Citation Needed - The Fir-Tree - by Hans Christian Andersen

Episode Date: December 31, 2025

"The Fir-Tree" (Danish: Grantræet) is a literary fairy tale by the Danish poet and author Hans Christian Andersen (1805–1875). The tale is about a fir tree so anxious to grow up, so anxious for greater things, that he cannot appreciate living in the moment. The tale was first published 21 December 1844 with "The Snow Queen", in New Fairy Tales. First Volume. Second Collection, in Copenhagen, Denmark, by C.A. Reitzel. One scholar (Andersen biographer Jackie Wullschlager [de]) indicates that "The Fir-Tree" was the first of Andersen's fairy tales to express a deep pessimism.[1]

Hello and welcome. The citation needed. The podcast where we choose the subject, read a single article about it on Wikipedia, and pretend we're experts. Is this the internet? And that's how it works now. I'm Eli Bosnick and I'll be laying out the roots of our program this evening. But I'll need a few pine cones.

What? First up, the spruce maple and oak to my weeping willow. Tom, Noah, and Cecil. Oh, shit. Something, something. Spruce things up? I don't know, man. I got a leaf.

I'm Maple. Now you have to take me, Canada. I approve of being called the best aging wood. Thank you very much, Eli. Exactly. And also joining us tonight, Heath, who is like a tree because he's tall. Sorry. I figure we could just get that one out of the way, do it early. I voted for Andrew Cuomo. Andrew Cuomo. First of all, I voted for the crazy cat guy. Don't get it twisted. Curtis Sleewa? That's the one.

It's a good bit. Now, before we begin, I'd like to take a moment to thank our patrons. Patrons, without you, the prime of our lives wouldn't be right now, which is kind of a makes back. There's pretty much no question. That's where we are. So if you'd like to learn how to join their ranks, be sure to stick around to the end of the show.

And with that out of the way, tell us Heath, what person, place, think, concept, phenomenon, or event. we'll be talking about today? We're going to be talking about the fir tree by Hans Christian Anderson. And what made you pick that? So I was thinking it's holiday time. Let's do a festive tale about a fir tree. By the little mermaid guy. And yes, we learned from Tom in episode 412 that the original story of Ariel,

a little mermaid, is truly insane. But I felt like a story about a plucky tree looking to fulfill its destiny. that would be fun. Well, it was fun, but not in like a Merry Christmas kind of way. I laughed a lot reading this, but not Christmassy laughing. I learned that Hans made a terrifying allegory

about deep anxiety and existential dread as a fairy tale for children using a tree as the main character. I'm pretty sure also he wants to fuck a tree. It's not for sure. I don't know. He's got a lot of tree-fucky vibes is what I'm saying for sure. So that's going to be our festive wintertime story. And maybe we'll all learn something.

I refuse, but you may begin anyway. Hey, no fair using the same resolution two years in a row, Eli. That's fair. I actually read a lot of these stories when I was a kid and I, I guess I feel like I understand me better now. Yeah. Okay. Good. Not better good, no. Okay, here we go, the fir tree.

Out in the woods stood such a pretty little fir tree. It grew in a good place where it had plenty of sun and plenty of fresh air. Around it stood many tall comrades, both fir trees and pines. The little fir tree was in a headlong hurry to grow up. Didn't care a thing for the warm sunshine or the fresh air, and it took no interest in the peasant children who ran about chattering when they came to pick strawberries or raspberries. Often when the children had picked their pails full

or had gathered long strings of berries threaded on straws, they would sit down to rest near the little fir. Oh, isn't it a nice little tree, they would say? It's the baby of the woods. The little tree didn't care for their remarks at all. It didn't care at all. Is it carved those comments into its trunk baby of the woods? Cut to the fir tree going,

it's cold outside, actually. much bigger ones. Not's cool. Polar ice caps. Well, speaking of growth, next year, it shot up a long joint of new growth. And the following year,

another joint, still longer. You can always tell how old a fir tree is by counting the number of joints it has. That's how we know how old Noah is, too. Oh, yeah. Sure, Cissel.

If you had all the joints he smoked today, that's how you get his age. I wish I were a grown-up tree. like my comrades, a little tree side. Then I could stretch out my branches and see from my top what the world is like. Birds would make me their nesting place.

When the wind blew, I could bow back and forth with all the great trees. Yeah. That sounds great. That's where my life goals have been shifting ever since 2020. Yeah. It sounds nice.

