Ave Discorida Vol. 1 Issue 3 The Christmas Issue Of Ave Discordia A Newspaper By The People For The People And About the People ”Nietzsche is Dead” -God Plus A Special Christmas Gift From The Ave To You... An Extra Two Top Ten Lists! Huzzah! It’s Christmas time. Everyone is thinking one thing. Top Ten Lists? We here at the Ave have come to the conclusion that you out in reader land favor our Top Ten Lists. We do however, wish to remind all of you that there is something more important than Top Ten Lists to this season (that’s right, David Letterman can go yank himself). The thing that is much more important is... an extra two Top Ten Lists. Reader land has spoken, and we deliver. As you go out in this Christmas Season, just remember, JITRFTS. In other words, “Jesus Isn’t The Reason. F*** This Season.” And the reason for the season: Capitalism. Fiscal Renumeration My problem: “the Christmas Season.” Why does it begin so early? Most shops are already selling Christmas “stuff” on Thanksgiving. They say that the biggest Christmas shopping day is the day after Thanksgiving. I can’t understand this. The day after Thanksgiving, I’m not interested in shopping. What preoccupies me is wondering whether I will ever be able to walk again after eight servings of pumpkin pie. And what about the “stuff” stores sell for Christmas? I don’t know about all you out there in reader land, but I don’t always purchase products at gift-giving time because they have, “Great Gift Idea!” emblazoned on the side of the box. It’s the same with every commercial holiday. “Buckshot- Perfect for Valentines Day!”; “Ex-Lax - Special Halloween Flavor!”; etc. It’s like the new diet craze: “New Lite Motor Oil- Low in Calories!” Friends, even this paper is propagating this vile commercialism. “The Christmas Issue” indeed. Nothing in this paper is really about Christmas. My article isn’t even about Christmas, and even I called it, “Perfect Gift Giving.” But I wouldn’t have brought all this up if I didn’t have an easy solution. Let’s drop all the pretenses. Let’s get the “truth-in-advertising” people out here. Packages and products would have to say what they really mean. “12 lbs. Ground Beef - Has Nothing To Do With Christmas, But We Need To Get Rid of It Because It’s Rancid.”; “This Package is Red and Green Because We Here in Marketing Thought We Could Sell More Of Our Product At Christmas.” We could even start calling Christmas, “Consumer Ploy #1.” I’m changing the title of this article to, “Ten Pounds of Crap in a Five Pound Bag.” Post It Notes To God's Secretary ~as trancribed by the Plutonium Prophet Clarice- Find out the deal with that Nietche, Niezthcie, ahh, whatever his name is! I hear he’s posting flyers that say “God is Dead”. I checked the roster, and he seems to be in heaven! Tell Mary to stop sneaking people in through the side gate. And while your at it, tell that lazy, shiftless Son of mine that while He may sit at My right hand, that does not mean He can put a beer coaster on His throne! Talk to Gabriel, and tell him to get a line to the Pope - we need more purposeless holidays so the Catholic kids get off school and will stay on our side until the Last Battle. Gabriel knows what to do--he made up that Advent crap, didn’t he? Other notes: the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are going to be at the track today, so I want $50 put on Famine. The seven-headed beast is frightening the Jews again-get Michael to fix that. There’s been some “666” graffiti in the bathrooms, so I need it cleaned up. I think we need to send some more scourges down upon hell...how do really nasty cold sores sound? Pick up my pinstripe suit from Archangel’s Laundry. Thanks babe. I’ll see you later on in the copy room for a little game of “Find the Holiest of Holies”. Later hun. ~~The Big Guy The Center for the Hackneyed Cliché by Yan the Chicken Lizard Well, I promised that I’d give you commercial clichés this issue, but the Editor, whom I strongly suspect is an alien (or a Nazi), has told me that my article has to be about Christmas, and that Wellington (damn his eyes) Beef had already written an article about commercialism at Christmas time. I thought that, instead of writing about commercials, I would save that article for a later issue and write about Christmas clichés instead (not to mention keeping my job.) With that small disclaimer, I shall proceed. Fruitcake. The cliché to end all clichés. Why is it that people feel compelled to send each other fruitcake? We lizards never do. Fruitcake is a very easy topic to write about. You can even use all the old clichés, such as, “the fruitcake that was never eaten”; “the fruitcake as hard as a rock”; and who could forget “the fruitcake that (so-in-so) saved and gave to someone else the next year.” I think I’ve covered the bases on fruitcake. Christmas Carols. Why, oh why, did you humans feel the need to invent these stupid songs? They make everyone around you run for cover, because frankly, on a scale of one to ten, most of you humans’ voices rank about a negative eight (and the scale of one to ten is a cliché in and of itself). Everyone knows the lyrics. “Oh little baby Jesus”; “the cold and snow”; “Ave Maria”; “holly, ivy, mistletoe, candles”; and so on. What about the carol all the human children sing about the snowman who comes to life (Rudolph, or something)? That song would give lizard children nightmares for weeks, and they might be emotionally scared for life. “Rudolph, the snowman, came to life and ate a bunch of lizard children. He still lurks out in the snow somewhere, waiting to grab you and devour you.” Great fun. By the way, need I point out that most Christmas cards are incredibly hackneyed? “Have a joyous Yule!” and so on. Thought not. Have a Merry Christmas, all you stupid humans, and remember: “Every time a bell rings,” I want to heave. Thank you, and Silent Night. Not Quite Ready For The Late Show by Not Quite Dave Letterman’s Writers Top Ten Things To Do With Broken Christmas Ornaments 10. Stuff it in a cheerleader’s bra. 9. Stuff it in a jock’s cup. 8. See if you can get your money back from Hallmark 7. Give them as gifts and tell your friends they’re expensive abstract art from New York. 6. Perfect the art of swallowing glass. 