Unless you live on the Moon or if you have a DVR you’ve heard of Terra Nova.   You know what, scratch that, I think Fox put a few ads on the Moon, in caves, and even under rocks.   You could smell the desperation.   They wanted it to succeed.

The premise is a cool idea, if just a little bit lifted from Sliders (make sure to pronounce in a hushed whisper).   There is a dimensional portal that goes from the year 2148 to 65 million BC.   Instantly your geek bullshit detector should around Roland Emerich levels.   The question is, if they go into the past, won’t they change the future?   It’s the classic Grandpa Paradox.   If you leap into the past to kill your grandfather before your father is born, how can you be born to go into the past to kill your own grandfather?   They handle this with one line of forced dialogue.   It appears that they are not going directly into the past; they are going into the past of an alternate dimension.   Like I said, cheesy fix.   They might as well have said a wizard did it.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

If pop culture’s taught us anything about Christmas, it’s that it’s the season of redemption. This is the one time of the year during which even the most miserably misanthropic and criminally corrupt are susceptible to the suggestion that underneath their callused exteriors beat hearts of joy and peace and altruism. Even the most seemingly formidable of Yuletide foes have been felled by the most wonderful time of the year.

Ebeneezer Scrooge. The Grinch. Frank Cross.

If the very avatars of greed and contempt are knocked out by Kris Kringle’s right hook, what chance does a run-of-the-mill reprobate stand? Is Christmas magic only reserved for the worst examples of the human condition, or can it be sprinkled on those individuals residing in the darker grey shades of morality? What happens when a lifetime of misdirection is intercepted by holiday responsibility?

Well, when we take a look at the exchange between Santa Claus and the Tenth Avenue Kid it becomes clear that Christmas offers hope not just for sinners and saints, but antiheroes and unlikely champions as well.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

It can’t be easy to be Santa.

Sure, the guy doesn’t have to work most days of the year. His extended vacation lasts from about December 26th through December 23rd, excepting the occasional check-ins to make sure his slaves helpers aren’t slackin’. He has the distinct pleasure of hanging his stockings with Mrs. Claus.

There’s no doubt that the jolly fat man has a nice life.

Still, Santa has the most stressful job imaginable. In a single night, the dude travels the globe, delivering presents to every single good boy and girl – a task that demands physical prowess, mental clarity, and incredible courage. By the end of his circumnavigation, St. Nick’s body has withstood incalculable g-force speeds, been stretched and crumpled through Chimneys in Chinese acrobat facsimiles, and subjected to countless cookie-calories. Through all this, Santa manages to keep a perfect record of which presents (or coal-lumps) go to which kids, never making a mistake along the way. And to top it all off, the white-beard’s got John McClane-sized balls, visiting even the homes of deserving children who just so happen to have meth-smokin’ gun enthusiasts for parents.

The only way Santa’s job could be more daunting is if his philanthropy had to go interplanetary.

So what are the implications of other planets making demands of Earth’s resident avatar of goodwill? How does a lifelong altruist react he’s told that he’s not reaching enough people?   What happens when a holiday conflict goes worlds-wide?

Well, it just so happens that Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

There’s no denyin’ that there’s some debate as to how Christmas should be celebrated. Religious-folk’ll tell you that the purpose of the holiday is to commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ, and as such there should be plenty of Nativity scenes and trips to church and prayers uttered. On the other hand, secular-folk’ll tell you that the spirit of season is to make a concerted effort to spend time with friends and family, honoring our fellowships with feasts and drinking-bouts and gift-giving sessions.

And somewhere in the middle of this Venn diagram, there is agreement. Peace on Earth. Goodwill towards men. Santa Claus. Zealot or heathen, we can all get down with these Yuletide trademarks.

But what if this harmony is actually overwhelming our senses, robbing us of the ability to hear the strains of discord? Could this seemingly beautiful concord blind us to the truth? With everyone getting along, giving one another the benefit of the doubt, how would we ever know if the most wonderful time of the year had a sordid past?