It does. Yeah, my kids asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up because they just instinctively know that it wasn't this. so it took no pleasure in the sunshine nor in the birds the glowing clouds sailed overhead at sunrise and sunset meant nothing to it okay sounds like the fir tree needs to get on a little bit of Lexapro alright let's just fucking that would be very helpful

fur trees you stop taking Lexapro if they experience wilting blight or leaf spots Lexspro can cause serious reactions in some trees contact your doctor immediately if you experience leaf rust or cankers Lexbrororo can cause some trees to have thoughts of being cut down. Stop taking Lexapro with thoughts of becoming a stump appear or worsen. You shouldn't take Lexapro if you're allergic to Lexapro or if you're spreading pollen or thinking of becoming a cultivar. Bravo. Seriously? You're fine.

Excellent job. Bravo. Just take it. Hans's job if he existed when Lexa Pro existed for sure. He wouldn't have had a job. He would have been a normal Danish guy walking on a hand man. Have you had some shoes? They're great.

All right. I'm off to fuck. Only adults for it. Hans continued his story. In winter, when the snow lay sparkling on the ground, a hair would often come hopping along and jump right over the little tree. Oh, how irritating that was. That happened for two winters.

When the third winter came, the tree was so tall that the hair had to turn aside and hop around it. Fuck you hair. I got tall. I can deal with it. Oh, to grow. Grow. To get older and taller, the little tree thought. That is the most wonderful thing in the world.

Hey, Heath, are you the little fir tree? You have to tell us if you are. Just for context. I contain multitudes. In the autumn, woodcutters came and cut down a few of the largest trees. This happened every year. Young fur was no longer a baby tree, and it trembled to see how these stately great trees crashed to the ground,

how their limbs were lopped off, and how lean they looked as the naked trunks were loaded into carts. It could hardly recognize the trees it had known when the horses pulled them out of the woods. Eli Bosnick tree is like, you can't cut me down. I have a note from my mom.

Exactly. An allegory on the perils of becoming useful. Lesson learned, a fir tree, lesson learned. Where were they going? What would become of them? Look at your rocking chur and weep, dear children. God.

In the springtime, when swallows and storks came back, the tree asked them, do you know where the other trees went? Have you met them? They're fucking dead, Susan. Okay? I'm happy now. They're dead.

The swallows knew nothing about it, but the stork looked thoughtful and nodded his head. Yes, I think I met them, he said. On my way from Egypt, I met many new ships, and some had tall, stately masts. They may well have been the trees you mean, for I remember the smell of fur. They wanted to be remembered to you. Hey, hey, Stork, if you run into this whiny little asshole from my hometown, tell him I'm a shipmast and not three bedpans in the field out of time.

Oh, I wish I were old enough to travel. on the sea. Please tell me what it really is and how it looks. That would take too long to tell, said the stork, and off he strife. Rejoice in your youth, said the sunbeams. Take pride in your growing strength and in the stir of life within you. I'm sorry, what the fuck does a sunbeam on earth know about longevity? Right? They exist for eight minutes and 20 seconds. Is the eight minute old sunbeam pining for the good old minutes? And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew wept over it, for the tree was young and without

understanding. How young? Should we be canceling the wind here? Let's just move. Moving on. When Christmas came near, many young trees were cut down. Some were not even as old or as tall as this fir tree of ours, who was in such a hurry and fret to go traveling.

These young trees, which were always the. handsomest one, okay. These, which were always the hands had their bring, keep going here

then right. Hey, everybody, it seemed like he was flowing down for a thick and so I just popped in to

make sure he read it right. Let's get out of the sketch. You wrote. Oh, wait for you at the end. These young trees,

which were always the handsomest ones, had their branches left on them when they were loaded on carts and the horses drew them out of the woods. Oh, fun, fun. If you anthropomorphize things, right, remember, kids,

Christmas is a goddamn Holocaust. You're right. Where can they be going? The fir tree wondered. They are no taller than I am. One was really much smaller than I am. And why are they allowed to keep all their branches? Where can they be going?

Humans are going to dress up their corpses and put valuables around them in a sick yearly ceremony. Yeah. And maybe they'd have picked you too, you weren't such a fucking whiner all the time. Jesus. We know, we know, the sparrows chirped.

