It's still November and I've uttered (OK, screamed), "Santa doesn't bring presents to naughty kids, only nice ones!" at least 1,000 times. After each outburst, Sarah gives me an apathetic stare and goes back to doing evil deeds.
Even at 4 years old, she knows that a judgmental prick like St. Nick is obsolete when Grandma passes out gifts year-round without regard to behavioral status. Besides, lumps of coal would be great for destroying what's left of mommy's formerly beige carpet.
Without a hint of irony, my mother, the Grandma who is largely to blame for Sarah's spoiled-brattiness, suggested that I buy an Elf on the Shelf to keep my child in check.
For $30, she explained, I'd get a cute doll that I could place in various spots around the house -- on a shelf, for instance! -- to monitor Sarah's actions during the holiday season. Each night, the Elf is magically transported back to the North Pole where he dishes the dirt to Santa like a cherubic Perez Hilton.
Fuck. That. Shit.
I need something more menacing than a rosy-cheeked, little snitch to regulate my offspring.
I need Krampus.
According to European folklore, Krampus is a demonic creature who captures insolent children, puts them in a sack, beats them, and eats them (possibly with some fava beans and a nice Chianti). If that doesn't convince a kid to quit jumping on the goddamn bed, nothing will!
Since the 1800s, Europeans -- especially those sadistic sumbitches in the Alpine countries -- have exchanged Krampus cards to make the yuletide fucking terrifying.
Admit it: These images are much more interesting than snapshots of smiling families gathered around plastic, pre-lit Christmas trees!
Krampus is a cloven-hooved, devil-horned, bad-ass motherfucker with a backstory that could be mistaken for Slayer lyrics ... more swagger than Tim Curry in "Legend" ... a tongue that would make Gene Simmons blush ... and, unlike his cookie-munching counterpart, a preference for schnapps!
Every Dec. 5, Bavarians celebrate Krampusnacht by dressing up like the hairy beast and going on a drunken rampage through the busy streets! That is officially the most awesome thing a group of clothed people can do! Imagine a legion of Krampi swarming downtown Pittsburgh!
"Hey, yinz guys here for the Furry convention, n'at?"
I thought about investing in a Krampus costume (hell, I could wear it once a month and call myself "Crampus"), but Spirit Halloween stores won't return for another two months, so I bought an ornament instead.
He sits (on a sack filled with naughty children) on my TV stand, lording over Sarah as she torments the cat and colors the couch with crayons and smears yogurt all over the windows and stuffs Matchbox cars down the heating vent and ... oh, Christ, a shitload of other horrible things.
Yeah, so Krampus doesn't strike fear in the heart of a toddler who watches "The Walking Dead," but he's a lot cooler-looking than that lame-ass Elf. (Is it just me, or does Santa's Little Helper resemble John Mark Karr, the weirdo who falsely confessed to killing JonBenet Ramsey? Shudder.)
My patience with Sarah is wearing thin and I really need somebody to help me restore my holiday spirit.
Guess I'll have to put my faith back in good, ol' St. Nikolaus ...