It’s December, and you know what that means? Yes, well I suppose it does also mean there’s a viable excuse for getting brain-numbingly drunk all the time, but that’s not exactly what I meant. We’ve entered the last month of the year, and it’s apparently the season to be jolly. I’ll put it rather bluntly; I f*cking hate Christmas. Sure, though I’m a faithless heathen I understand the religious significance (or, at least, its intended sentiment), but how much emphasis, really, is placed on that goodwill to all men?
No, anybody who’s had the soul-crushing misfortune of venturing in to any of our fine retail establishments would have likely been bombarded with sparkly, cheap tinfoil crap; polystyrene displays of red-nosed reindeer; porcine, blurry-eyed, red-suited drunkards with sloppily adhered cotton-wool beards; and the cherry on top of this sickening, commercial NoÃ«l Sundae – the caustic sonic violation of my entire being, Bony M’s Christmas album on repeat, interspersed occasionally with George Michael’s â€œLast Christmas.â€ The next time I’m assaulted with that latrine-bound onanist’s cloyingly sentimental warblings, I may actually give somebody my still-beating heart, just to save me from tears and quite possibly, life imprisonment for manslaughter.
â€œBut hey, there’s gifts and stuff!â€ I may hear some of the more materialistic among you cry. Sure, everybody loves free stuff, but Christmas gift-giving comes with its own pitfalls.You exchange gifts with people, filled with apprehension that they may have spent more on yours than you have on theirs. â€œOh what’s this? You’ve gotten me a gold and diamond encrusted Faberge egg, glazed with angel tears and presented in a box hand-carved from a three-thousand year old redwood?â€ Errrr. â€œWell I hope you like that box of Quality Street. The triangular ones in the green foil are quite nice, and those yellow toffee sticks are ok if you suck the chocolate off first and actually like your teeth being glued together, I suppose.â€ You’ll spend ages working out exactly how much you’ll spend on each person – basically putting a monetary value on your love. The worst? Shopping for your significant other. â€œOh, you don’t have to get me anything, loveâ€ they’ll often say. Bullsh*t. Just you f*cking try it. Go on, I dare you.
Where’s my Christmas spirit? It’s in a bottle, and it’s called vodkaâ€¦and it’s the only way I’m going to make it through the month alive.
Here’s the news we didn’t post because I’ve been digging myself a bunker from which I shan’t retreat until December 26th.
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Last Updated: December 3, 2010