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December 2001

Download the word version, perfect for printing and handing out on street corners!
In this issue:    Harry Potter, Prince of Darkness! Star Trek! TV Terrors! PLUS: Coca Cola Christ! Literature! and What Ash Really Wants for Christmas!.
 
 
An Introduction from Ash


 
Guess what, kids? Since this issue is at least two weeks late, pushing us into mid-December, it means that issue 12 is the official Christmas edition of everyone's favorite hate-zine! I suppose that means that it should be full of love and cheer and the holiday spirit and all, but nuts to that. I hate Christmas, in the most foul, Ebenezer Grinchian possible way. It's not because I'm anti-religion or anything. Well, I am, but that's not why I hate Christmas. I mean, even I have to admit that as far as religious figures go, Santa Claus is a fairly inoffensive one. Sure, he rewards good children with Transformers and Tickle Me Elmos, which is kind of like heaven if you're six, but the worst he does to bad kids is leave them with a stocking full of coal, a punishment that is more confusing than mean-spirited, and is in any event much more pleasant than the eternity of torment promise by many of the other major religions. Also, Santa is definitely a more fun looking fellow, coming off all jolly and rouge, in stark contrast to many of the other images of god that float around our collective unconscious, from the scowling, many-armed Vishnu to the fruity 70s rocker visage of Jesus to the fearful countenance of the Easter Bunny. Sure, his fascination with putting strange children on his lap seems vaguely pedophilic, but in today's day and age of scantily clad 8-year-olds at Spice Girls concerts and sexually suggestive Britney Spears videos, kids are growing up so fast it barely even matters that Santa's probably diddling toddlers. Plus, as far as messiahs go, he doesn't seem particularly conducive to religious wars and the like, since nobody's going to fight to the death over a fat guy dressed like a candy cane, who, aside from the outfit, bares a striking resemblance to most liquor store hobos. So clearly religion is not the reason I despise Christmas. And it's certainly not that Christmas has gotten so commercial. Hell, I love commercials. In fact, Hostess-Frito Lay owns fifty-one percent of me, and is therefore my chief stockholder, making PULP essentially a billboard for Ruffles. No, what really bothers me about Christmas is those goddamn carols. While I was in Shopper's Drugmart the other day, trying to buy enough sedatives to sleep till March, they kept playing the same horrible Little Drummer Boy song over and over. I don't know about you, but Christmas carols make me want to shoot at people, so maybe playing them incessantly in public places isn't so good of an idea. But apparently, the risk of pumping shoppers so full of holiday cheer they start taking hostages is outweighed by the fact that carols occasionally make customers delirious enough to buy life-sized plastic reindeers festooned with 'festive' Christmas lights. If you're interested, they're beside the cash, right by the snack-food aisle. And while you're there, pick up some Ruffles.





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