Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: A Sociological Dissemination


I feel it is my duty to call attention to the ‘most famous reindeer of all’, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Rudolph is the subject of a song I heard this morning, and know by heart, since I learned it 5,000 years ago. Like most people, I don’t listen to Christmas songs except at Christmas, and then, only because the radio transforms into a blithering, dithering idiot appliance, which spouts the same songs 250,398 and 1/2 times over a two month period.

The 1/2 occurs because of the international dateline and the longitudinal bypass of the periodontal tabulator. At 12:01 a.m., which is technically the day after Christmas, in many areas if a Christmas song is playing, it will suddenly stop, and that is the last of the songs until November.

After deep thought, lasting approximately thirty seconds, I have decided the song, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, is not suitable as a lesson for children, or shows a proper attitude toward Christmas. Let’s take a quick look at the first line for starters, which includes the names of the ‘other’ reindeer.

These are, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. Some of these names may appear at first to be innocuous, but consider Vixen. A vixen, despite some men using it in an affectionate and rueful way to describe a woman they lust after, means ‘a spiteful and mean female’.

Already, we are gaining insight into Santa’s character, and it isn’t pretty. Dasher sounds as if he has ADD, while Dancer and Prancer are iffy at best; what is Santa trying to say here? And when you get to Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen, you get a strange mix of household cleansers, mythological demi-gods, and putative members of the Communist Party.

The name Rudolph is a dead giveaway to Santa’s true proclivities and tendencies towards Communism. I’ll bet he is not capitalistic at all, as many Black Friday consumers, and big box retailers might imagine. I’m surprised he would bother coming here and taking a chance of getting stuck in anyone’s chimney. By and large, we are a democratic society, which Russia is supposed to be now, but I think we know better. Their leader was Putin office, and never left.

Santa is either being very magnanimous with his gift-giving to Americans, or else he is planting surveillance devices in our homes. On Christmas morning, I would advise that you check for any strange cockroaches with electronic boxes strapped to their backs, or moths who appear to be inordinately interested in your gasps of glee and what you are putting into your hot chocolate when you think no one is looking.

We have established that Santa is an agent for the KGB, which doesn’t exist anymore, supposedly. That’s what they want us to think, anyway. He may also be misogynistic.We have also established that his reindeer are undercover agents who chose really stupid cover names. Better they should have picked Steve, or Mike.

Rudolph had a very shiny nose, according to his biographer. This reindeer hit the bottle consistently for many years in order to achieve this kind of facial glow. A glow bright enough to cut fog. Do not invite this reindeer to your house if you don’t like drunks. He will embarrass you and the kids, especially if he is an uncle. He will crack dirty jokes and be the only one who laughs at them.

Rudolph may just be an unfortunate victim of severe rosacea (the typing monitor asked if I meant aerospace, instead of rosacea; why would Rudolph be an unfortunate victim of aerospace, unless Nasa engineers found a way to replace his bright, shiny nose on the sleigh, and retired him unceremoniously?). In that case, he is going down in history for having something no one else wants, but he did make lemonade from the lemons he was given, and deserves some credit for that.

The other reindeer however, are a bunch of kiss-ass, brown nosers. They never let Rudolph join in any reindeer games (which consist of what, I’d like to know; almost everyone could use a fourth for bridge, and presumably the other reindeer are unavailable at times for games) despite being Communists and demi-gods, who are supposed to be more equitably-inclined and charitable toward their fellow reindeer.

They didn’t like him simply because of his appearance, until Santa asked him to lead his sleigh on a foggy night. What, suddenly his nose is a positive thing, because the Big Guy asked for his help? Santa was ‘too busy’ before to check whether the reindeer in HIS OWN BACKYARD were ‘being nice’, but he can sure keep tabs on the rest of us billions. He could have posted some anti-bullying campaign posters around the North Pole, at the very least.

And why Santa never used Rudolph before on really dark nights, I don’t know. Communists are famous for saying ‘Each to his own talents or capacity’, or ‘Do what we say, or go to Siberia’, or something along those lines.

So, as you can see, I don’t think this song is either patriotic, or sociologically relevant to the season. I still like Rudolph, and I always have, despite my parents’ warnings about who to choose as friends. I thought his nose was useful for many things, mainly to shine a light on despicable reindeer behavior.


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Time Travel Really Takes Me Back

You never know if you’re coming or going with time travel. Nothing has confused me more since the VCR, which stood for Very Confusing Recorder. There was a time, at the dawn of civilization, about 1987, when you couldn’t watch whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. This is where the VCR came in handy. Understanding it, and setting it up to record could only be done by a monk who had been in seclusion for three months, and had eaten just a handful of seeds.

