Dissection of the Christmas Pyramid

Thanksgiving doesn't really exist here, unless you live on the British army base, which means that without this important buffer, the German Christmas season started a week ago.  Overnight, all the lamp posts got decorated with fake pine boughs and light-up gold stars.  Then yesterday I headed into the center of town, and discovered that they're already prepping for the Christmas markets.  That means giant trees have been set into the manhole covers, row upon row of recently-erected food stands have killed 90% of the bicycle parking, and weird-looking statues that make me uncomfortable have sprung up in every square.  The Chief Monstrosity is a particularly painful eyesore called the Christmas Pyramid, but it looks less like a pyramid and more like a layer cake designed for a polygamist's wedding.

On the bottom tier, we have a life-size reproduction of a resplendent baby Jesus in his manger, surrounded by his adoring parents, who look thrilled that their spontaneous arranged marriage has resulted in a child whose future religion will one day be used to justify everything from mass murder to not shaving your facial hair.  Or rather, they look like they're in the middle of yelling at you that you should be more thrilled: Mary is holding up one hand like she's going to interrupt you, you atheist, and Joseph's outstretched arms are going for either a hug or a death throttle.  Baby Jesus looks remarkably well-developed for a six-month old infant newborn.

Hanging out on the middle tier are the Three Wise Men, one of whom is politically correct and black, all of whom are bearing gifts that, once you take into account the small parts that represent a serious choking hazard for children under the age of three, were probably fished out of old Happy Meals.  In addition, they all look really lost, which is understandable.  Back in those days, they used Mapquest.

On the Tier Most High we've got naked baby cherubs, holding their naked baby harps, with facial expressions like they want to naked baby kill you.  Gloria in excelsis Deo. Please don't use my intestines as harp strings.

The entire clusterfuck is topped off with the artistic addition of rotating helicopter blades.  Whether these are supposed to work or just look nice, I don't know, but I'm hoping for the latter.  Because although the prospect of being killed by a naked baby taking wing from the floating nativity and hurtling towards the earth at deadly velocity on a collision course with my head is ironic, I'd prefer to go out in a different fashion. Like, any other fashion.

If this objet d'art is any proper indication, it's going to be a pretty amazing Christmas season.

Adios!