HUMOR
My Snowman Magically Came To Life And Is A Douche
Sometimes Frosty wants to watch the world burn
Todd the Snowman was so flawless that I looked up to the heavens and wished to all the lucky stars that he would come to life. Luckily, my wish came true. Unluckily, he turned out to be a total douche.
Mother Nature just took a monstrous frozen dump all over America, in the form of easily packed snow. Filled with the childlike delight of snow-day memories, I trotted outside to make a snowman: Todd the Snowman, I called him. He had a smile of salted almonds, arms of fallen branches and two wrinkled tangerines for eyes. I used an old Cubs hat to finish the look. The moment he magically came to life, I realized I had created a monster.
“Wussa guy gotta do to get his snowballs licked around here?” said Todd the Snowman. I was taken aback with surprise and wonder.
“I made you, Todd the Snowman,” I said. “I am your creator and I love you.” I tried to hug my snowman child.
“Ey ey ey, no homo,” said Todd the Snowman. “Check out my pecs, bish.”
“Those are very nice pecs, Todd,” I said, “I am so proud of you.”
He flipped me off and said a number of derogatory words that I have since repressed. I could tell he was intentionally trying to be a douche to me, but I didn’t know why, plus I was very lonely and in need of friendship. I tried to win him over with kindness.
“Can I ask you why you are being so mean?” I asked.
“Can I ask why you haven’t made me a sandwich?” he responded and then shotgunned a can of Keystone Light. I don’t know where he got it from, but he threw the empty can at my groin.
“Dang, I really need to get my icicle wet,” Todd said half-heartedly to me, and then he turned to start catcalling some snowwomen across the street. “I’ll show you a lump of coal!” he cackled at them.
“Todd, you are being a real douchebag,” I said, hoping to enlighten my friend to his bigotry. Big mistake.
“A douchebag?” started Todd the Snowman. “Listen here, buttwiper. I didn’t ask to be wished into existence, but here I am — a perfect snowman — and there’s nothing you and your Jewish space lasers can do to change that.”
I attempted to explain that Jewish space lasers don’t exist and are part of a deranged conspiracy theory, but he held up an icicle he’d found and started waving the pointy end near my corneas.
“Stop swinging that icicle near my eyeballs,” I said. He didn’t like that.
“Oh! So I’m a racist because I’m white and now I can’t even wave an icicle without you telling me I can’t? You’re censoring me, you mouth-breathing cuck!” he said.
“Please, Todd. Let’s just start over,” I said. Then Todd the Snowman stabbed me in the neck with the icicle and pushed yellow snow in my face. Luckily, the stab missed my arteries.
“Kiss my frozen keester, you snowflake! I bet you wanna marry the vaccine!” said Todd the Snowman.
He then sprouted snow-legs and started to run away. I was fine with that. He had turned out to be such a douche, despite my attempts to befriend him. Still, I was saddened to watch him flee into the street, where he was destroyed by a passing truck that had a “Don’t Tread On Me” flag attached to the top.
What haunts me the most is that I don’t know if snowpeople have an afterlife. If they do, I’m very worried for Todd the Snowman’s eternal snow soul: his snowl. He was a total douche.