You had to be pure at heart to understand the VCR. Its mysteries will never be revealed, because they are stored in the vaults of the Vatican. The mysteries of time travel are not stored in the Vatican. They are stored in Hollywood, where occasionally, producers will go back in time and make a movie about time travel, because one was made in the future, and garnered them buckets of money, and made viewers crazy trying to figure it out.

In many of these movies, the main character, or characters, jump around in time and instead of doing something useful, like stopping Monsanto from incorporating, or knocking off Hitler when he a 15 year-old brat who thought he knew everything, they go meet their former selves. They warn this younger self against going to some stylist  that really messed up their hair for three months. What a bunch of dweebs.

If I could go back and meet my thirty year-old self, I’d stay there. I’d go back and talk to my grandparents, and tell them to invest in IBM and Standard Oil. For that matter, I’d go back and invest in IBM, myself. Of course, Feds from the future would try to get you for insider trading, so I’d make sure I had offshore accounts set up. The interest the money would earn alone, would set me up for life, or for as long as I could jump back and forth in time, aiming for when I was at my perfect weight, of course.

And, if the parameters of time travel allowed it, I’d go back to when I was thirty, at my perfect weight, and the time lovemaking was absolutely perfect. You know that time, that one or two times in our entire lives when everything went just right?

In one time travel movie, organized crime hires a bunch of guys who are called loopers, and can transport themselves through time, and commit crimes. They get paid a lot for this, but the catch is they have to kill their own selves thirty years in the future. Just when they are ready to relax and enjoy their ill-gotten gains, they have to die. Why wouldn’t they just jump back into the past, or way into the future, to avoid this fate, or get this, go back and check out who wins the Super Bowl, and then bet on it.

I’ll tell you what’s really strange. I typed this post yesterday, and today it had disappeared. I could not find it anywhere, and I always ‘save’ when I’m writing. This has never happened to me before.

Where did the original post go? Am I not supposed to know about these things? Are monks watching me even as we speak? If this version isn’t here tomorrow, I’ll know I’m on to something. If you don’t hear from me again, tell my story, now, and in the future.


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Phobias Don’t Scare Me, Unless I Have One. Do I? Is One Crawling Up My Back? Tell Me!!!

People don’t like to be told they are ‘phobic’. It doesn’t matter what the phobia is; if you tell them they are something-o-phobic, they will immediately go out and try to prove you wrong. I think they are Phobiaphobic, but I’m not a doctor, so I can’t diagnose. I know there should be a Malpracticesuitaphobia, but I can’t find it.  Agateophobia is the fear of insanity, and if you diagnosed someone with it who was really just afraid of being irritable, that might drive them crazy.

Phobias exist from A to Z, the last ones being zelophobia, a fear of jealousy, zeusophobia, a fear of God or gods, zemmiphobia, a fear of the great mole rat, and zoophobia, a fear of animals. The Great Mole Rat has his own designation, because he is The Great Mole Rat, doncha know. Maybe he came from the Peanuts comic strip, and only appears at Halloween. No wonder people are afraid of him. He probably ate the Great Pumpkin.

Zelophobia needs further clarification; does it mean fear of your own jealousy, or fear of some husband or wife who is going to nail your butt to the wall for flirting with their spouse? (Envy is something altogether different; it just means you are afraid the neighbors have better furniture than you do.) Zeusophobia may apply only to Greeks, but I suspect it is for everyone, because  if you don’t fear an all-powerful Being, you are unhealthily complacent.


Does it only take one person to inaugurate a new phobia, or do several people have to share your irrational fear for it to be recognized as reliable? If I have a fear of getting ink on my fingers from reading the newspaper, is that enough to get me a place in the textbooks? I think it should. In fact, I’ll write to the Op-Ed page about it.

Xanthophobia is the fear of the color yellow or the word yellow. A few colors seem to strike the fear of Zeus into people. (For instance, people who paint their houses bright purple are terrorized before they leave Home Depot.)

‘You’re yella’, the cowboys used to shout at some hapless brethren who had a sensible fear of getting shot or trampled by cattle. Could it be those name-calling cowboys’ fault that the color of sunshine, butter, and daisies is now reviled from here to the corral by some unfortunate scaredy-cat?


Xenoglossophobia is the fear of foreign languages. Is a Spanish speaker afraid of hearing English, and an English speaker afraid when they hear Spanish? That would be a big problem in this country, but I have no statistics as to how many Hispanics are running in fear down the street. I thought it may have been due to other societal factors, but I am not afraid to be wrong.

