These shots are for my dear mom. Every year I endure my mom's Dickens Village. I always "get to" set it up. Dad won't do it. But he always finds something to black mail me with. Something I need, something that I can't say no to. Cash. A loan. My life. So each year I get stuck setting up the land that Christmas Time forgot. I feel like a traitor to all those poor men forever stuck and miserable in my mom's Christmas Village.
I see those bundled up women who control the village. Wearing like 50 layers of petticoats. They force ritualistic caroling on the men folk. There are no snowmobiles. There are no ski's. Its all about pain and darkness and Christmas Ghosts. Stuff like that. Not a bar in sight. Not one. Not even in mom's Christmas Lane Village, which seems stuck in the 50's-and I mean before Elvis. Christmas Lane stuff is all about tacky. Lots of kitch. The men folk in that place are also really depressed guys. As I put all the places in place, I imagine the men stuck in Christmas Lane land must have endured at least most of fall hunting season stringing up all those damn lights. In Christmas Lane Land not even SPIKE TV gets through.
So this year I did it. I created the ultimate Christmas Village for all the good Christmas Village men. It's done. A homeland for those that still believe in a Real Man's Christmas. In my land of ho ho ho there is no no no whinning, no no no pouting, and no no no sniffles. There's no place for Martha Stewart anything in this village. The men drink. They wear flannel and aren't ashamed of it. They snow board, they rodeo and they drive truck. No one has ever even heard of Dicken's in Totally, Not Tiny, Timville.
So mom...click on the pic. Feel the masculinity. Embrace the Peterbilt. And know that Christmas has so arrived. Complete with your son's blessing.
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