What's wrong with me??

Every year about this time, everyone starts grousing about how the Christmas solicitation starts earlier and earlier. I'm no exception. I don't care who is chosen as the Big Lots "spokeself" or if some drone is so proud of himself that he managed to keep blood-coated, terrorist-funding diamonds successfully hidden from his harpy wife. And who in this world has ever gotten a Lexis with a big, red bow around it on Christmas morning? Give me a break.

Not to sound like Charlie Brown or anything, but all this commercialism and pressure to one-up everyone on gifts doesn't spread cheer—it's spreads misery, stress and angst. What we need is a little more magic and wonderment put back into the holiday season. And I can think of the perfect person to do just that:

The Pixy!

Meet Randy Constain. He's 53 years old (seriously??), but refuses to acknowledge the second digit of his age, which actually makes him five. He lives in Florida and he dresses like this all the time. Except when he's dressing up as the Blue Boy, a dance recital girl, or Little Lord Faulteroy.

So what's the story here? Well, the Pixy's philosophy is the same as Viv Savage's—"Have a good time ALL THE TIME"—and he proclaims himself "on strike" from growing up. Also, the Pixy sings. "So who is Peter Pan? A child within a man combined to remind you that it's okay to come out and play and don't deny your dreeeaaams!"

I won't blame anyone who can't get behind that haircut (did my mom, circa-1981, do that?), but you've just gotta love this guy. I was going to write more, but I read his life story and now I just can't make fun of him! What's wrong with me?? I've failed you, dear readers. Of all the people I've ridiculed on this blog, this is the one that my little black Grinch heart simply doesn't have the snark for. Maybe because he's so darn sincere. Maybe it's because he has his own Pixy ministry that doesn't exclude anyone. Maybe it's because he wears velveteen jumpers with no qualms whatsoever.

I know what it is—he doesn't take himself seriously, like Tom Cruise does. Enough with Tom Cruise and his fake wedding, let's hear the latest with the Pixy. Kooky as he is, he's got the right idea. Maybe if we all merrily pranced around sprinking fairy dust everywhere we wouldn't find ourselves ready to rip the head off of the soccer mom with the aircraft carrier-size stroller clipping your heels and ramming you out of the way to get to Playstation 3.

Could this be the start of a kinder, gentler RockitQueen? Not a chance. I think even the Pixy would find Immortal's outfits completely absurd.

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