Christmastime at the shared residence of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force - the most fucked up squad of non-crime fighters on the planet - is one where thanks is given for the simple pleasures that are out there in the world - more and more cleavage as a general rule, the popularity of smartphones/being zombified as a tuned in, zoned out dolt and everything now nearly made out of sugar and horrible for us, but so damned delicious. There is still the sweet naiveté of Meatwad, the kiddie of the trio, clinging onto the wholesale belief of Saint Nick, a tubby old, bearded man, who circles the world with flying deer and a sled filled with toys (most with all of the standard universal product codes that packaged products require - all just for looks, wink, wink) made by miniature little elves. The occasionally gangsta-hard-ass-talking meatball, who gets the honies with a voice that is something between Elmo, Theodore Chipmunk and Antony from Antony and the Johnsons and a touch that will leave a greasy, translucent stain forever, is the ideal voice for a holiday that is meant to be religion-based, but is really just an economic catalyst and a forcible reason and excuse for greediness. Meatwad maintains an innocence that is always being defiled by his "buddy" and roommate, Shake, who lives with more evil, sin-laundering ideas than any other milkshake you're ever bound to meet. These two give thanks for the goods that they're going to unwrap come Christmas morning and they give thanks for the truth - as they see it and comment upon it - not being at all wholesome and clean. They love making fun at the dipping morals that we all weakly subscribe to, showing the ugliness of our depravities in ridiculous scenarios all originating from a neighborhood of ranch-style houses in suburbia U.S.A. For Shake, Meatwad and their New York Giants-loving next-door neighbor Carl - a slovenly existing, crap-heap of a man with an ever-growing porn mag collection - Christmas is just like any other day, except more people act the way that they act. There is pushing and a perverse need for asking for, wanting and getting everything that one could ever want - and never really need. It's for wanting a bigger than a movie theater screen Plasma-screen television, just because it never hurts to ask. It's about wanting Old Spice shower gel rather than peace, love and harmony for everyone in the world. Out of any of those three, if they were to receive peace, love and harmony for everyone in the world, wrapped up in a small box with a bow on top, two of them would head out on that busy shopping day - December 26th - and return it for a Wii game console or a sexy blow-up doll. It's all good. Who is to say that any of those actions are wrong. Well, some of them are. But there is still a sweet little guy who doesn't mind getting boogers from the North Pole or five pounds of raw chicken meat as a sign of affection. It's what makes the star at the top of the evergreen tree twinkle at its pinnacle - a sign that every Christmas is a merry one for the dirtbags and the kindest bystanders.
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