Baubles have evolved a lot over the years, but they originated as spherical traps people hung on tree branches in order to catch forest pixies. People were curious, that's all. They wanted to see what pixies were all about. And they almost always remembered to put air-holes in the baubles.
Modern-day Christmas baubles are usually hollow, but 98% of them do not contain pixies.
Functionally, they bear little resemblance to their original purpose, as magical prisons. However, if you happen to come across the 2%, the baubles which do have pixies inside.... Well, it's impossible to find out unless you break one open. And if you do open one, there's every chance you'll just set free an angry pixie, who may bite you until you die, or curse you to never again be able to tell your left from right.
This presents an ethical dilemma. On the off chance there is a tiny creature trapped inside, you can't just leave it there, but you also don't want it to get out and blame you for its entrapment.
The solution is simple. Just prick the skin of the bauble several times with a pin. That way, there'll at least be air-holes. Can't say you're not charitable. After all, you could've just walked away. Anyway, chances are there's no pixie inside. But better to be safe than sorry.
Tinsel-Hunters
These days people assume tinsel is what it looks like – a lanky, gaudy length of shiny plastic. Purely decorative, with no history or function. But this was not always so. A long time ago, pre-industrial humans had a very different relationship with tinsel.
If you wanted to adorn your home with a piece of tinsel – in order to broadcast your spirit of "fun" and "festivity" – then you had to catch it first. Catch it, and kill it. In those days, fun was no laughing matter.
For, indeed, tinsel was a living creature. Decorative tinsel as we know it now is a mere plastic replica. A simulacrum. A shadow of the noble beast it imitates. But back then, tinsel roamed the wild woods, slithering quickly through the undergrowth, dining on mushrooms and small mice. They were easy to spot – the shiny fur was a dead giveaway – but tricky to catch. Even if you ran as fast as you could, the tinsel might still escape. Only especially talented athletes could catch them with pure physical speed. As such, most people had to resort to other methods.
Outwitting the tinsel was a simple matter of building a tinsel replica, from straw, cloth and shining inks, dressing up your replica real nice, and then manipulating it like a puppet. You'd cover your whole body in leaves, and crouch down in the mud. And you'd tug on the string attached to your fake tinsel, jostling it around in hopes of attracting a real tinselbeast.
This apparently worked, at least sometimes. There are many depictions – folktales, old songs, etchings – of tinsel-hunters as exciting adventurers. Probably it was more boring than that. But, hey, something in that activity must have struck a chord with human society, because as we moved forward, built houses and railroads, distilled whisky and petroleum, we kept the trappings of tinsel with us. Our tinsel replicas, which we hang around the house each festive season.
So next time you see a length of tinsel hanging limp from a tree, imagine the creature it might have been. Imagine the wild tinsel, roaming free, all those years ago. Try to remember those days of our ancestors, when tinsel was not something you bought in a shop, but a creature that had to die so that the spirit of Christmas might live.
The Story of Santa's Beard
You might think Santa Claus chooses to wear that big, ridiculous beard of his. You'd be right. But it's not exactly a free choice. It is not a beard of whim, but of necessity.
There are many plausible reasons why Santa might want a beard. For one thing, it's very cold in Lapland. The air could freeze your face right off. Except for one thing – Santa is magical. If he can be in millions of places at once and fly around on magic reindeer, presumably he can magically control his temperature. He could shave if he wanted. He'd still be warm enough, I bet. Hey, maybe he could wear shorts and a t-shirt and be warm enough. No matter how cold outside.
Anyway, we've established that temperature is not the purpose for Santa's beard. No, no. The true answer is quite straightforward, but also utterly horrifying. You see, the beard is not to keep his chin warm, but rather to cover up the skin beneath. Etched on his chin, behind the forest of white hair, lurks something abysmal. Something truly, unspeakably horrible.
You'd have to see it to believe it. And no-one ever has. Not even Mrs Claus knows what's under there. But I know. I know, cos I know everything. Hey, I'm an omniscient narrator. Cut me some slack. Just trust me, OK? You're going to want to hear this.
See, the truth about Santa's beard is...
he grew it to cover up an Insane Clown Posse tattoo.
The Advent
The Christmas assassin, or Christmassassin, finds a face behind each door on his advent calendar. That is his next target. He has to kill that person and stop at nothing to get it done.
He sees many faces behind the advent calendar's doors. Some he recognises, some he does not. Politicians, actors, that lady who lives down the street, that guy who works at the bank. He kills them all. It's not important how he does it. He'd never tell you how, anyway. But he does it, and he does it well. Morally dubious though it is, the Christmassassin takes pride in his work.
On Christmas Eve, he opens the advent calendar's door to find a picture of a penguin. He recognises it at Rocky Hopper, the penguin who runs that illegal all-night casino at Edinburgh Zoo. Now, Rocky is well connected. In flipper-deep with all kinds of organised crime shenanigans. Surrounded by heavies. No way anyone could sneak past the guards and get to him.
But the Christmassassin does it anyway. Don't ask me how he does it. It's a trade secret, I guess.
