Bitchslappery. It's what's for dinner.

We were driving to the Christmas Tree Shop *, listening to The Classical Station. Copland's familiar masterpiece Rodeo was playing, and my darling wife said the almost inevitable: "I can't hear this without thinking of pork."

Take THAT, beef council!

Right church wrong pew, I guess, but it's somehow nice to know that some weak barrier still stands between our brains and total infiltration by Madison Ave.

We were getting a few stocking stuffers later on, including a chocolate lump of coal. Seen those? It's chocolate, wrapped to look like a lump of coal. Pretty damn clever, those lumps of coal are. Our darling register fawn was scanning away, and she half dropped said lump of coal. She picked it up and asked "Is this really coal?" (sic) Um, did you see a diamond bounce out? Is our grocery chain suddenly in the coal and home heating services? Yeah, I'll have a half pound of capicola, fifty pounds of coal, a half pound of provolone, hundred pounds of peat... I don't get it. I just don't get it.

Line of the day: on the Imus show, my man Mike Barnicle, refering to the Bushies swift-boating of Jack Murtha, stating that White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan "looks like he bathes in fabric softener." Ah, if only I'd come up with that one...

Tree shopping and decorating await this weekend. Pictures soon...

*Oh, the Christmas Tree Shop. Don't do it. If you must, don't even think of doing it on a weekend, or even a weekend extension (i.e. Thursday or even Monday). Do it on a Tuesday or Wednesday, be prepared for an unbelievable amount of assholery and overwhelming dime-store pine fragrance and lines and lines and agony. Sure, you can get a deal on wrapping and $5.00 office Christmas swap crap, but the price exacted on your soul is steep. Just be ready, all I'm saying.