Dear Christians,

My slippers say a general Happy Holiday instead of Merry Christmas because:

a)  there’s a LOT of fucking people out there that AREN’T CHRISTIAN.

b) December 25 is not even Jesus’ birthday.

c) it was originally a Pagan holiday, you stealing copycatter mo-fos.

So when someone passes you and wishes you a very Happy Holiday, hows about you try not being a complete douche and instead be thankful that anyone is even bothering to say hello, you ignorant twunt. (tnx to puss for that most excellent word)

Crankily,

P.S. My slippers also say, “Blow me.”

P.P.S. Highly offensive Christmas post from 2007. 

P.P.P.S Highly offensive Christmas post from 2008.

P.P.S.S.S. This.

Maybe it’s time.

Maybe not.

Lethargia. It’s real.

I’ve been cheating on you.

I’m so sorry.

No, no, it’s not your fault.  Please don’t cry.

I’m such a jerk. I’ve just been so busy, you know? I miss you, I really do…I just don’t have enough time!

Yeah, I know that’s no excuse…it’s just that she’s so much less demanding. She doesn’t care if I’m not funny or creative.  She doesn’t care about bad grammar.  In fact, I think she prefers a more 2 dimensional me. I don’t have to think around her. I don’t have to read or contemplate her stuff, I can just look at pictures!

Yeah, she runs with a much younger crowd, made me feel hip, I guess.  I just got caught up in the meaningless quickies she could offer in between classes, printing and work. I can hook up with her in the Johnson Center, in the library, in the back room of the print lab.  She’s not picky and only needs a moment to be satisfied.

And I wish I could say it’s over, but I can’t.  I’ve met a bunch of her friends and while they can’t hold a candle to your intelligence, your wit, your thoughtfulness, they’re still a lot of fun and they don’t ask for much…just a little update every once in a while, a little move on Wordscraper, a little comment here and there.

Yeah, I gave her my real name over there, I didn’t think!!! How did I know old stalkers would surface?  How could I have guessed?  But I’ll still keep you secret.  Even though she knows my real name, I don’t share the real me with her.  Only you babe.  Only you know how much I loathe Tom Cruise and Rush Limbaugh and Mann Coulter.  Only you hear about my neuroses, my hopes, my fears, my dreams.  Only you could understand my twisted sense of humor. HER friends wouldn’t want to know about all that. I even feel bad about cursing over there. They might start praying for me.

No, I’m not ending it, please don’t say that.  I still love you.  I’ll still come around when I can, really, I promise!!

I just received a box of presents from my parents and I can’t wait to share it with you.  You may have thought over the years that maybe I was exaggerating just a little bit about my parental weirdness, but you’ll see.  You’ll wonder how I manage to put pants on every morning.  I’ll be back soon lover.

Love,

But I just don’t get it.  So Jesus got born.  Whoop-de-doo.

You know how hard it is to get born?

Not very.

You know how hard it is to give birth?

VERY.

Wow.  Turns out I hate birthdays too. They just remind me of ripped taint.* And now I’m thinking of the Virgin Mary’s ripped taint, and that just seems wrong somehow.**

I think the biggest Jesus day should be Easter because becoming a zombie is way cooler and more interesting than getting born. I mean, I got born, you probably did too, I know fer damn sure my sons did.***

But becoming a zombie is truly for the special few.  There’s Jesus and Frankenstein, and oh, all those Nazis on Call of Duty. A Nazi zombie is really the worst kind of zombie I can think of. The most awful kind of human combined with the nastiest kind of undead. I wonder if Nazi zombies avoid eating Jew brains.

You know, now that I’m thinking about this, zombies have really got the short end of the stick. Zombies are all gross and seem like they probably smell really bad (cept Jesus of course) cuz of their rotting body parts and all that. Vampires, on the other hand, are all hot and exciting and make girl panties melt right off. When I was a teenager, I had Lestat. I lurved him until they chose Tom Cruisin-fer-a-Boner to play him in that horrible movie over Sting. 

What the living, I mean, unliving hell were they thinking?! I stopped lusting after Lestat immediately, or maybe it was after he became an international rock star.  Seriously, Anne Rice, those musta been some good drugs.

Now there’s a new hot vampire. My neighbor tells me that the Twilight books were written by a Mormon.  Are they allowed to do that?  Vampirism does not seem like the appropriate afterlife for a proper Mormon gal to be thinking about. Mormons aren’t even allowed to have coffee fer Chrissakes. And they have to wear magic underwear.  I know cuz I dated a Mormon once.  He got put on probation for having sex with me. Magic underwear my ass.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.  And that’s why I hate Christmas.

The end.

*Wonder if this is the first post ever to connect the birth of Jesus with ripped taint.

**Hell in a Handbasket, as they say.

***Now I’m thinking of ripped taint and my sons. What the hell is WRONG with me?

1. More plastic in our landfills.
2. Cuts on our fingers from steak knives.

SO FUCKING STOP IT.

Aggravatedly,

So don’t act like you don’t have time to watch it.

Fucking tornadoes.