But one way or another, the criminal penguin Rocky Hopper is found dead on Christmas morning, with a beak full of fish. Choked on a mackerel. That's the official story. I mean, I've heard of sleeping with the fishes. But never "sleeping with the fishes in his mouth".
The Christmassassin arrives home in the early hours if Christmas. A job well done. But there's one last thing to do. The final job of the season. He opens the little door marked "25".
But behind the final door, for Christmas day, he finds....his own face.
Noooooo!
No, no, no! Merry Christmas.
Jesus at the Movies
It's a few days after Christmas. Jesus, with a rare day off from his full-time job as Saviour of Mankind, tries to unwind by taking his pal Mary Magdalene to see a film. But when they arrive at the local art-house cinema, disaster strikes.
The only movies playing are either Jesus-themed –
"I'm not watching that trash. Didn't happen. Didn't happen. Did happen, but not like that. Mel Gibson? Get out of here."
– or It's A Wonderful Life.
"I'm not sitting through that nonsense again. Did I tell you? The angel, Clarence, he owes me fifty quid. Tosser."
“Honestly, Jesus, you do this every time. If you were going to be like this, we might as well have stayed at home...”
“I'm the bloody son of God! I'll be however I want.”
“Calm down. Look, we'll think of something, OK? Now, on to more important questions. Do you want some popcorn?”
In the end, Christ and Magdalene settle on It's A Wonderful Life. It must be the hundredth time they've seen it. But even that saccharine garbage* is preferable to Jesus having to watch himself misrepresented on screen, again.
*Disclaimer – I actually love It's A Wonderful Life. But, for some reason, Jesus hates it. I'm not sure why. Perhaps the angel in the film, Clarence, truly is an insufferable muppet. I wouldn't know. I've never met him.
Decoration
Not many people know this, but the decoration of Christmas trees harks back to the long-lost gospel of St Melvin.
When Jesus was dying on the cross, his pal Melvin tried to cheer him up by attaching ribbons, jingle bells, candles and small ceramic ornaments to Christ's dying body. Jesus was not amused. However, he's such a forgiving guy, he couldn't find it in his heart to tell Melvin to stop.
So, next time you're decorating the Christmas tree, spare a thought for St Melvin, and imagine the tree you're sprucing up is the desiccated body of the Son of God.
Smile as Melvin smiled. Laugh as Melvin laughed. Eat with your mouth open, as Melvin ate with his mouth open. Feel no remorse, as Melvin felt no remorse.
Ignore Jesus’ cries for help, and decorate, decorate, decorate.
Chimney
When Santa got stuck up the chimney, he swapped bodies with the chimney. Santa became the chimney, and the chimney became Santa. With horror, Santa felt his flesh give way to brick. With confusion, the chimney felt its bricky structure soften into flesh.
Santa, now a chimney, was essentially stuck there for the next year to think about what he'd done.
Meanwhile, the chimney, now in the body of a fat, jolly man, did its best to make people happy. It did so by giving everyone on Santa’s list the most delightful gift it could think of – a lump of coal.
Weirdly, no-one seemed all that keen on the whole coal thing. As a chimney, it knew first-hand of coal's incredible usefulness and value. Imagine – a Christmas gift you could actually use. To heat your house, of all things. What could be better than that?
But as every man, woman and child unwrapped their individual lump of coal, their faces fell. All smiles disappeared. Laughter faded to silence. “Coal?” they thought. “What am I supposed to do with coal?”
The chimney just couldn't understand. After all, coal was more scarce than ever. There would eventually be wars over things like coal. Rare materials. There had already been many wars over oil, and gold, and souls. Coal seemed like a logical next step.
But why, when they opened their presents of coal, did everyone look so sad? Didn't they know the immense value of the thing they held in their hands?
Mince Pies
So, why did they stop putting meat in mince pies?
Most scholars agree it was a consequence of the law change in 1856, which brought the consumption of elf-meat under existing anti-cannibalism legislation. With the introduction of heavy fines, people were dissuaded from capturing and eating Santa's helpers at Christmas time (as had been the tradition). As such, with elf-meat in short supply, people turned to the alternative foodstuff which best approximates the odd taste of elf-flesh – which is, of course, fruit spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon.
Needless to say, the elves were pleased. Of all the pastimes a living creature can enjoy, “not being eaten” is at least in the top five. But never, ever utter the phrase “mince pie” in the presence of an elf. It's incredibly offensive. Something to bear in mind next time you take a trip up to the North Pole to see what all the fuss is about.
Anyway, after this legal shift, Santa Claus was forced to change his business practices. No longer could he force the elves in his factory to manufacture meat pies using the flesh of their dead relatives. After Mr Claus switched to putting the weird, fruity gunk in his mince pies, the rest of the industry soon followed.
It's widely believed that there's a secret club of millionaires who still dine on elf-meat every Christmas time. Indeed, there have been rumours that Santa himself is one of them. This is impossible to prove, however. Santa's legal team are pretty rock-solid. I mean, after he saw The Santa Clause, he lawyered up pretty quick.
There have been reports of people finding paper notes inside their mince pies, which say something along the lines of “Help, they're eating us.” Pretty unappetising stuff. But these reports are unconfirmed. Santa's legal team have instructed us to dismiss them as rumours.