The Creosote Sweeping Log Returns!

Return of The Creosote Sweeping Log!

...and yet ANOTHER log, because Mojo is THAT kind of person!

Old Home Week continues running amok here on the Craptacular, as we celebrate the end of the giving season with Mojo's annual ode to logs. Especially logs made out of sawdust and wax. Not to disparage other types of logs, mind you—Mojo has nothing but the utmost respect for most of logdom—but only because these are the logs that Certain People in Mojo's life believe make great, thoughtful Christmas gifts.

Granted, Mojo takes full responsibility for her part in this whole sordid, sad affair, since she is such a kind, thoughtful person (which as everyone knows is Mojo-speak for "passive aggressive") she has a tendency to say things like, "Ooh, a fireplace log! How thoughtful! Thank you so ever much!" instead of what she is thinking, which is more along the lines of "Hey! This isn't the iPod I asked Santa for! You cheap nincompoops!" (Mojo does not understand those who demand full and complete honesty in their relationships. "Have you told them how you feel?" these people like to ask.
Well, if Mojo told people how she really feels about things it would not go well. At least it wouldn't go well for Mojo; of that she is certain. And that's what really counts, huh?)

And yet despite all this, Mojo has found pleasure in what has become a long-standing Christmas tradition. So much so that, as the gift giver approaches her all hunched over with the dead weight of fake fireplace logs, Mojo gets a warm feeling in her heart, kindled by love and waxy sawdust, and she accepts her yearly logs with graceful kindness. And then turns around to hawk them on eBay so fast the National Weather Service issues a tornado watch for the area. Also because every year my Favorite Husband starts eyeing the logs and reading the packaging (because he just likes to burn things) and I need to get them out of the house before one of my most popular Craptacular items goes up the flue.

In their efforts to mix it up and keep Mojo guessing, my log-givers keep upping the log ante. At first they just gave us a CSL and that was that. Then (perhaps when they saw Mojo's dead eyes as they dragged over the package containing their yearly CSL) they threw Mojo for a loop by adding a second, normal fake fireplace log to the mix. And this year, they added not just any ol' log, but an AromaFire log. For despite hanging out with Mojo for twenty years, they still haven't got it through their heads that Mojo is anosmic, and anything with a smell is pretty much wasted on her. So when Mojo says any time someone combines the word "aroma" with the word "log" it makes her a tad nervous, her discomfort is only the result of hearsay and not through personal experience.

I have no idea what the Aromalog—oh, sorry, the AromaFire Log—smells like. I don't know if it smells nice, or if it will make your house reek like one of those cardboard pine trees you hang in your car that are apparently quite stinky. I asked my husband if it smelled nice, and he just shrugged and grunted. Which, if you are thinking of purchasing Mojo's Fabulous CSL and Aromalog combination, is a more hopeful reaction than him running screaming to the kitchen to claw his nose out with a melon baller. But obviously you will be buying this smell unseen. Smell unsmelled. Whatever. The packaging describes the—ahem!—aroma as "mountain air". Which I suppose is better than some things I've heard of. Things that make others scramble to clear the room while Mojo innocently sits there going "What? What? What happened? Where is everybody going?" (Meaning if there was actually a house fire, they would run off and leave Mojo to burn to death. But I digress.)

When I saw the logs I toyed briefly with the idea of having a Craptacular homecoming party and dressing the Schick razor and the logs in party hats and photographing them while confetti is being thrown at them. But Mojo quickly realized that would just be sad. Yes, too sad, even for Mojo, and we all know what a wretched, wretched existence she endures. If I did that, before you know it I will be buying and/or making little matching designer outfits for the dog and cat to wear. And then my beloved pets would be forced to kill me in my sleep to reclaim their dignity. And I really wouldn't blame them.

With your logs you will also get the Certificate of Craptacularity, which as we all know is chock full of combustible stuff and only a few heavy metals and poisonous gases, so it should get your logs burning like nobody's business. And really, it's nobody's business what you do with your logs. If, instead of burning them, you want to dress them up in little party hats and throw confetti at them or wheel them around in baby carriages, that's your business. Who is Mojo to judge? At least in public? (You see, people? This is where that dishonest lying thing really comes in handy!) So long as the check clears and you stay far away from her, Mojo will only be happy for you for finding such happiness in inanimate objects. True, other (perhaps more enlightened) people are seeking happiness in other, logless venues—like, say, iPods (hint, hint)—but this is America and you are free to pursue happiness in whatever fashion you choose. Just do it over there, okay? I don't want to be seen with you. Thanks.