Christmas Is Boring and Stupid

Sorry, Christmas lovers, but it is. Some may call me a Grinch, or Scrooge, or say I’m lacking in some insubstantial quality known as “Christmas spirit.” What the hell is Christmas spirit? I have to put up with this shit, and on top of that I have to pretend to be happy? Christmas is a time of year for nauseating cheesiness, tacky decorations, and valium-powered fake smiles because there’s so much manufactured stress inherent in this “holiday.” Let’s start with that last item, shall we?

Why is it that we, as a society, have agreed that what we all need is a day near the end of the year where we must exchange mandatory gifts with everyone we know? And don’t tell me it’s because we’re celebrating the birth of Jesus, because that’s bullshit. But patience, we shall cross that bridge in time.

When I buy a gift, it’s a matter of seeing something someone I know would like, and me having a bit of extra cash on hand, no matter what the calendar might say. Isn’t that what this so-called Christmas spirit is all about, caring and goodwill and all that other Hallmark(TM) bullshit? Because that’s the one thing that I find to be absent at Christmastime. Everyone is so worked up over buying all these presents, and trying to make them somewhat meaningful, or at least not total ass, that by the time they open their now-empty wallets and look back on all the hours of hard work put in, they find themselves bitter and angry. “Here’s your present, now fuck off.” Nobody says that, because that’s not good Christmas cheer, but they’re all thinking it. There’s also a lot of pressure for everything to be perfect this time of year, because if it's not, then you’ve ruined Christmas. And nobody wants to ruin Christmas.

At this point, I am getting really sick of typing out “Christmas” so many times, so I’m going to Futurama this fucker (yes, I just used Futurama as a verb, and I make no apologies) and from now on refer to the holiday as Xmas. And for all you angry crybaby Xtians out there, that’s not some attack on Xtianity, I am not taking trying to take the “Christ” out of “Christmas,” that X is something your own people invented. It’s the sign of the cross, for X’s sake! Also, I lied just now, I am trying to take the Christ out of Christmas, just not right now by using a damn letter.

I guess now is a pretty good time to talk about the whole Jesus thing. Yeah, I know, more tedious religion stuff, but unfortunately it’s relevant. Just think of this as a quick does of medicine right in the middle. It’s something to separate my social rant where I come across like the guy in front of the liquor store shouting about how John Ashcroft is a Nazi alien from Neptune who needs to kidnap babies to power his rocket ship to get back home so they can brainwash us with sugarfree gum, and the last part where I’m going to make reference to snowman ejaculate. I’ll try to make the transition as quick and painless as possible.

Assuming the Bible is true, which it is not, Jesus was definitely not born in December. Why? Because he was visited by shepherds, and unless the flocks they were tending were frozen lamb chops, there would be no reason for them to be in their fields. Of course, the Bible also says that Jesus was born during the reign of Herod the Great and while Quirinius was the governor of Syria. So this would place Jesus’ birth sometime before the death of Herod in 4 BC, and after Quirinius took office in AD 7. So Jesus was obviously born in some alternate reality where negative 11 years is a viable measure of time.

Of course, none of this matters because Xmas was never about Jesus X to begin with (side note: Jesus X is a great name for a monster movie). Xmas was a pagan holiday, celebrated on or around the time of the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. In pagan cultures, this is the day of the birth of the sun god, which in some ways Jesus was a sun god, but that’s a story for another post. The Romans called it Saturnia, after their sun god Saturn, and in Europe the druids honored their sun god Mithra with a feast called, I guarantee Xtians are sure to shit themselves over this, Yuletide. And what they did at this celebration will definitely sound familiar, they hung mistletoe, they brought pine trees into their houses, they lit candles and exchanged gifts. Though hey, at least there’s one less thing an atheist like me can lay at the feet of Christianity. At least those miserable bastards didn’t start Xmas.

So really all that’s left to complain about is the kitsch. Every year, once Thanksgiving is done, every single business in town goes out of their way to make sure not a single person can be able to forget that it’s fucking Xmas. Lights, streamers, little paper snowmen with eyes so bright you’d think they just shot a great big icy wad into the mouth of one of their snowbitches. And Xmas carols, god how I hate those. I’ve got nothing against the music for its own sake, but repeated everywhere ad nauseum they start to become personifications of tedium, and harbingers of madness.

And then there’s that big red fucker. No, not the Kool-Aid man, he hasn’t earned my hatred. At least not yet. No, I’m talking about Santa Claus, aka Kris Kringle, aka Father Christmas, aka Saint Nicholas. This magical immortal fat man who travels faster than the speed of sound to systematically break into every Xtian house in the world and render brutal judgment in the form of commercial goods. For many of us, Santa was the first lie we ever discovered, one perpetrated on us by otherwise loving parents. For this reason, whenever I see a giant inflatable Santa waving happily atop a car dealership: when I look into his crudely painted eyes all I see is betrayal. Now, those of you who want to jump on the anti-Santa bandwagon might point out the “it’s true on the Internet” fact that Santa Claus was invented by the Coca Cola Corporation. You guys are a part of the problem too, as Santa was a nineteenth century amalgamation of Dutch, German, and English characters based on a nebulous historical figure. Sorry assholes, I don’t need your lies to throw shit on Santa Claus.

Perhaps the most damning evidence against that fat bastard comes from the utterly disgusting song, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. That song has absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever. Here’s this reindeer with a bright red nose, certainly unusual, though nothing to get upset over. Yet they treat him like he’s some sort of disgusting freak. Those are some racist fucking reindeer! And does Santa ever step in and put a stop to this bullshit? Oh no, he’s got more important things to do. Meanwhile Rudolph is ostracized and alone, sleeping every night with a shotgun in his mouth, just playing with the trigger. Then suddenly Santa needs him for something, and surprise, surprise, look who’s suddenly everyone’s best friend. The song says after that all the reindeer loved him, but do you really believe that? Of course not, this guy is Santa’s bitch. Sure, they’re gonna be all nice to him when the big man is watching, but the second he leaves, that reindeer is going to get the shit kicked out of him. Because Santa is a reindeer slaver and Rudolph is his Uncle Tom.

Finally, to bring this exposé of a sick, sick charade to a close, we have a vast catalog of holiday specials and movies. These things always have the same message, believe in a fat magical adjudicator, and you will be rewarded with magic powers and kickass laser beams. Well, that’s more or less the theme, anyway. Sometimes they have to convince some people to have more “Christmas spirit” or whatever because the gumdrop tree is dying or some dumb shit, or sometimes they have to raise some money to save the orphanage/hobbyhorse factory by convincing some old guy to have more of said Xmas spirit, but it’s all the same shit. Believe in the fat man, reap insane rewards. It’s twisted and manipulative, and it ensures that we’ll have plenty of psychological problems all the way down the road. And that, cats and kittens, is the true meaning of Christmas.

There will be no labels for this post, because I hate you. Merry Christmas, fuckers.