bed early and you stayed up to watch TV and ended up watching that Lifetime Original Movie about the woman who had to kill her abusive husband? That was the night. The night you were gay.


Hey Libra, you know that picture you submitted to the Church bulletin from your Christian Youth mission to South America? Yeah, the picture of you sitting on that log in front of the giant crucifix with all of those children holding Bibles. Well I just thought you should know that your balls are showing.


Scorpio, that is quite a look you have chosen for yourself: shaved head, black trench coat and the purse-like backpack. What exactly drove that fashion decision? Did you and the all the other fatheaded “Magic: The Gathering” athletes get together and decide on a team uniform? Well you look like a bunch of retarded people on a field trip, just waiting for the bus to come gather you up before one of you starts throwing crap. Good luck on the whole getting laid thing Corky.


I know you’ve already caught a bunch of shit for this, but what exactly were you thinking walking out of an airplane lavatory at 25,000 feet and saying, “Nobody go in there for a while, cause I just dropped a bomb?” Beyond the poor choice of metaphor for use during airline travel, I don’t think people in a tight, contained environment of recycled air share your amusement at the smell of your poo. However, when the Air Marshal pistol-whipped you, I believe everyone was at least secretly amused.

 
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