All kinds of people could be running down the street in abject fear, and not knowing why. They may be xenophobic, which is a fear of strangers and foreigners, but are they also afraid of foreign languages? Perhaps that is only a hold-out from high school when they failed their French class, and they are not dealing with multiple fears which involve people who eat caviar, shiokara, or balut.

(For those not in the know, and I wish I wasn’t, shiokara is the delicacy of a developing duck embryo boiled alive, and balut is composed of marine animals stewed up in their own organs.) So, those unfortunate xenophobes may also have blennophobia, a fear of slime, and those who like to consume it.


There’s also Russophobia, which is a fear of Russians. Why do they get their own fear, instead of the general one of someone who’s afraid of foreigners? Damn commies. There is also bolshephobia, which is a fear of Bolsheviks, so the Russians get it coming and going. And that’s the fear of ending up exactly where you started, or of having to go in and out of the house because you forgot something after you’ve locked the front door, and started the car.

Barophobia is the fear of gravity. Now, these people have a real problem. Whereas, the rest of us don’t generally like to be belted into our La-z-Boys, or having to hold on to the sides of the bed when reclining, they try to levitate their way out of their anxieties. They need to get over it, perhaps by developing basophobia, a helpful transitional fear of falling down. That will get them to stay in their seats.


Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia, a very looong word, is the fear of long words. Don’t even talk about this to your doctor, especially if you have a fear of words, logophobia.

Rhytiphobia is the fear of wrinkles (one I am familiar with) and looks very similar to rhypophobia, a fear of defecation. Do not forget which is which when discussing these with your doctor. They affect the opposite ends of the human body, unless you are afraid of getting a wrinkled butt.  The wrinkled butt fear may have developed at the same time as your kathisophobia, a fear of sitting down.


There are phobias that seem to mean the same thing, most dealing with sex and body parts. I guess its always possible to kiss, but be mortally afraid of someone going to second, third, and home base.  There’s sarmassaphobia, which is a fear of love-making, and phallusophobia is a fear of penises. (Peni?) However, medorthophobia is the fear of an erect penis. Why would you be afraid of any other kind?

Virginitiphobia is the fear of rape, and I am here to tell someone that you don’t have to be a virgin to have a healthy fear of rape. Sexophobia is the fear of the opposite sex, as if that’s all it takes to have sex. There is also the fear of virgins, parthenophobia, exhibited by the same people who brought you medorthophobia.

There are only two fears that start with ‘W’, and one is Walloonphobia, fear of the Walloons. At first glance, I thought this had something to do with Dr. Seuss and his infamous Walloons on Mulberry Street. Before I could type in ‘what are the Walloons’ in a Google search, a ready-made phrase popped up saying, ‘What the hell are the Walloons?’.

Obviously, someone has a fear of not knowing what the Walloons are. (That hasn’t made the list, yet.) I don’t exactly have a fear of fearing Walloons, or a fear of offending those who have a fear- Oh, never mind. As long as my scriptophobia, a fear of writing in public, doesn’t start to act up.

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Getting Fingered By the Cops For Violence and Anti-Social Behavior, and Why Harvard Guys Can’t Get a Date

My parents made me the proud owner of a set of Nancy Drew mysteries, Pick-Up Stix, and a Mr. Potato Head when they should have been grooming me for football.  Based on the length of my ring finger, which is slightly longer on both hands than my index finger, I quite possibly have tendencies for stimulation-seeking, hyperactivity, low empathy, and aggressive behaviors. Does that describe a full-back, or what?

Athletes, especially the really successful ones, have longer ring fingers relative to their index fingers.This is a sure sign of anti-social tendencies, according to a book I’ve been reading about Violence, and Why We Like It So Much.

Dallas Cowboys v New York GiantsSeeing as how I am sitting peacefully at my laptop writing a sweet little blog post about violence and anti-social tendencies, I don’t see the connection. However, I will wait to check out your finger lengths before I venture down a dark alley with you. I insist you remove your gloves.

This book suggests that before you decide to keep a child you have had in your house for six or seven years, you should check out their finger length, take their pulse, and then do a brain scan, using the standard household CAT scan machine. You probably keep it in the dining room, or next to your weights in the garage.

If this potential serial killer you have been harboring and feeding PB and Js to, has a lot of pre-frontal (that means ‘before the front’) white matter in his brain, a low heart rate, and a long ring finger, then you should immediately call your local attorney’s association and see how much they charge to defend elementary school students.  Or, start early, and for his baptism gift, get him a good defense attorney who doesn’t mind changing diapers.These three physiological signs are indicators of possible future psychopaths and someone who likes anti-social behaviors, like fighting, robbing banks, or drinking right out of the milk carton.