We have been to town and peeped in the windows. What were you, perv-ass sparrows looking for, peeped in a mother-pillar windows? Get out of the sketch, you know, get out of the sketching. We know where they're going. The greatest splendor and glory you can imagine awaits them.

We've peeped through the windows. We've seen them planted right in the middle of a warm room and decked out with the most splendering. blended things, gold apples, good gingerbread, gay toys, and many hundreds of kids. Honestly, it's covered with gay toys and good gingerbread sounds like a fucking awesome time. Sign me fuck up. I like the sound of Heath regretting that voice choice, right? We got it like eight syllables that it was going to get worse and worse as we were.

Gay toys. And then, ask the fir tree, trembling in every twig. And then, what happens then? Oh, then nobody changes the water for a long time, and then all their little corpses dry into dangerous, Tinder-laden husks, like sap-filled bundles of Christmas-scented napalm stored merrily in living rooms across the world. We saw nothing more, and never have we seen anything that could match it. I wonder if I was created for such a glorious future, the fir tree rejoiced. Why, that is better than to cross the sea. I'm tormented with longing.

Oh, if Christmas would only come. I'm just as tall and grown up as the trees they chose last year, how I wish I were already in the cart, on my way to the warm room where there's so much splendor and glory. Then, then, something even better, something still more important is bound to happen. Or else, why should they deck me so fine? Yes, there must be something still grander.

But what? Oh, how I long. I don't know what's the matter with me. Okay, it's given pick me vibes, fur tree. I need you to, like, play a little hard to chop down right then. You know what I'm saying? Because I'd be like suicidal tree as a weird subject for a children's story. That's just my opinion. I agree.

I agree. Enjoy us while you may, the air and sunlight told him. Rejoiced in the days of your youth out here in the open. Because after this is years of retail and a line of co-workers stealing your lunch from the breakroom fridge. But the tree did not rejoice at all. It just grew. It grew and was green both winter and summer, dark, evergreen. People who passed it said, there's a beautiful fucking tree.

And when Christmas time came again, they cut it down first. The axe struck deep into its marrow. That's not how trees are. The tree sighed as it felt to the ground. It felt faint with pain. Instead of the happiness it had. had expected, the tree was sorry to leave the home where it had grown up. It knew that never again would it see its dear old comrades, the little bushes and the flowers about it, and perhaps not

even the birds. The departure was anything but pleasant. Trees could scream if they could, kids. Anyway, sweet dreams. It's so crazy. And remember, when we tell you to enjoy your goddamn youth, To grow up is to suffer, to suffer and wonder what you are for and to die. So yeah, sleep tight. Yes. Sleep tight. The tree did not get over it until all the trees were unloaded in the yard. And it heard a man say, that's a splendid one.

That's the tree for us. Then two servants came in fine livery and carried the fir tree into a big splendid drawing room. Portraits were hung all around the walls. On either side of the white porcelain stove stood great. Chinese vases with lions on the lids of them. There were easy chairs, silk-covered sofas, and long tables strewn with picture books, and with toys that were worth a mint of money,

or so the children said. And the tree memorized their faces, intricately planning each of their deaths. I bet it weird that the kids were just standing around the tree talking about how much their toys cost, though, right? Wow. Big hit, never met a little. kid with autism? Okay.

The fur tree was planted in a large tub filled with sand, but no one could see that it was a tub because it was wrapped in a gay green cloth and set on a many-colored carpet. How the tree quivered. What would come next? Okay, you're making this weird

in front of the kids, you perverted old fur tree. Stop quivering. Sorry, sorry. The servants and even the young ladies helped it on with its fine decorations. From its branches, they hung little nets cut out of colored paper, and each net was filled with candies. Gilded apples and walnuts hung in clusters as if they grew there, and a hundred little white, blue, and even red candles were fastened to its twigs. Among its green branches swayed dolls that it took to be real living people, for the tree had never seen their like before.

And up at its very top was set a large gold tinsel star. It was splendid. did I tell you, splendid beyond all words? Tonight, they all said. Ah, tonight, how the tree will shine. Oh, thought the tree, if tonight would only come, if only the candles were lit. After that, what happens then? Will the trees come trooping out of the woods to see me? Will the sparrows flock to the windows?

Shall I take root here and stand in fine ornaments all winter and summer long? Everyone keeps talking about how chilly it is in here. I hope they have a way of solving it. That was how much it knew about it. All its longing had gone to its bark and set it to arching, which is bad for a tree as a headache is bad for us. Hey, do you think like people's skin is tree aspirin the way that tree bark is people aspirin? Noah.

