James Lileks and Tim Burton...separated at birth

I managed to keep the Nutcracker guys off the tree again. I hate Nutcracker guys. All those teeth. Nightmare material, those things. WE BITE YOUR SKIN AND PEEL IT OFF HA HA HA. I looked for Jingle Pixie, the hellish imp who came from the Forties to work mayhem on our holiday, and finally found him face down at the bottom of a bin, as if he’d spent the last year burrowing through the layers of decorations to get back to Hell, only to find his path thwarted by the bottom of the box. Also found many decorative candles, ready for their sixth, eighth, nine and eleventh year of being unburned. One of these days I’m going to light the wick on the snowman. He will not believe what’s happening. You can’t burn me! I’m a decorative candle! Oh yes I can. Don’t worry. The head goes first. No! What’s the point? You’ll be left with a slumping wax torso? I’m willing to live with that.