((This column rated R for a damn good reason. You don't like naughty words, go read something else. You have been warned.))
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That's right, fuck it. Fuck it right directly in the asshole. Only the human race could be so sadistic as to come up with a holiday like Christmas. Only the human race could be so masochistic as to keep celebrating it. Are you listening?
Sandwiched in between the Celebration of Gluttony and the Celebration of changing the last number when we date our checks, we have this: The Celebration of Greed. Pound for pound, no other holiday is as all-around detrimental to the people celebrating it (although Valentine's Day, with it's drastic rise in suicides, comes in a close second; but that's another column.)as Christmas. It takes it's toll on people's money, it drains their energy, it consumes all of their free time, and it reminds each and every one of us why we cannot stand our relatives. And yet we keep doing it. We're fucking sick, we are.
And then we have Santa Claus, a mascot which has nothing whatsoever to do with the guy who's birthday you assholes are supposed to be celebrating (save, possibly for being an uncreative acronym of Satan) who spends every waking hour looking over your shoulder to make sure you're not cheating on your taxes or fucking your neighbor's wife. Gee golly garsh, what a pleasant thought. Moreover, this fat pederast sneaks into your house while you sleep, already aware of who you are and whether or not you are looking at computer porn in your free time, and leaves little packages filled with god-knows-what behind, just for you. I shudder to think.
But nevermind that. Nevermind the blatant greed and hedonism, the terrifying prospect of Satan Claus, the fact that Jesus would be pissed off if he ever caught you Christians doing this shit. Even if you manage to see past all that, there's still good old gift-giving.
Look, I find nothing wrong with giving gifts to people whom you'd like to give gifts to. That's your perrogative. It's when these selfsame people start expecting these gifts from you, or worse, that you start feeling morally responsible for getting them gifts, that I call it a disease. I recently spent three days with a friend of mine, one of which consisted of little other than wrapping presents, and one of which consisted of trips to and from various stores in search of trinkets and baubles to give to people she had met all of once in her entire life. It was a cold, long, miserable day, and at the end of it she was so strung out she started snapping at anyone who crossed her path. What the fuck?!
Have we all gone mad? This self-mutilation for people we hardly know just boggles my mind. Robert Heinlein, in his Future Past stories, refers to the Twentieth Century as the Crazy Years, a time when the whole world went sort of mad for a while, and forgot most of the basic logical precepts upon which society is built. It's times like these, when I am afforded the chance to sit back and honestly LOOK at the decadence and depravity of a holiday originally celebrating the birthday of an influential religious figure whose beliefs were almost the diametric opposite of those set forth by this holiday, that I tend to agree with Mr. Heinlein.
You assholes, and you know who you are, had better shape this holiday up, and fast, because old Satan Claus is out there, and he's just getting stronger.
Merry Motherfucking Christmas.
"Quit this world, quit the next world, quit quitting!" -Sufi proverb.