Repress Yourself

Tired of paying hundreds of dollars in therapy? Fed up with prescription pill addictions and office furniture couch-sores? Has your psychologist stopped seeing you since you made a pass at him? Or maybe you're an amateur analyst and are looking for a chance to gain experience as an advice columnist. Bloggers: substitute these posts for therapy sessions and readers: comment away.

16 November 2005

My Guiltiest Pleasure

I just realized what time it is: its the time of the year when dated, made-for-TV Christmas movies play at all times, day and night. Hooray!!

You know the ones: the overworked publishing exec who hasn't got time for a boyfriend is visited by the invisible spirit of her younger self... At first she's annoyed and tries not to look too crazy in front of other people, but soon she realizes all the things she's been missing out on, and stands up to her boss, or stops stealing ideas from her assistant, or whatever. And the guy whose book she's editing goes from the most annoying man ever to Mr. Right. And then she calls her brother on Christmas, and instead of him telling her to go fuck herself, he lets her come over for dinner.

Or some old man is ruining Christmas for an entire town until a little girl touches his heart and he decides to forego the billion dollars in profit he was counting on and instead, buys her a pony. And his son marries her Mom.

It's basically always a modern-day, Lifetime network A Christmas Carol, but with D-list actors and commericals. And they're all the same. "Will there still be a Christmas this year, Mommy?"

I'm writing one where Jared Leto is going around town, giving all the young girls HIV. Then a judge sentences him to intern for Juliette Lewis's organization which has finally raised enough money to travel to the North Pole, find Santa Claus, and convince him to cure AIDS.

The scene where he breaks down in the barn is so killer. Rudolph nuzzles his tears, and Leto finally realizes that he doesn't want to die.


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