December 22, 1999
A Very Meathead XMas

Unless you're currently in a coma, by now you're quite aware that it's the Christmas season. This is a special time of year, when the levels of crass commercialism that clog the media's arteries swell to sickening highs, spawning merciless onslaughts of Whoopi Goldberg commercials, icicle lights and special episodes of ER. So, as part of my ongoing quest to be part of the problem instead of the solution, I'm kinda proud to present a special Christmas story from the Meathead Perspective.

he Day Santa Finally Decided To Kick Some Ass
A touching Christmas story by that cynical bastard Meathead

It was the night before Christmas at the Durst household. Dad Durst, inebriated from eggnog, was yelling at Stone Cold Steve Austin through the TV, while Mom Durst baked cookies and little Freddy Durst stared longingly out the window.

"Get up you goddamn pussy!!" shouted Dad at the TV. "What the hell IS this shit, Romper Room?! I wanna watch some fucking wrestling already!"

"Daddy, can I stay up and wait for Santa tonight?" asked Freddy.

"NO! Go away!" replied Dad.

Freddy started to sniffle a little as Mom Durst walked in, nearly as baked as the cookies on the tray she was carrying.

"Who wants some... COOKIES?" Mom asked cheerfully.

"Cookies!! Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" exclaimed Freddy. "Hey daddy, you want a cookie?"

"Damn it boy, quit distracting me! I'm trying to watch a very important TV program here!" shouted Dad.

"But Dad..." whined Freddy.

"I said quit distracting me! You can take that cookie and shove it up your... Yeah! Stone Cold just piledrived that sonofabitch!"

Freddy looked over at Mom Durst, who was staring at her hand.

"Mommy, can I stay up and wait for Santa Claus tonight?" Freddy asked quietly.

"Ask your father, Freddy," replied Mom.

Freddy sighed and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. Opening his window, he reached out his arm and caught a snowflake.

"I hope Santa brings me lotsa cool presents this year," Freddy whispered. "Of course he will." Then he crawled into bed and went to sleep.

Meanwhile, at the North Pole...

Santa sat back in his chair and looked over his list of all the kids who were nice and who were naughty over the past year. When he got to the "naughty" list, he noticed that Freddy Durst's name was right at the top.

"Ah, right where it should be," muttered Santa. "That motherfucker."

After checking the list twice, he got to his feet and headed for the door.

"I have a special little surprise for the Dursts this year. Mwahahahaha!" Santa cackled, and grabbed his bag of presents. He was just about to open the door when he had a sudden realization.

"Shit, I almost forgot my NIN CD's!" he exclaimed. "It's gonna be a long night."

Santa hopped in his sleigh, popped The Fragile into the CD player, and flew off into the night. He stopped at homes all around the world, giving the good children their dolls, train sets and Sega Dreamcasts, and giving the bad children lumps of coal and used prophylactics.

Santa checked his map, and realized he was nearing the town of Trendyville. He would be arriving at the Dursts' house any moment now. He opened the glove compartment and retrieved his Glock. A few minutes later, he touched down on the Durst roof.

After peeking down the chimney and assuring that the coast was clear, Santa squeezed his fat ass down through the fireplace and into the Dursts' living room. The Christmas tree stood in the far corner, aglow with crappy flickering lights and a crooked star.

"I'll teach these assholes to fuck with Nine Inch Nails," Santa said to himself as he withdrew the box filled with TNT and set it gently under the tree. Suddenly, he heard a creaking sound behind him and spun around to see Freddy Durst standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Santa, is that you?" Freddy asked, rubbing his eyes.

"No, it's John Goodman," sneered Santa. "Of course it's Santa! Now get the hell back to bed!"

"I thought you were nice," whined Freddy. "I thought you liked me! said that I'm leading rock music into the next milennium, and that Trent Reznor ain't revelant!"

", eh?" replied Santa. "I'm surprised they ever get anything done in there, considering how much time they spend sniffing angel dust and giving each other hand jobs. Ho ho ho!"

"What's a hand job?" asked Freddy.

"No time for that, Freddy boy!" shouted Santa as he flew back up the chimney. "I've got to get the hell out of here! See ya in the next life, kiddo!"


See you in 2000.

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