All is not lost, though. Try not to have an unstable home environment, and put this kid in a sport. If he keeps his eye on the ball, so to speak, he could become rich, famous, and a great athlete like OJ Simpson. No, wait. Like, Michael Vick. No, not him. Like, Lawrence Phillips. Oh, never mind. I’m sure he can find someone to emulate; someone who is not in prison, perhaps. A kinder, gentler athlete.

The book doesn’t say that your kid will absolutely go down the wrong roads should he have all these physiological signs. However, men with longer ring fingers are more likely to be violent toward their romantic female partners. Just something to think about next time you find yourself in a single’s bar checking out what’s available.Try to hold hands with as many men as possible, and unobtrusively take their pulse.They won’t take it amiss, I promise.

What about women with long ring fingers? Women use one or more of their fingers to express feelings of outrage and aggression in a safer, more visual way. They also do sneaky things, like put hot pepper in your mascara, or anti-freeze in the meatloaf. Some of them will beat the hell out of you, like a man, but that is because they were raised on hormone-laden milk.

Before you give your child up for adoption because he is sure to ax you in your bed one night, remember that men become leaders of countries because they are all aggressive in one way or another. You cannot be a leader of country if you are a peaceful person like Ghandi. Oh, wait.

Actually, an excellent example is Ghandi, who despite his disguise of diapers and a bald head, was not really a baby. He did have a low heart rate. This kept him passive-aggressive, and let him walk around India rather than jog. The British never saw him coming. They would just joke about him in that snooty British way, and have a cup of tea, while Ghandi took back the country. And like OJ, he had a successful commercial career after becoming famous, including the one for diapers: For Peace of Mind, Use Non-Aggressive Depends.

In other studies about violence, scientists used Harvard students, where males and females were pitted in war games. Unfortunately, these were real war games, and Harvard has been busy ever since writing apology letters to parents of smart kids. The students did manage to capture Boston, and split it into two new states, where the flags are pink and blue, respectively.

In the studies, the male students launched more unprovoked attacks than female students. This is why at Harvard, the guys don’t get laid as often as guys at Yale, for instance. Attacks against female students should be neither provoked, nor unprovoked, if you want to raise that low heart rate on a Friday night, if you get my drift.The female country’s slogan, writ large on their pink flag, is ‘Don’t Expect Sex, Ever Again’.

A low heart rate, by the way, is probably why long-fingered guys are seeking stimulation in dangerous and unconventional ways. Their hearts aren’t giving it to them, and now, neither are the girls.

The ring finger that is longer than the index finger is the mark of Cain, and we know what he did. A long ring finger in itself doesn’t cause crime, unless you are like the guy in ‘Army of Darkness’ and your severed hand is provoking you to do naughty things. Maybe by crooking a finger at you, and then pointing to a safe in the wall.

Higher testosterone levels in utero are responsible for the digit length difference. There is a correlation between women who smoke during pregnancy and longer digit length in their children. Women who smoke apparently have more testosterone, and the smoking blocks estrogen from the fetus. My mom never smoked however, so she may be the exception that proves the earth really is flat.

If you want to find out just how bad smoking is, because you don’t believe any scientist, especially those who work for Monsanto, try lighting up in public when you have a belly the size of Trinidad. (You don’t have to really be a pregnant woman for this, you just have to play one on TV. You don’t even have to be a woman. Just be sure and put your finger over your mustache.)

You will not be in the dark for long about the dangers of smoking. The Pregnancy Police, who have been cited on more than one occasion for attacking first and asking questions later, will be on top of you like linebackers on a quarterback.  In fact, after they get off of you, make sure you still have your baby intact inside your stomach. They may have taken it like a football, and are even now running down the street, waving the baby in triumph. The baby is already ticked, because he was just trying to have a smoke in peace.

(This technique works for other things, also, such as whether you want to find out if a glass of wine with dinner would be ok.)

woman smoking

Smoking could be considered anti-social behavior in itself. So, if you are pregnant, and want to make sure you will be posting bail and finding attorneys on Saturday nights for that kid who is already wearing a skull ring when he’s five, then by all means, have a smoke.

Well, they told us a long time ago that cigarettes had a symbolic meaning. We also know they have negative health effects on the general public’s tolerance level, and that you can be ‘fingered’ for a lot more than just bad behavior.


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