Dec 5, 2020
Listen, I’m not trying to be an asshole here. I used to love Xmas just as much as any kid. Catching a glimpse of Santa nibbling on a cookie or hearing the patter of hooves on top of the apartment complex made sleeping unbearable. It’s just that I’m not sure I can bear grandma getting run over by a reindeer for the umpteenth time before even having a chance to banish my yard witch back to the shed and evaluate the leftover bowl of miniature Snickers and Candy Corn.
Out with the devil and in with the lord.
Because the problem with Christmas isn’t Christmas day, it’s the fact that we’re hyped for two months on the front end and then stuck with a stiff tab on the back end. Which equates to one sixth of your life forced into a whimsical play where everyone dresses like they’re from Norway in the 1600s.
And I know what you enthusiasts are thinking--I can simply choose to not take part. Which is about as easy as choosing to not take part in death and taxes.
“But it’s for the kids,” you say. Fair enough, but do you really want them learning that the plastic packaged gifts which magically appear under the tree that was cut down to end up in the dumpster came from a strange fucker who wants you to sit on his warm lap? Why not teach them real values, like patience leads to prosperity? And that violence in Walmart on black Friday is not how adults should behave.
I get it, there’s nothing wrong with spreading good cheer, but can we at least ease up on the carpet bombing of commercials for shit we don’t need like shiny new cars with ridiculously large bows and another collared shirt with a snowman tie? And can we do it every leap year just to freshen things up? It’s becoming Groundhog Year.
By the way, you do realize that mom infuses Santa’s Christmas cookies, right? That’s because she secretly feels his pain.