I hate Christmas

If you know me even a little, and my condolences if you do, you are well aware of my venomous disdain for Christmas. All holidays save Halloween, really, and even that with all those sugared rugrats can get annoying at times. That's why I like to keep all the lights off and let those bastards assume a serial killer lives here, biding his time through sharpening knives and painting clowns. Maybe it's a burnt out parenting thing; everyone either wants to see the mutants or they won't leave me alone. You with kids know exactly what I'm talking about. Or maybe the antisocialism (patriotism!) is simply increasing geometrically with each passing year. It's certainly not a novel sentiment --

"I see Captain Obvious has returned."

-- as I'm merely one of millions who engage in such officially frowned-upon aversion to banality, but for those of you that enjoy such pointless comings and goings draped in tinsel and turtlenecks splattered with egg nog, don't waste your valuable time nor mine trying to convince me, religiously or atheistically, as to why Xmas is numero primo supérieure and I won't do the same, except in reverse. Have you ever tried driving in reverse like a faux Steve McQueen in an over-the-top action movie? Me neither.













I imagine that once upon a time, many a lady and a few dudes would have liked a Steve McQueen for Xmas. I know my wife, one among many a lady and a few dudes, would like one of these:















I wouldn't mind his bank account and house in France, I can tell you that, the fucking bastard.

"Oh, that's fair. Just because he's talented and handsome and you're untalented and ugly is no reason to cast aspersions at the man."

True, as he's starred in many of my favorite movies.

Where was I?

"About to post a scantily-clad picture of what you want for Xmas, no doubt."















Well, yeah, but I'm also well aware of the impossibility of her ever appearing under my tree. I'm thinking something far more plausible: the elimination of Xmas itself. Which is proving more difficult than I had imagined, as my campaign to replace it with what it replaced isn't going too well. No one wants to subvert The Man even if just for a week? Quel dilemme.

A new tack; let's try The Reason For The Season®.














Everyone loves Santa Claus, right? Especially if it's Lightly Painted®, all jolly and drunken as he passes out cheap Chinese trinkets soon lost in a crumpled avalanche of glossy wrapping paper strewn at the feet of wingnut relatives, the ribbons hastily torn off by miniature candy cane fiends as they, in unquiet desperation, try keeping them on their heads while sprinting around the house like coked-up Larry Kudlows chasing after the last hooker but fail miserably because the glue has worn off.

Vomit.

On the flip side, no one loves monsters, and that's where the krampus enters the picture. Whether you were good or bad, it doesn't matter to this vile beast. And don't concern yourself about the receipt of lumpy coal either. You're getting a good birching.














Okay, given our cynical, postmodern age, perhaps a monster is too melodramatic. Those folks don't look too scared, do they. Plus there's that inconvenient notion about monsters not being real.

"Yeah, there's that."

Au contraire, mon esprit, unholy creatures do exist.

Wait, I simply want Xmas to go away, not set in motion a wave of unfettered cannibalism.

Back to the drawing board.

Hmm.

Do I get to choose who gets eaten?