What did we say about smoking before you do your sentence? Do it more. Like if you're a willow tree and you get a head. headache. You just take two of yourself? It's all, there's a lot of questions. Okay. I feel like Hans was thinking about skinning trees. There's a lot going on. There's a lot. I was thinking about a

fucking tied up Shibaro child. Is there a subtext here, Heath? I'm not catching it. Is there a subtext? It keeps getting worse and worse. It was like bad and now it's crazy and now there's skin involved. Okay. I want to be very clear that if an adult we're talking about another

enthusiastically and consenting adult in this manner, I would still be uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. All right. Continuing. Now the candles were lighted. What dazzling splendor.

What a blaze of light. The tree quivered. So in every bow that a candle set one of its twigs a blaze. It hurt terrible. Oh, wax hits the branches. Ow, this hurts. I mean, ow, this hurts. Mistress.

Mercy me, cried every young lady. And the fire was quickly put out. The tree no longer dared rustle a twig. It was awful. Wouldn't it be terrible if it were to drop one of its ornaments? Its own brilliance dazzled it. Its own brilliance dazzled it. Hard relate, bird tree.

Hard relate. Heart and soul of the Christmas room. Suddenly, the folding doors were thrown back, and a whole flock of children burst in as if they would overturn the tree completely. Their elders marched in after them more sedately. For a moment, but only for a moment. The young ones were stricken, speechless. Then they shouted till the rafters sang.

They danced about the tree and plucked off one present after another. Sorry, did the tree think it was going to get to keep the candied walnuts? Yeah, right? What did you do with them? Also, hey, guys, when I die, this is what I want y'all to do with my corpse. I don't know. I don't you won't do it, but I just want you to know that these are my wishes. Okay, same.

Same for now. Say, I Forever podcast is kind of the version of doing this that I plan on doing. So, yeah. What are they up to? The tree wondered. What will happen next? As the candles burned down to the bark, they were snuffed out one by one. And then the children had permission to plunder the tree. They went about it in such earnest that the branches crackled.

And if the tree had not been tied to the ceiling by the gold star at the top, it would have tumbled headlong. The children danced about with their splendid playthings. No one looked at the tree now except one old, nurse who peered in among the branches. But this was only to make sure that not an apple or fig had been overlooked. All right. Well, I sense the tree is about to start a right-wing podcast.

So, quick while I prepare my debating skills, let's take a quick break for some apropos. Yeah, but how often can fire cones actually be useful? More often than you think, man, I'm telling you. If you say so. Hey, fellas, what up, what up, but up, but up. About time, Fir Tree. How you doing? Doing good.

Doing good. So, uh, like to introduce you to Palm. Palm, Palm, these are the guys. Oak Maple. Palm, Palm, Oak Maple. Hi. Hi, Palm. I'm sorry, how old are you?

I'm 19. Why? Do they card here? Uh, no. I was just curious. Okay, but she's like really mature. She's studying to be a therapist, right, babe? Therapist. Oh, well, that's cool. A massage therapist. My roommate's going to get me a job at elements.

Got it. A fur. Doesn't have any to do with how you were telling us about how you felt like you were past the prime of your life last week, does it? No, no, no, no. I am in love. I'm in love. With the 19-year-old palm tree? I love you.

Yes, yes. Yes, I'm in love. And I can't even believe that you guys would be like, so rude about this to my girlfriend who's right here. Now, if you'll excuse me, we're actually just passing through because we have to catch DWTS.

DW what? Dancing with the Star. Got it. It's actually really good. Okay. We call it Dwits. And we're back. And we left off these trees these days didn't know how good they have it. What happened next, Dean?

All right. So the kids are all gathered around, and we're about to get a story around the Christmas tree. Tell us a story. Tell us a story. The children clamored as they towed a fat little man to the tree. He sat down beneath it and said, Here we are in the woods, and it will do the tree a lot of good to listen to our story.

Mind you, I'll only tell one. Which one will you have? The story of Ividee Avedi? Or the one about Humpty Dumpty, who tumbled downstairs, yet ascend to the, the throne and married the princess. Okay, I need to study up on my Humpty lore because I'm... Me neither.

