To Freely Give; My Xmas Gifts


So. Thankfully there are but two days left in 2011. I have a personal tradition that has been with me for the last fifteen years wherein (in which?) I will basically do anything I am asked that makes sense to me. If you ask me to watch your cat over the Xmas holidays, I’m cat watching. If you ask me to try the special sushi roll over to the Japanese place, I’m trying the special. Need someone to fetch giant-sized condoms by the case—I’m your man if you only make the effort to ask me.

I started this fifteen years ago as my personal response to the crass commercialization of Xmas. I decided to do favors instead of buy presents, and I limited my giving of purchased presents to a very few. I decided to do this without telling anyone—another shake of my figurative finger in the face of Xmas excessivenesses. I wanted to do nice things for people simply because they asked me to do so.

I start on December 115th each year and continue throughout the month to the 31st. As I said, I’ve done this for fifteen years and nobody caught on to what I’ve been up to. Or so I thought.

My mother stopped asking me to go to church decades ago, and no, this isn’t my ADHD slipping gears on us. Mother is a dedicated Baptist and enters her church’s doors every time they get unlocked. She dragged my ass with her the first thirteen years of my life until I put my foot down and refused to go. She spent a decade attempting to get me back inside routinely, and then a couple years asking/demanding sporadically, and then she just gave up. Mother tried and tried and finally tired of the effort.

I start my personal pilgrimage to good tidings by going to the bank on the 15th where I get a big wad of twenty-dollar bills. I put a dozen or so into my shirt pocket and stuff the rest into my jeans. Or shorts when the weather is nice. I wear shorts anytime I can. Then, whenever I see a person on a street corner with his hand out and every time I see a person collecting for a charity, I give a twenty-dollar bill.

This would include at McDonalds at the box sitting by the register for Ronald McDonald House, and it would include the tip jar at Starbucks. Eight people at the intersection—that’s $160.00. Salvation Army bell ringer—Twenty buckeroos. I’ll tip 50% if I dine out, and when I go to the grocery I’ll find a kid to carry whatever bag/bags I have and give him/her a double sawbuck.

I’m a non-denominational free-giver both of money to the needy and gifts of my efforts to the rest of the world. This hasn’t presented too many problems to me over the years, but there was this one time back in December 2000 when I pulled over for a hitch hiker who was on his way to Costa Rica.

Then the other day I was over to the Whole Foods, the one there to the Arboretum, and I was wearing my hot pink “Fuck Rick Perry” tee shirt as I stood in line at the butcher counter. When I stand in lines at Xmas time, I always let others go ahead of me. Unless, of course, they ask me to go ahead of them. Again, this giving dealie of mine is doing what is asked of me.

Sister likes Whole Foods spicy chicken Italian sausage links and like I said, I was standing in line in my hot pink “Fuck Rick Perry” tee shirt. You can buy your own hot pink “Fuck Rick Perry” tee shirt by either clicking over there ===}}} to the merchandise linkster or by clicking up there ^^^^^ to my Store Bar. Dustin the webber guru fixed my store button.

A lady walked over to stand beside me to browse the meat case. When I told her to, “Please go ahead,” she answered by saying, “Why thank you, sir. That’s a very pink shirt. Most men wouldn’t be caught dead in a hot pink shirt.”

“Well,” I answered, “I’m not most men.” That’s right, folks, Mooner Johnson is a quick wit.

She placed her order—three pounds of free range natural ground beef, twelve slices of apple smoked bacon and two ribeye steaks. The steaks were just natural beef and not free range which confused the shit out of me, so I asked her. “Why not free range and natural steaks like the ground beef?”

She turned to face me and said, “Well, sir, I have discovered that the free range steaks are a bit…” She paused as she studied the large print on the front of my shirt. “Does that say what I think it says?”

I looked down to be certain my memories of having dressed myself stood the test of time. I had debated which tee shirt to wear at what times today. “Well, darling, if you think it says “Metallica Forever” I decided to wear that one at dinner tonight. But if you think it says “Fuck Rick Perry” then we have us a winner.”

I could tell she wanted to slap me. I guess she didn’t because I let her cut in line. She did say, “You can kiss my ass, mister. Governor Rick Perry is a fine Christian man.”

Ooo, a request for personal services. “Well, Ma’am, if you’ll whistle so I know which end to kiss, I’ll be happy to fulfill your request.”

“Oh, you are disgusting. Go to hell,” and with that she huffed off without her ribeye steaks.

“Happy to oblige that request also. My own mother has already reserved my spot at the Devil’s right hand.”

Which brings me back to the original message I had to tell you. We’re sitting at lunch Wednesday and I’m giving Gram all kinds of happy grief about how she’s hogging Mr. Dave’s giant pecker and not sharing it like a good Baptist woman should, and especially at Xmas time. It was a good-hearted banter and Gram took it for about the first thirty minutes. After I gave the subject a final barb, my wonderful old grandmother turned to me with an impish smile, then turned to Mother and said, “Mother, why don’t you ask Mooner to go to church with you this evening?”

Like I said, only two more days of my freely giving what is asked of me. I just finished waxing Gram’s Ferrari so she can troll for college kids for New Years, I reorganized all the cabinets in her bathroom and I’ll be fixing her favorite dishes for dinner.

