By David Futrelle
Yesterday we took a look at some weirdly horny vintage Christmas ads, including a number featuring none other than Santa Claus getting his North Pole wet (well, by implication).
Today, I present you with some vintage ads celebrating the three classic Christmas gifts. No, I don;t mean gold, frankincense and myrrh. (Where can you even find myrrh anyway?) I mean alcohol, tobacco and firearms.
Truly, nothing says “Merry Christmas” like getting blackout drunk and vomiting into the fireplace.
Forget carefully picking out a Christmas gift for the man who has everything. Just get him a big ol bottle of booze — and hopefully he’ll give you one back!
Get so fucking drunk you start hallucinating creepy old rich dudes in top hats!
Replace your Christmas tree with bottles of scotch! Why the fuck not. IT’S YOUR FUCKING LIFE, LIVE IT HOW YOU WANT TO.
And if you run out of scotch, it doesn’t even matter! Sneak into the kitchen and drink an entire case of beer! Let your wife deal with the goddamn Christmas tree. LIKE YOU GIVE A SHIT WHAT THE TREE LOOKS LIKE.
I mean, how do you think Santa gets through Christmas, anyway? NON-STOP DRINKING.
I mean, look at him. He’s drunk as hell. HE’S NOT EVEN WEARING PANTS.
Now that we’re good and liquored-up, let’s move on to phase two: inhaling some sweet, sweet Christmas nicotine.
You know smoking is a truly blessed Christmas tradition because Santa himself indulges.
Boy, does he ever!
I mean, what better way to prepare for a night of going up and down chimneys than by smoking like one!
But don’t bogart those cigs! Make sure everyone has some!
YOU get a case of cigarettes! YOU get a case of cigarettes! YOU get a case of cigarettes! YOU get a case of cigarettes!
You don’t even have to fucking wrap them! They come in their own special Christmas cartons! Cases of ciggies for everyone!
It’s what RONALD REAGAN would have wanted!
And if your wife hates the smell of smoke as much as she hates the sight of you, screw her! Light up the stinkiest cigar you can find and blow that smoke right in her goddamn face! I mean, she might literally murder you in your sleep later, but what the hell, it’s worth it.
Speaking of murder, let’s move on to the last part of our Christmas Troika: GUNS.
Give your kids guns!
Give your wife a gun!
Buy yourself a gun! And hide it under your pillow!
That last one is a little creepier than maybe the advertisers intended, huh?
Anyway, now that you’re drunk as a skunk, reeking of stale smoke, and armed to the teeth, it’s time to enjoy the CHRISTMAS MEAT!
Turkey, ham, it doesn’t matter so long as it’s a huge hunk of DEAD FLESH.
And while you’re preparing your CHRISTMAS MEAT why not, I dunno, just go wild and PUT CAULIFLOWER IN THE JELLO, toss some RADISHES nearby and then SLATHER SOME MIRACLE WHIP ON TOP! I mean, who fucking cares?
Christmas truly is a blessed day.
CORRECTION: I fixed two egregious food-related errors.
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