Ivity, Avity! cried some. Humpty-dpty-dumpty, cried the others. Tell us another fairy tale. Tell us about trickle-down economics. There was a great hullabaloo. Only the fir tree held its peace, though it thought to itself, am I to be left out of this? Isn't there anything I can do?

All the fun of the evening had centered upon it, and it had played its part well. So it was then that the tree began to cry and say that the holidays made it think about its acts so that all the attention would be on the fur tree. It's very avant-garde to have a part of your fairy tale where, like, they pause to tell fairy tales. It's like, it's got a very inception vibe to it. Whatever, didn't even doodly do. This semi-sensient tree that can't act or move or speak, though, sure has big ideas. about whether it's doing a good job or not. The fat little man told them all about Humpty Dumpty,

who tumbled downstairs, yet ascended the throne and married the princess. And the children clapped and shouted, Tell us another one! Tell us another one! Where they wanted to hear about ivety-avity, too. But after Humpty Dumpty, the storytelling stopped. The fir tree stood very still as it pondered how the birds in the woods had never told it a story to equal this. Well, to be fair, falling downstairs isn't really a theme

a lot of bird stories. Humpty Dumpty tumbled downstairs, yet he married the princess. Imagine that must be how things happen in the world. You never can tell. Maybe I'll tumble downstairs and marry a princess too. Thought the fir tree, who believed every word of the story because such a nice man had told it.

Oh my God, this tree voted for Trump. I'm interviewed on CNN. You know, I'm also opposed to a billionaire tax because, hey, you never know, said the temporarily embarrassed future inanimate billionaire tree. The tree looked forward to the following day when they would deck it again with fruit and toys, candles and gold. Tomorrow, I shall not quiver, it decided. I'll enjoy my splendor to the full.

Tomorrow, I shall hear about Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps about ivety-Avety, too. All night long, the tree stood silent as it dreamed its dreams. And next morning, the butler and the mayor. maid came in with their dusters. I'm stuck in this dryer, cried the maid. Now my splendor will be renewed, the fir tree thought, but they dragged it upstairs to the garret, and there they left it in a dark corner where no daylight ever came. What's the meaning of this?

Tree wondered, what am I going to do here? What stories shall I hear? It leaned against the wall, lost in dreams. It had plenty of time for dreaming. as the days of the nights went by. Nobody came to the garret. And when at last someone did come, it was only to put many big boxes away in the corner.

The tree was quite hidden. One might think it had been entirely forgotten. Okay, so at some point this is shifted into a story about a corpse that doesn't know it's dead. And I feel like if he leans hard enough into the horror element, so he can still save it here. Right? It can be both, Hans said to himself as he continued.

It's still winter outside, the tree thought. The earth is too hard and covered with snow for them to plant me now. Yeah, and also I've been chopped down, and that's just not how trees work. I must have been put here for shelter until springtime comes. How thoughtful of them, how good people are. Only, I wish I weren't so dark here and so very, very lonely. It's not even a little air. It was so friendly out in the woods when they were.

The snow was on the ground, and the hair came hopping along. Yes, he was friendly even when he jumped right over me, though I did not think so then. Here, it's all so terribly lonely. Okay, so sunbeams speak, but not boxes. Got it. Okay. Learned the rules. Squeak, squeak, said a little mouse just then.

He crept across the floor, and another one followed him. They sniffed the fir tree and rustled in and out among its branches. It is fearfully cold. to a voice. It's fearfully cold, Wayne said. Except for that, it would be very nice here,

wouldn't it, you old fur tree? I'm not at all old, said the fir tree. Many trees are much older than I am. It's just that Hans has lost interest in me now, which is weird. Oh,

no. Where did you come from? Mice asked him. And what do you know? They were most inquisitive creatures. Tell us about, the most beautiful place in the world. Have you been there?

Were you ever in the larder, where there are cheeses on shelves and hams that hang from the rafters? It's the place where you can dance upon tallow candles, where you can dart in thin and squeeze out fat. Okay, well, now I think Heath found this story while he was searching for cheese porn. All right. It's neither here nor there.

Continuing, I know nothing of that place, said the tree, but I know the woods where the sun shines, and the little birds sing. Then it told them about its youth. The little mice had never heard the like of it. They listened very intently and said, My, how much you have seen and how happy it must have made you. Nah, I was a churlish, ungrateful fuck.