Well, we’d have to be visited by the Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past from the Future.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

Alas, life is embraced once again! It’s a Wonderful Life reminds all viewers that they’re worth something, even if they don’t think so. And for its saccharine resolution, the movie has come to be known as the forerunner of all holiday entertainment.

But what if the lesson in It’s a Wonderful Life can’t be universally applied? What happens if someone who is a societal malignancy begins contemplating non-existence? What do we learn when peering into another dimension in which an individual’s absence allows others to flourish?

In those instances, we have to accept that It’s a Bundyful Life.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

There is something to be said of the idea that human beings need excuses to party.

Think about it – holidays have been celebrated since the advent of the human species. While the pretenses and customs vary from tribe to tribe, most cultures have set aside days specifically for the purpose of cutting loose. Work is momentarily forfeited, and individuals are encouraged to engage in social events so that they can relax, enjoy the kinship of their peers, and contemplate concepts that transcend the corporeal.

It’s basically psychic catharsis.

Again, such is the necessity for relaxation that it has been prescribed by multitudes of societies. Anyone doubting this need only consider the confluence of December-holidays: pagans honor the winter solstice, Christians eagerly anticipate Christmas, Jewish folk rock Hanukkah, and of course the saturnalian Romans go bananas for Saturnalia. These holidays are different, for sure, but the common thread is that all celebrants look forward to shirking responsibilities and spending time with loved ones.

For many, the holiday season serves as the canvas upon which some of life’s most cherished memories are painted.

But what about those individuals who, for one reason or another, are without their families during the holidays? How would you feel if in the time between one Christmas and the next, you divorced your spouse and could no longer see your kids on a daily basis? What if you didn’t want to burden friends with your grievances? In what ways would this alter your attitude about the most wonderful time of the year?

If you’re Don Draper it means that you take a swig of booze, bang your secretary, and woefully declare, “I don’t hate Christmas, I just hate this Christmas.”

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

It wasn’t so long ago that nerds were persecuted.

Comic books were reading material for basement-dwelling losers, not source material for Hollywood blockbusters. Television’s scientific community consisted of children’s entertainers like Mr. Wizard and Bill Nye, not prime-time warriors like Leonard and Sheldon. Glasses were for the vision impaired, not the svelte-as-fuck.

Needless to say, these were dark days for all nerds.

But there is something to be said for those who can survive in the face of relentless persecution. Despite being spat upon, these individuals have the spiritual fortitude to take a stand, championing causes that’re unpopular but virtuous. They resist the temptation to cave into the herd mentality, and sometimes they even manage to help others in the process.

Family Matters‘ Steve Urkel is one such hero.

And perhaps the most festive of his heroic deeds can be found in Christmas Is Where the Heart Is.

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Fuck yeah! Official teaser trailer for the second season of Game of Thrones! Stannis Baratheon sounds like one imposing motherfucker.

Hit the jump to check it out.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

“Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Didja hear that? Didja?! I think it was Santa Claus giving us an early warning of the impending holiday! Make sure you rush out to the mall so that you can buy a Tamagotchi Angel for Cousin Jeffie and a Furby for Sister Lillian! Hurry! You don’t want to miss the sales! Go!

Actually, don’t.

Instead, why don’t you join the OL crew as we begin our trek through the finest Televised Days of Christmas? We’re going to peer into the vacuum-tubed past of yuletide greetings, the glowing memories of peace on Earth and goodwill towards men. Pour yourself a mugful of frothy eggnog, toss on your favorite ugly sweater, and plant your ass on the closest ottoman.

Tonight is not just any night – it’s The Night of the Meek.

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Dexter. Sort of a bore these days. You know nothing truly terrible can happen to the Morgan. The whole show feels like its been in a holding pattern, waiting to be waived in. Bored fans, rejoice. The final descent into the Bay Harbor Butcher begins soon.

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