Fruitcake jokes are about the most cliched gag in the
world.  And yet, call the Christmas food catalogs for their
best seller, and it'll be fruitcakes.  And I've yet to see
an entire fruitcake get trashed.  And I've never gotten one
from someone who got it from someone who got it from someone
who's been using it to prop up the leg of their TV table.
Somebody's buying them, but no one's admitting it.
     Frankly, I think that fruitcakes are passe.  The new "I
like you but not enough to get you a gift worth the time it
takes to pick one out" present will be those huge tins of
flavored popcorn.
     In case you haven't seen them (like if your eyes got
gouged out on your dash statues) they're these huge ass cans
with Christmas scenes on the side, and brimful of three
flavors of popcorn -- cheese or butter, caramel, and
cinnamon.  They're great for about two days, until you
realize that you'd rather eat the Christmas lights than one
more kernel of popcorn.
     Innevitably, every business office and teachers' lounge
in America ends up with a tin or two full of popcorn.  Their
previous owners say they don't want to eat all that popcorn
and get fat.  Bullshit.  They're sick of fucking popcorn!
     The worst part about these gifts is the actual cans
themselves.  I mean, let's face it, even if you are trite
enough to use them for decorations, they're only good at
Christmas.
     Me, I use 'em for festive trash cans.  As soon as
they're full, I leave them out for the trashmen.  And if
they happen to be full of popcorn, oh well.