I, Scrooge

Well folks, the pendulum of time and misery has once more transported us into the Christmas season. And hereon this loveless evening, I’ll give the whole of mankind my pimply ass and share my personal venom. I’ve got a cold, as do we all on the east coast, I have a girlfriend who hasn’t contacted me in a month-and-a-half, and finally, I soon will have to dive once more into the pits of suburbia to prostitute myself before my family for food. I’m practicing the smile. I’m practicing the biting of the tongue. Snide jokes and Fuck are not permitted in my mother’s house. FUCK. Sorry. That was a warning shot. I’m letting off a lot of steam, otherwise i’m going to be lynched in my old neighborhood.

Scrooge is my hero in some ways. He was a realist. He just got soft in his old age. A bit of snotty Christmas bogarts get into his bedroom, wake him up, and take advantage of his fear of mortality and lack of sleep. Bah. Tiny Tim feels up his sister in the dark.

My problem with Christmas is and always has been that people are nice on it. The problem I see with this is that they’re not nice for any reason other than “’tis the season”. They’re not doing it because they want to, but because it’s seasonally required of them. Don’t bullshit me. I know you aren’t that good a person. Otherwise you would be like that all year. At least I’m honest. I hate Christmas. I hate people. I like kids because they’re not quite old enough to be inexcusably stupid. I hate dogs. I hate you. I hate the planet Fucking Earth.

I am Scrooge. I am not depressed. I am not lonely. I am without pity until the new year, and I wish you all the Clap on this Christmas season. And I hope you get it from Santa.

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