In the span of twelve months, I go from an infant in a top hat to an old man with a long beard.
I have become an iconic figure of el Día de Muertos, usually depicted as a skeleton wearing a fancy hat.
Fewer and fewer people are celebrating my holiday, with a movement to celebrate Indigenous People's Day instead.
I'm kind of like Santa Claus in Japan, except instead of bringing presents, I serve up artery-clogging (but delicious!) fried chicken.
Rather than being the Roman god of erotic love, I have been sanitized for Valentine's Day into a pudgy putto with an bow and arrow.
My relationship with my holiday goes back to at least 17th century Germany, when even then I delivered eggs to children.
I am made of aluminum and completely unadorned. Gather 'round for the airing of grievances.
How did I go from being Father of My Country to selling mattresses and appliances on Presidents Day?
Remember, remember the fifth of November, when my gunpowder plot was discovered before it had time to blow up Parliament.
I am a pumpkin or turnip, often carved with a face, and lit from within. Trick or treat?
Bloomsday is celebrated in June with readings from my most famous book, all the way to '...yes I said yes I will Yes.'.
I am a large hairy beast with horns. Unlike my counterpart, Saint Nicholas, I punish wicked children on December 5.
I'm not the official mascot, but I'm often seen in parades celebrating a holiday where people drink too much green beer.
Generally chosen by lot among the peasantry or church sub-deacons, I presided over the Christmastide Feast of Fools. Alas, Catholic and Protestant churches frowned on my feast.
We show up on the last day of Christmastide, bearing gifts of great value, which inspired the tradition of gift-giving during this season.
As part of a Welsh wassailing custom, I am a horse's skull mounted on a pole and carried around by a person hidden by fabric.
I'm a mathematical constant celebrated in mid-March. Many celebrate by eating a homophone.
I'll give you a winter prediction: It's gonna be cold, it's gonna be grey, and it's gonna last you for the rest of your life.
I am the king of Mardi Gras, elected by the krewes. I preside over a ball and toss my special doubloons to the crowds during the parade.
I'm a right jolly old elf, but my most iconic incarnation was developed by illustrator Thomas Nast in the late 19th century.
Roasted beans are thrown out the door or at a family member wearing a mask representing me on the day before Spring begins in order to clean house and ensure good luck.
I am a hollow log. Kids in parts of Spain feed me food daily in hopes that I will poop out presents on Christmas Day.
I'm usually depicted in children's drawings as a happy bird, which is weird since I'm going to be the main course at dinner.
I date back to the War of 1812, and am often seen at Fourth of July celebrations and other patriotic events.
There are 13 of us, and each night one of us will visit you and put either a gift or a rotting potato in your shoes.
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