So here we are again, like a 60-year-old widower revisiting the hoar house to have the company of a fugly 23-year-old crackhead for 2 hours. Now keep in mind I’m speaking objectively here; all of the preceding and following are fact-based conclusions that any reasonable person who honestly seeks to be fully informed (of which there are virtually none, excepting myself) would reach. That being said, Christmas is a cancerous cultural plague who’s endless mountains of money is wasted on presents for ungrateful little shits like my nephew Timothy in Sand Hill and donations to lazy drug-addled cunts who can’t be bothered to spend a little of that sweet sweet meth money on clothes (WHY DON’T YOU JUST USE THE MONEY YOU SPEND ON SANTA SUITS AND BELLS, SALVATION ARMY?!?), instead of where it could be put to better use via donations to American Atheists or Feminist Frequency or to clean my fucking toilet. I know how hobos are from personal experience, for the record: My Uncle Cousin Randolph was one and all he did was shit himself and teach me how to shoot up (for which I am forever grateful). Of course it didn’t help that he was retarded. In the literal sense.
Speaking of relatives, why the hell should we have to spend time with people we hate? And more to the point, why should we spend time trying to objectively assess why we have such bad relationship with these people and attempt to heal any scars and form or reform meaningful bonds with them in the name of humanity & appreciation of our universal brotherhood in a shared journey to the grave that we are ultimately responsible for making a joyous and worthwhile experience? I know I don’t, and somehow I still hate these people.
And why buy Christmas trees? Because you’re sheep who have to do what everyone else does. Again, I’m speaking from an unbiased standpoint, mind you, considering I’m allergic to pine and as a result my family was never able to buy trees for Christmas (which I’ve always assumed to be one of many reasons my father hated me no matter how hard I tried to please him). So I have no emotional investment in this. I’m just being rational, and excuse me if you can’t handle a little realism. Pussy.
I hope you enjoy your “Temporarily taking the time to treasure one’s precious and all-too-brief moments on Earth” bullshit. Merry Christmas, hippies.