¡Ølé!

It's just the holidays as usual in our casita in the Toronto suburbs.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas, all--and just try not to think about what an unrepentant quisling Sonja Henie apparently was. Why spoil all our good cheer with the blunt-force trauma of that reality?

¡Olé!

Justin 3:16

Because God so loathed the world, he gave us, the one, the only, Justin Bieber.

Spotted at the Target in East Liberty, Pittsburgh. In the seasonal department hereby known as "Christmas in Hell with Justin Bieber."

All in all, you have to hand it to the toy designer, as it is an amazingly accurate replica of La Bieber.

Oversized head and hair? Check. Check.

Generic Old Navy wardrobe? (or since he's from Canada, maybe from the Roots Outlet in Niagara Falls, Ontario?) Check.

Solid, molded plastic body and demeanor? Oh, yes, definitely check on that.

"Bieberconda" in tow? (What can I say? I've read about such things on the Intertubes.)

Actually, that I did not check. And I can't say that I feel too saddened by that missed opportunity.

Like a version

Justin Bieber and Usher have just released a version of "The Christmas Song" ("Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . .") well in advance of the holidays.

Good lordy. If you ever needed proof that God secretly hates America, whoop, there it is.

"Let's see: I've given them the Tea Party, the Gulf spill, an East Coast earthquake, Lindsay Lohan, crystal meth (as a package deal,  no less!), the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression, serious economic inequality, a 24/7 punditocracy, obesity, auto-tune, and Michele Bachmann.

"I tried to throw 'em a bone by giving them a smart guy as president, and they completely messed that one up. I even gave them one last chance by having Sarah Palin decide not to run for president (for now). And how do they repay me? By worshiping Steve Jobs, rather than me.

"So it's back to being a hater! Now what is the gift that keeps on giving my spleen? I know! Let's have a prepubescent Canadian with bad hair who sings through his nose join forces with a nasal-voiced American entertainment impresario who looks like he's been chasing after parked cars. And let's have them record one of America's most beautiful Christmas carols!

"Surely, everyone will get the point this time! I mean, I can't get much more unsubtle in my loathing than the Usher and the Bieber doing a Quiet Storm rendition of one of my son's birthday songs, right?"

I agree, God, seems fairly monolith-to-glass-house to me, but, lo, we are a dense lot and in need of constant reminders of your wrath, apparently.

All I can say in America's defense is that maybe we are missing your point because we're too busy fantasizing over the possibility of roasting the Usher and the Bieber's chestnuts on an open fire.

Frankly, it's the only fantasy that makes this reality the least bit tolerable.

Now where is my lighter fluid . . .