5. Learn how to spit the shards into peoples’ eyes. 4. Use the sharp points to lacerate your palms, feet, and right rib, then reenact the Crucifixion. 3. Carefully glue them back together, placing large quantities of explosive fertilizers inside. Give them to your teachers. 2. Use the blue and white ones as a festive trim around your menorah. 1. Add them to the recipe to make your fruitcake “extra crunchy”. Top Ten Rejected ‘Days of Christmas' 10. ‘7 pairs of skivvies’ 9. ‘12 Pounds of Fruitcake’ 8. ‘5 Tiny Pills’ 7. ‘3 Blind Mice’ 6. ‘8 pieces of Halloween candy’ 5. ‘2 Package Bombs’ 4. ‘11 Drunk Mariachi Trumpet Players’ 3. ‘4 Venereal Diseases’ 2. ‘10... Damn’ 1. ‘And Thanksgiving Leftovers’ Top Ten Signs You’re At The Wrong Christmas Mass 10. The priest is lighting a nine pronged candlestick, and all the men are wearing little caps on the back of their heads. 9. You mistook the sink for a holy water font and are now in the bathroom. 8. The priest asks if you will be donating any chickens for the sacrifice. 7. The priest has secretly switched the blood of Christ with vodka. Will the congregation notice? Let’s watch. 6. The Gospels Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John have been replaced with Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Lucifer, and Mephistopheles. 5. The priest is rambling on about nothing and won’t shut up (Sorry, that’s one of the top ten signs you ARE at a Christmas Mass). 4. There is no cross. 3. The cross is upside down. 2. The priest is talking about alien spirits known as Thantos and keeps mentioning a guy named “Hubbard”. 1. The body and blood of Christ taste awfully real. The Gift Giving Guide For Teachers By The Mysterious Mr. Pibb Need to suck up hard core, but aren’t a natural brown-noser? Need that extra “something” to pick up your grades (wink, wink), but just don’t have to guts to do it yourself? Then the Ave Discordia gift guide is right for you. Not only are we Goretti’s only Latin titled newspaper, but we also happen to have on staff me, The Mysterious Mr. Pibb, who derives pleasure from gift giving, among other things, and I am willing to help you with your gift giving this year. Just think of me as Santa, if Santa were a strange little man with a thing for leather. I’m no circus freak, but I've been known to sleep with some. Lets now go to our gift giving guide! I’m going to make this simple. If you want to be nice, buy chocolates or some apple/ bell/ schoolhouse-themed crap. If you want grades, that’s another story. That’s why The Mysterious Mr. Pibb is here to help. 1. Put a sizable donation ($50-$50,000) inside a plain brown bag. 2. Write intended teacher’s name on bag. 3. Place this bag with our informant named “Snounces” (you know who he/she is). Tap your nose three times, slap him across the face, and give him the password “Snickerdoodle”. Saying “Snickerdoodle” is not really necessary, but Snounces gets a real turn on from it (the slap should be self-explanatory). 4. After that, you’re done! We’ll make sure it gets out to the teacher of your choice, well wrapped with a pretty tag. If we don’t get the money to your teacher, then come find me, the Mysterious Mr. Pibb. I’ll be the one with the Harley tattoo and the bullwhip. I tend to stand out in a crowd. Bye now, and have a Merry (and masochistic) Christmas, and keep that money coming. Music of the Soul by Temp S. Fugit The Twelfth Step broke down on the long road my pain before my death behind sell my soul to save my self and everyone and I am blind took the shot to drive it home on the long road you get no peace blame my name for my selfish shame crave the pain crave release dragged my head to the gates of Hell step by step and mile by mile bloody bowl of brimming pain sit with it and rest awhile one more step to the path of grace and I dropped to way I bleed long road is winding away again and I obey the demon Need Educated Reading The Night Before Christmas by F. DeMorans Ph. D. Picture this: the house, the sleeping children, ma in her kerchief, the fireplace, the reindeer, the sleigh, etc. Well, we have obtained a special treat leaked from the Office of Special Prosecutor Kenneth Starr, concerning this special night, and it’s a wee bit racy. So batten down your hatches, deck your halls, and proceed with “The Night Before Christmas at the White House” at your own risk. ‘Twas the night before Christmas, And all through the House Not a creature was stirring, Not even Bill’s spouse. The stockings were hung On the back of a chair And the coats were cast off In the warm heated air. Bill’s daughter was tucked up All snug in her bed In So-Cal, “...so she won’t Interrupt us,” Bill said. And Monica whispered, “Let’s do it right here, Because, hey, we know the Secret Service is near.” So they both settled down To some Silent Night bumpin’ When Bill said to his partner “I think I hear sumpin’.” Then, what should their lying Eyes see from afar, But a big-ass Rolls-Royce And our hero, Ken Starr. He said “Hey there you scum,” As he jumped through the door. “I’ve come here to see If Impeachment’s in store. ‘Cause I’ve got a Starr witness Who has made me real pleased. You’re a bad president, And I hope you get cheesed.” So my dear boys and girls When you open your loot Just remember, for Christmas Old Bill C. got the boot. Now this doesn’t mean He won’t put up a fight, But we couldn’t care less, Screw him, and good night.