You know how I feel about Christmas. It’s a single Christian holiday on the 25th of December, and that means that at no point in the entire month should you ever say anything to anyone that can even be liberally interpreted as a wish to enjoy a different holiday.
Christmas owns December. If you’re some other holiday, then screw you, cause this is America. And don’t try any of that all-inclusive Happy Holidays crap either, because that’s just like slapping Christmas in the face. Christmas is serious and insecure and all-powerful. If you even tell your pal Charlie Happy Birthday three weeks before Christmas, then you’re at War with Christmas. So like, shut up.
But sometimes, Christmas hits back. Like for instance on actual Christmas day, when a lot of stores are closed. And it’s that time of the morning when you just realized that you’re out of beer, and you think, man, I never should have said Happy Hanukkah to that dude with the funny hat last week, cause now Christmas is mad at me, and it’s making it so no one will sell me beer.
Maybe you’re unfamiliar with that particular type of Christmas wrath, because maybe you live in a city, where there are plenty of gas stations and Kwik-E-Marts where you can go and buy all the beer you want from a colorful nose ring guy, or a Muslim, or a robot, or an ex-convict. This futuristic world we live in rocks, even if the cars don’t fly and the air is orange and nobody lives on Mars.
But see now I’m losing my whole train of thought. If you were out in the middle of Oregon and there was only one store, and you went to get your traditional Christmas Morning case of Keystone, and you found the store locked up tight, then I guess Christmas kicked your ass that year – and you probably deserved it, saucy.
Unless of course you are the type of Christmas warrior who – like Captain Kirk – doesn’t like to lose.
Well these guys from Oregon certainly weren’t going to sit there and take it, that’s for sure. Watch who you’re smacking around, Christmas, because some guys out there will hit you back.
These particular guys – in this article right here – approached it more like a problem than a denial. They said, well, the beer is in that building behind a locked door, and we’re out here, and exactly how much crap are we supposed to take from Christmas, anyway?
So they looked around and found a forklift nearby with the keys still in it – a War on Christmas Miracle!
I know that my old pappy used to tell me, son, you can solve an awful lot of logistic problems with a stolen forklift and old-fashioned gumption. And he was right. These guys simply blasted open the wall of the store and helped themselves to some festive, stolen beer – take that, Christmas!
It was nothing veteran Detective Sgt. David Kempas hadn’t seen before. The article quotes him as saying “I guess it was a Christmas Day beer run.”
Top notch work, right there – that’s why he makes the big bucks. I wonder if there’s a number for that, like an eight-forty-two or something. Yeah, looks like an eight-forty-two, Hank. Sure does, Dave.
Detective Kempas also went ahead and rounded out the moral/philosophical side of the story for us, too, letting us know that the lesson to be learned here is that you don’t want to leave your keys in your forklift.
You really don’t, either. I know it seems like no one’s going to start it up and drive it through any walls, but you never know, do you? What with Obamacare?
Anyway, I think that it was most likely the work of master housebreaker Santa Claus, though I’m not going to turn him in because I know how it is when you get off work and there’s no beer and the carryout doesn’t have a chimney.
I know, stealing is stealing and just because you’re Santa Claus doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. But really, what exactly do you have to do to get a beer around here if Santa Claus isn’t already doing it?
Now, of course a good solution is to secure all local forklifts, but there are other ways to break into a carryout, like you have your eight reindeer trash the place like a bunch of mobsters. Or you can simply employ a large rock to blast out the front window, if your reindeer are tired. And there’s no way to secure every single rock.
So the solution is of course for all carryouts to start leaving out a case of beer for Santa Claus in case he gets a hankerin’ for a cold one at the end of his shift, like the rest of us. I do understand that there’s no way to verify if it was actually him who came by and took the beer and not, say, me – but you know, there’s no way to verify he’s the one who ate the cookies by the fireplace, either. Stop making it more complicated than it needs to be.
Either the beer goes to Santa Claus, which is a win-win for you, cause he keeps track of that stuff. Or it goes to me or several problem-solving badasses from Oregon, which is still cheaper than a new wall and so also, again – a win-win.
The only way to lose is to keep locking up your beer, Scrooge. How’d that work out last time again?