I may have mentioned in the past that I'm not a fan of stupid Christmas specials. One of the worst offenders, of course, is 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.
Surely you've seen this insipid tale of a clockmaker with a rodent problem. Joshua Trundle and his family, who all have ridiculously huge ears, painfully pointy chins, and bigger teeth than the Kennedy clan, discover that Santa is returning all of their letters unopened. How can this be? What's going on?
Turns out the family of mice Trundle's been breeding in his walls contains a pretty obnoxious rodent named Albert who managed to offend Santa Claus with his snotty attitude. Had Trundle put out some rat poison like every other normal human being who finds mouse droppings in the pantry, this problem would've never happened. But noooo, Trundle fancies himself the Mouse Whisperer or something, and actually lets these creatures run rampant throughout the house. You're creating your own problems there, Bucktooth.
Apparently, Albert the Mouse wrote a letter to the paper saying Santa was a fraud. Perhaps you're asking, Why does a mouse even care about Santa? Or even, Who taught a mouse to write? I'd personally be thinking Hold the poison, I think I might be able to make a few bucks off of this talking, writing rat, but that's just me. Trundle thinks none of these thoughts. Instead, he decides to solve the problem by building Santa a singing clock.
Now, everybody with half a brain knows that Santa is absolutely open to bribery, if you've got the right goods. Namely, cookies and milk, and maybe a carrot for Rudolph thrown in for good measure. Not, I repeat, NOT, a singing clock. Doesn't matter anyway--Albert, the obnoxious twerp that he is, breaks Trundle's clock before the hands can even be set to the correct time.
Albert's father is not amused. Papa Mouse drags his rotten little son to a children's hospital, where all of the sick kids are sobbing because Santa's throwing a temper tantrum over Albert's letter. Does this impressive guilt trip cause Albert to repent? Heck no. However, when he overhears Bucktooth singing a song about miracles needing a hand, he melts like butter. What a load of crap. You've got a budding psychopath on your hands there, Papa Mouse.
Albert races to fix the clock before midnight. He fails, but at 12:01 AM, the song starts playing, wooing Santa back to town. Kids are cheering in the streets, which makes me wonder what the heck is wrong with the parents in Junctionville. Why is your kid even up at 12:01 AM, and outside in the streets wearing nothing but pajamas? It's freezing out! You are a BAD PARENT. Nobody in your house deserves a visit from Santa.
Santa comes anyway, which just exemplifies why this whole story is terrible. One little mouse writes a snotty letter and Santa's willing to pout like a petulant child and cut off the whole town from Christmas, but every single parent allows their brats to run rampant in the streets on Christmas Eve, and they're rewarded for it? Not to mention the little whiners in the children's hospital bawling all day. I don't think so. Santa will give you something to cry about. Personally, I'd like to think Santa has higher expectations than that for all of us.
What I'd like to see in this crappy holiday tale is a happy ending. Like, for instance, if Santa gifted the Trundle family with a nice new cat. Say, perhaps, one that comes from a long line of expert mousers.
Surely you've seen this insipid tale of a clockmaker with a rodent problem. Joshua Trundle and his family, who all have ridiculously huge ears, painfully pointy chins, and bigger teeth than the Kennedy clan, discover that Santa is returning all of their letters unopened. How can this be? What's going on?
Turns out the family of mice Trundle's been breeding in his walls contains a pretty obnoxious rodent named Albert who managed to offend Santa Claus with his snotty attitude. Had Trundle put out some rat poison like every other normal human being who finds mouse droppings in the pantry, this problem would've never happened. But noooo, Trundle fancies himself the Mouse Whisperer or something, and actually lets these creatures run rampant throughout the house. You're creating your own problems there, Bucktooth.
Apparently, Albert the Mouse wrote a letter to the paper saying Santa was a fraud. Perhaps you're asking, Why does a mouse even care about Santa? Or even, Who taught a mouse to write? I'd personally be thinking Hold the poison, I think I might be able to make a few bucks off of this talking, writing rat, but that's just me. Trundle thinks none of these thoughts. Instead, he decides to solve the problem by building Santa a singing clock.
Now, everybody with half a brain knows that Santa is absolutely open to bribery, if you've got the right goods. Namely, cookies and milk, and maybe a carrot for Rudolph thrown in for good measure. Not, I repeat, NOT, a singing clock. Doesn't matter anyway--Albert, the obnoxious twerp that he is, breaks Trundle's clock before the hands can even be set to the correct time.
Albert's father is not amused. Papa Mouse drags his rotten little son to a children's hospital, where all of the sick kids are sobbing because Santa's throwing a temper tantrum over Albert's letter. Does this impressive guilt trip cause Albert to repent? Heck no. However, when he overhears Bucktooth singing a song about miracles needing a hand, he melts like butter. What a load of crap. You've got a budding psychopath on your hands there, Papa Mouse.
Albert races to fix the clock before midnight. He fails, but at 12:01 AM, the song starts playing, wooing Santa back to town. Kids are cheering in the streets, which makes me wonder what the heck is wrong with the parents in Junctionville. Why is your kid even up at 12:01 AM, and outside in the streets wearing nothing but pajamas? It's freezing out! You are a BAD PARENT. Nobody in your house deserves a visit from Santa.
Santa comes anyway, which just exemplifies why this whole story is terrible. One little mouse writes a snotty letter and Santa's willing to pout like a petulant child and cut off the whole town from Christmas, but every single parent allows their brats to run rampant in the streets on Christmas Eve, and they're rewarded for it? Not to mention the little whiners in the children's hospital bawling all day. I don't think so. Santa will give you something to cry about. Personally, I'd like to think Santa has higher expectations than that for all of us.
What I'd like to see in this crappy holiday tale is a happy ending. Like, for instance, if Santa gifted the Trundle family with a nice new cat. Say, perhaps, one that comes from a long line of expert mousers.
See what I mean?
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