But that's okay, because I'm busy rewriting my personal history rather than confront the uncomfortable truth of my own asshole or race. I? Bertrie thought about it. Yes, those days were rather amusing. and he went on to tell them about Christmas Eve when it was decked out with candies and candles. Oh, said the little mice.

How lucky you have been, yelled Fir Tree. I'm not at all old, it insisted. I came out of the woods just this winter. I'm very legal. I'm really in the prime of life, though at the moment, my growth is suspended. I actually got this nose job because I have a deviated septum. It's actually really dangerous.

I don't even know what cocaine. What is cocaine? I don't even understand the word you said. How nicely you tell things, said the mice. I feel like these mice are being nicer than his bitchiness merits at this point, right? I'm 100% stealing how nicely you tell things the next time someone is in psychosis. The next night, they came with four other mice to hear what the tree had to say. The more it talked, the more clearly it recalled things.

and it thought those were happy times. But they may still come back. They may come again. Humpty Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess. Maybe the same thing will happen to me. It thought about a charming little birch tree that grew out in the woods.

To the fir tree, she was a real and lovely princess. Fur tree, give us your phone. Now, I'm going to text. I'm going to text. I just want to see if she's okay. I got it. Christmas.

Who is Humpty Dumpty? The mice asked it. So the fir tree told them the whole story, where it could remember it word by word. Little mice were ready to jump to the top of the tree for joy. The next night, many more mice came to see the fur tree. And on Sunday, two rats pitted a call. But they said the story was not very amusing.

This made the little mice so sad that they began to find it not so interesting. The rats were in middle school and their puberty. he made them disagreeable. Is it the only story you know? The rats asked. Do TikTok. Only that one, which he answered.

I heard it on the happiest evening of my life. Pandembaugh. I did not know then how happy I was. Hey, fun fact, kiddos. You won't know the greatest day of your life has been had until it becomes a memory. The present cannot compare it to you

and you'll spend every day of your life knowing every day is smaller. and smaller than the last. It's a very silly story. Don't you know one that tells us about bacon and candles? Can you tell us a good larder story? No. I do know one about a maid getting stuck in a dryer.

I don't know if you're interested. Then goodbye and we won't be back. The rat said and they went away. Gotta get back to saying when we leave Facebook groups and complaining about the moderators on all the subredits we post on. Yeah, not exactly the threat you think it is, you rat assholes. At last, the little mice took to staying away, too. The treaside, oh, wasn't it pleasant when those gay little mice sat around and listened to all that I had to say.

Now, that, too, is past and gone. But I will take good care to enjoy myself once they let me out of here. Yeah, maybe I'll take up some painting now that my invading Iraq days are over. Oh, sorry, that was a bush, not a tree. That was my mistake. When would that be? Well, it came to pass on a morning when we came up to clean out the garret. The boxes were moved and the tree was pulled out and thrown, thrown hard on the floor.

But a servant dragged it at once to the stairway where there was daylight again. Now my life will start all over, the tree thought. He felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams strike it as it came out into the courtyard. This all happened so quickly, and there was so much going around it that the tree forgot to give even a glance at itself. The courtyard adjoined a garden where flowers were blooming. Great masses of fragrant roses hung over the picket fence. The linden trees were in blossom, and between them, the swallows skimmed past, calling, Tla, Rila Rilaire Lee, my loves come back to me. But it was not the fir tree of whom they spoke.

That's not what Swallows say. This story makes no fucking sense. Yeah, yeah. I would have enjoyed them in. Cecil, will you give us a little Boston lady with the Tilar? Tarot, Tarot, Tarot, fucking Lee. Much better. Thank you. All right. Now I shall live again. It rejoiced and tried to stretch out its branches. Alas, they were withered and brown and brittle. It was tossed into a corner among weeds and nettles. But the gold star that was still tied to its top, sparkled bravely in the sunlight. Let me entertain Several of the married children Who had danced around the tree And taken such pleasure in it

At Christmas were playing in the courtyard One of the youngest seized upon it and tore off the tinsel star Let us take from the dead our souvenirs Screamed the bloodthirsty monsters Look what is still hanging on that ugly old Christmas tree. The child said, and stamped upon the branches until they cracked beneath his shoes.

Fuck you, tree. Fuck you. Take it. Social Security money. Take it. Bite the curb. Jesus. Oh, you're fucking step at me?