Next year, I’m limiting my free giving to acts not asked as blackmail. Manana, y’all.

Print Friendly

11 Responses to “To Freely Give; My Xmas Gifts”

  1. squatlo says:

    So you’ve still got two more days on this “do whatever is asked of me” dealie? Hey, Mooner, how ’bout you clean out our gutters and give ’em a good bleach-and-pressure-wash while you’re on the laddrer? I’d do it myself, but I just heard about this guy in Texas who can’t help himself this time of year, feels obligated to do kind deeds. I hate to let a guy like that idle away his hours looking for old women to offend at Whole Foods.
    By the way, you wouldn’t get a second glance for an insulting Rick Perry shirt up here. Most middle Tennesseans don’t have a clue who your governator is or why he needs a good group fuck. BUT, the word “fuck” itself would get you a load of shit every time you wore it in public here. Just like your “CAPCHA” police, we have community standards that defy reason. You can wear your sidearm to church, wear a KKK hat into Tractor Supply, or wear your emotions on your sleeve, and no one will say a peep about any of it. But you print out the word “fuck” and display it where young eyes and Babtists might see it, and boy howdy! are you in for an earful of misery.
    You know why Babtists in Tennessee don’t make love standing up? They’re afraid someone will see them and think they’re dancing.

    The buckets and hoses are behind the house. When you get done with the gutters, c’mon in and Cindy will toss you a fleece blanket to warm up under!

    Adios, and Happy New Year, Don!!! (and FUCK RICK PERRY)

  2. squatlo says:

    Hey…. the CAPCHA thingie didn’t kick in on the word “fuck”. What the fuck? Bet the word “porn” still gets it excited, though.

  3. squatlo says:

    Yep, “PORN” gets screened, “FUCK” gets a pass. BTW, your CAPCHA made me type in “ragman ferber”. Is that significant if you’re a James Ferber fan?

  4. chrisinphx says:

    Whistle so I know which end to kiss…..COMIC GOLD! I can just see her face, same as the old people behind me in traffic when they read your bumper sticker, never fails to get a giggle out of me and a big ol smile in the rear view.

  5. admin says:

    Squat. OK first, for some reason the entire first paragraph of your comment is scrambled. It appears you want me to scrape and bleach your bladder. Seriously? Do I use a paint scraper or would that little tool the oral hygenist used to scrape tarter off teeth work better?

    Sometimes I think your Tenny redneck right-wing Christian fuckballs are fuckballier than ours here in TeXmas. We finally have enough straight thinking persons here to inhibit the wearing of KKK gear to anything but a planned event with police protection.

    As for my CAPCHA dealie, go fucking figure. Maybe if I write P orn with a space I can sneak it through.

  6. admin says:

    Squat. That worked. Fuck CAPCHA and Prick Perry too! Porno, porno and more PORNO!

    Chris. The bumper stickers are priceless. Brandon from Idaho designed the lettering to make you study it to be able to read it. I love watching as they squint to study it and then either smile broadly or look like they just swallowed a mouthful of green persimmons.

  7. admin says:

    Everybody. CAPCH just told me that porno was in my post and made me type, and I shit you not, “ffin3D who”.

    Somewhere there’s this nerdy little fucker with Coke bottle glasses just laughing his balls off. Random generators my rosy red ass.

  8. squatlo says:

    Uh,… nay bladder scrapin’ way, Mooner, bud. Nevermind entirely. Got a cold chill just thinking about you coming this way with a wire brush and a pair of pliars.

    The CAPCHA gods are crazy.

  9. Granny Ook says:

    Mooner, good on you for your jen-u-wine holiday spirit. (And the rest of the year you just tell everyone who wants a favor to eff off, right? HA! I bet you are a soft touch year round.)

    Don’t you just love the expressions on people’s faces when they look at the bills?

    Last year I stopped at a red light just past a guy standing in the intersection island of the street. He looked to be early 30’s, shabby clothes, with the standard crudely-lettered cardboard sign. But what got to me was his expression of resigned misery- as if he not only had no hope, but had never had any hope. He was staring down at the ground, not trying to make eye contact with anyone in the cars.

    I scrabbled frantically in my wallet for the first bill I could find before the light changed, and then, because he was behind my car, had to unfasten my seat belt and lean out to call to him. It was wonderful how his face lit up, but the best thing of all was that I could see that the driver of the car behind me was waving a bill out the window too. A two-fer!

    At least he had one good day. And it made my day too.

  10. Granny Ook says:

    Another thought, Mooner…

    I doubt you need to worry about your mother inviting you to church any time soon- She evidently reads this blog, and after your epic beatdown on the Pope recently, she’s probably mortally afraid that you would show up in the “Fuck Rick Perry” pink T-shirt and shorts, cuss out the preacher for the shortcomings of his sermon, his church and his morals, and then moon the congregation.

  11. admin says:

    Squat. OK, as you wish. I had the sewer snake and brillo pads packed for the trip east.

    Granny. Gratitude is, I think, the most human expression we have. I’ve been in a pretty sloppy emotional state myself for this entire year but when I see tears of gratitude I’m warmed right down to my cockles.

    As for my church behaviours, even as a child I called out dumbass rhetoric. Mother wishes I would attend and I think is glad I don’t.

Leave a Reply