In the latest one shot installment of Paul Dini's series about Santa's rebellious teenage daughter, her old Uncle Krampus, the imp who punishes the naughty children has become disillusioned with how Claus is running shit now. Apparently, all the little children of the world, who are no doubt all white just as this book claims, are all just passed off as nice and get presents from the jolly fat man. Holy Christmas it's just like America's public school system... NOBODY EVER FAILS! We just bump the little 'tards up to a 61% for effort and viola YOU PASS! That's a total lie, not all children in America's public school system are white. But while Krampus is pissed, Jingle or Jing to her witch friend has straight up had it. "But why?" you ask. That's a good fuckin' question. And since I have read the book, I am just the pigtailed munkey to answer that....
You see, after reliving the glory days of yore, when he was tag teaming with Kris (I think that's how you spell his name), Mrs. Claus, who is insanely hot for a very cartoonish character who is no doubt eons old, calls. For the only thing Krampus is qualified to do, settle a dispute. In this corner, weighing in at whatever the hell it said on the scale this morning. He is, Eisner knows how old and he stands shorter than he is wide...... the only man that's qualified to break into all your homes, steal food and leave sweat shop built gifts for you and you won't sue (cause he's white)....... SANTA CLAUS! And in this corner, probably up to no good while she's escaped from the frigid north (and not a "turkey's done" joke to be found). The bleached blond, pixie cut nymph...... JINGLE BELLE! Somebody's lying in this book and you guessed it, it's the old white guy who's never been wrong and apparently been called a saint. So, a while back, like almost last year, Jingle created a new doll for the now crowd of misanthrope, skinny jeans, striped shirt and scarf wearing, I stole a bunch of money from mom's purse to be able to afford this bottle of hair dye, and I hang out at ironically hip coffee houses with my friends and write shitty poetry as I stare at my boyfriend who's dressed just like me but wearing fake horn rimmed glassed that cost more than his P.O.S car. Seriously, it was a Bratz doll with attitude. Doesn't the Bratz doll already have attitude. I mean she was modeled after my Chicana raza mujeres. Ok, so old Santa, tells Jingle (god that's a great title but a fucking stupid name for a person) that the world isn't ready for this kind of toy.
I would just like to point out that while I write this review I am downing cans of Pabst Blue Ribbons and listening to SModcast episode 135: "Mos Chuisle").
So they call the evil goat guy to settle stuff. And he does by grounding them both. And now you don't need to read this book. You know unless you want to see the three panels of Jingle Belle in a striped bikini. The art is a lot of fun. And the writing is clever, at points. But this is nothing to write home about. I mean the bikini panels would have been so much better if when Claus yanks Jing from the sandy beach she was wearing a thong and he had given her a X Mas wedgie, but I mean that's just me and probably why I won't ever get to write or draw a mainstream comic unless someone is standing over me with a shotgun. But it would put asses in the seats.
So for this moment, I pick a moment, that's not really hardcore, but may have been shocking to some. The year was 1999. The promotion was ECW. And it pains me to say there was something in ECW that wasn't hardcore, but there were some, here and there. It was the PPV Guilty as Charged, and former heel referee Jeff Jones came out the ring wearing a judge's robe. With him in the middle of the ring stood, possibly the craziest mother fucker ever to wrestle in ECW, Kronus (formerly of the Eliminators with Perry Saturn). "Judge" Jeff Jones finds Kronus guilty of, fuck if I know... but he points his gavel (yeah he's carrying around a gavel, and not even a hilarious over sized gavel) towards the entrance way and out comes.... SID! As in Sid Vicous. As in Sid Justice. As in Sycho Sid!... and what happens when a near seven foot tall, greased up man with a combination Jew 'fro/mullet enters the ring? He powerbombs the shit out of everyone! And I do mean everyone... I mean yeah, monster enters the ring and destroys everyone. I get it. But seriously.... Sid Eudy? Seriously? The guy's almost older than Hogan and he's already made the grade for a previous review when he tried missle drop kicking Scott Steiner and broke his fucking leg! Or the time he made the review for his amazingly "realistic" punches. The guy does one thing right in his whole career, and it's possibly the lamest Goldberg ripoff angle in all of wrestling. Sorry Paul Heyman, but this time, Sid ain't "the man."
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