Jesus Christ. Okay, so the tree saw the beautiful flowers blooming freshly in the garden. It saw itself. and wished that they had left it in the darkest corner of the garret. It thought of its own young days in the deep woods, and of the Merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice who had been so pleased when it told them the story of Humpty Dumpty.

My days are over and past, said the poor tree. Why didn't I enjoy them while I could? Now they are gone. All gone. So only I had to receive the romantic affections of the world's most... children's book authors, and I could appreciate them. A servant

came and chopped the tree into little pieces. That's what you get. These heaped together quite high. The wood blazed beautifully under the big copper kettle and the fir tree moaned

so deeply that each grown sounded like a muffled shot. I'm sorry, wait. So did just the log with the tree mouth grow? or did all of them grown? I'm starting to lose

the visual here. It's more Cotulian if it happens the latter, I think. Remember when the Terminator he lowers himself into the thing and the thumbs up to the last?

This feels like just the tree's mouth was last so that it can moan like a muffled shot. There was a lot of sexual tension in that movie too. Also that. Continuing.

One last time we're about to close out this beautiful for children. That's why the children, who were playing nearby, ran to make a circle around the flames, staring into the fire and crying, Piff Paff. What? Sure.

Okay, yep, Piff Paff, maybe. In Denmark is what you yell around a fire. But as each groan burst from it, the tree thought of a bright summer day in the woods, or a starlit winter night, thought of Christmas Eve, and thought of Humpty Dumpty, which was the only story it ever heard and knew how to tell. And so the tree was burned completely away. The children played on in the courtyard. The youngest child wore on his breast, the gold star, that had topped the tree on its happiest night of all. But that was no more.

And the tree was no more. And there's no more to my story. No more, nothing more. What? All stories come to an end. Man, who would have thought that the end was, yeah. I'm going to leave and let the Grim Reaper tuck you in. So, okay.

Imagine being Charles Dickens, your hands hovering over your thighs, waiting for him to finish that to go. Well, all right. Let's head. Oh, my God. All right, Heath, if you had to summarize what you learned in one sentence, what would it be? Merry Christmas, everybody. I don't know. All right. And are you ready for the quiz?

I ready. All right, Heath, really, truly, this is one of my favorite children's stories. And as I always tell my kids, A, the unbearable pain of existence is the only solace you'll ever know from the terror of ceasing to be. Your life over. Your memory's gone. And all the hours of your days, he raced into the ether from whence they came, sleep tight. Yep. Yeah. Yeah.

That's what I can tell. that good. Yeah. Hey, what's a common thing? Older trees say to a young tree that can't stop reminiscing. A, quit being a sapling. B, leaf well enough alone. C, coulda, woulda, shoulda, would is spelled differently there.

Or D, one is the loneliest timber. I don't know why, but leaf well enough alone is, I think my favorite. Yeah, Jerry. Excellent. All right. So, see, I'm going to make you feel better about yours here. Okay. Tree porn is obviously an underserved market leading me to produce which debut tree porn movie in my soon-to-be-blossoming genre.

A, popping that cherry blossom. B. Birch, please. C. Back that ass. Ash up or D. Cedar I barely knew her. Oh my God.

Oh, my Lord. I thought it was going to be two burles, one cup in there. Oh, well done. Back that ash up. It's got to be C back that ash up. No, it's yours because yours is fucking better, which means you lose, actually. Yeah, right. Which means Noah wins.

All right. I want an essay from fucking Marsh. You know what? I would attack somebody who's 90 million here. Yeah. I like that we just get to throw out a pokey ball with Marsha. Yeah, right. Right. Well, for Tom, Noah, Cecil Heath,

and Marsh, I'm Eli Bosnick. Thank you for hanging out with us today. We'll be back next week, and by then, Marsh will be an expert on something else. You're making it weird. Now he's not going to want to come. Between now and then, you can hear more from Marsh on the No Rogan Experience.

And if you'd like to help keep our show going, you can make a per episode donation at patreon.com slash citation pod, or leave us a five-star review everywhere you can. And if you'd like to keep get in touch with us, check out past episodes, connect with us on social media,

or check the show notes. Be sure to check out citation pod. Dot com. All right, so who are we rooting for? Who are we rooting for? Um, Rob, he's the hottest. Oh, that's Steve Irwin's kid, right? Who's Steve Irwin?

What? The crocodile hunter? No, he's a dancer. Ugh. Should have bought a sports car. What? Nothing, babe.