We remember Steve Austin, don't we? I'm not talking about the roid ragin' professional *wrestler* who just oozes integrity and tact, I might add. No, I'm talking about Steve Austin: astronaut. A man barely alive. We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better...stronger...faster.
And undoubtedly, he'd want a Patriot Santa for Xmas (it's Xmas, not Christmas, in this hip millenial time we live in we needed a more EXTREEEEEME nativity event that butts up against one of the biggest celebrations of capitalism.)
I saw this bad boy when the family and I made the shopping rounds to help to stimulate the economy during this festive season. It was by far the most awesome-est Santa I've ever witnessed. It was such a sight to behold. At first I wasn't sure it wasn't like some bad-ass Delta Force Nutcracker...and then I saw the plaque.
Dear Lord, I says to myself. I says, self, that is disturbing, but strangely compelling. I don't want one for Xmas or Hannukah or Kwanzaa, but I'd just like to add that I'd probably gotten one had it had a M4 carbine in its hands at port arms with a portable surface to air delivery vector over its shoulder. If there was a Hummer that came with it as an optional accessory, then I definitely would've picked one up, and if there had been a sticker on the bumper of the Hummer with Calvin peeing on a Chevy/Ford/darwin fish/Dodge emblem then I would've punched people in the face to get the last one.
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