Chestnuts roasting on an open fax

It’s holiday party week. Right now someone’s bra is on fire while they’re punching a drunk middle-manager in a Santa hat and the temps are loading video of it onto youtube.  Maybe not right now, but this is the one week of the year when that scenario is five times more likely to occur in any cubicle above 14th street or below Houston.  The village is safe… for now (see: Halloween).

Mahalo.com has some useless tips like: “Consider hiring entertainment such as a DJ to break up the awkward moments.” Mahalo.com, there are few things that will create more awkward moments than the DJ (see: little kicks! ) You obviously have no idea what you’re talking about, Mahalo.com, so I’m taking control of this situation as of five minutes ago.

Hear this: the most important thing for an office holiday party is for everyone to protect themselves from swine flu.  Secondly, don’t run out of ice.  Combine these two tips with the number one best office party equipment:

Yeah, that’s right:  H1N1 vaccine down the Ice Luge.  I know, those of you who had your parties on Monday and Tuesday are kicking yourselves right now.  The best you can hope for now is that Jack Bauer kicks in your window and sprays you and your co-workers with nose mist.  The second best is that you got a Nettie pot from Secret Santa.

Stay tuned for more Holiday tips.

I will haunt your dreams

Dear Orphan Casting Director Ronnie Yeskel,  you have made a huge mistake.  This was supposed to be a horror movie right?  I thought you wanted to scare people–talk about a missed opportunity.

Why didn’t you cast Peter Sarsgaard as the orphan?  He’s just wasting perfectly normal and uncreepy space as the father.  Were you unaware that Peter Sarsgaard was in your movie?  Here’s a tip for making a scary movie, Hollywood.  Step one, get a ridiculous script with lots of holes and tons of gore.  Then, FIND PETER SARSGAARD.

What went wrong?  You followed the formula for the first two steps.  Then what did you do?  You threw him away.  The father! Why?  There better be one heck of a twist in the end, where it turns out Peter Sargaard is using mind-control on that tween.  Last shot: A camera panning over dark woods and Sarsgaard’s unearthly voice whispering softly about why he was born in Illinois but maintains a Southern drawl.