Monday, December 24, 2012


Dear Santa Christ,

Thanks a whole bunch for everything, you jolly old fuck. This year I went from living in an apartment to crashing as a house 20 minutes away from where I work. Lost some valuable, sentimental possessions, such as books, DVDs, collectibles and kitchen appliances. 80 percent of my furniture had to be scrapped. Since Hurricane Sandy blew across New Jersey and pissed over everything, my life has been upended, my future plans urooted and I'm forced to confront this harsh new reality.

Merry Christmas, you ursine, blubbery dickface.

You really raped Shittown and tore it an asshole the size of the Licoln Tunnel. Their altruistic relief organization is helping people cope and survive, yet it's run by the same inbred high school clique that controls the town like a Russian gulag. They're putting the same lunatics in charge of the asylum. Good luck with that.

The only thing bearable about the Christmas holidays are the people close to me. My girlfriend keeps me sane, which is an unbelievably difficult task. She tells me she loves me every day, a first for me. Most women I've dated are too busy struggling to get the cap off their Vicodin to pay me a compliment, much less tell me they love me.

I've had a bad track record of dating. If they're not batshit crazy, they're dumber than a bag of dead monkeys.

All that is ancient history.

Ancient like the Etruscans.

Remember them?

My girlfriend and I celebrated Christmas early. We unwrapped our gifts near our pathetically puny tree and spent the day lounging around and playing with our toys. We watched the DVDs she bought me and I played a few games of Assassin's Creed.  Most of my gifts were gaming-related. She knows gaming is not really so much a hobby, but an obsession. She got me Pathfinder, which I'm looking forward to playing at my local game shop one of these days. Also, she bought Fortune and Glory, a massive boardgame with over 150 pieces and an action-packed pulp theme I've been waiting for.

We celebrated Christmas early because she has to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas. It's just one of those kooky things with her work schedule falling on the holiday.

I traveled to my parent's house and the entire place is like Christmas on steroids. There are three trees, the halls are fully decked, and Christmas carols are playing on a continuous loop. It's enough to make even you shit a bowlful of jelly, Santa.
But I like it here. It's comforting and safe. The world is a chaotic bloodbath filled with lunatics of every stripe and love is as cold and as distant as a fading star in the night's sky, or an elderly Protestant couple, if that's a better mental image for you.

I picked up my 90-year old grandmother from her place and we drove over to my parents'. The first thing they greeted me with was smiles and Armenian food. Tonight we're havingthe traditional Italian fish dishes. Then we open our presents and roast chestnuts by the fire or some other Dickensian trope one does on Christmas.

The entire thing fills me with gratitude and humility. I'm thankful my parents are still alive and everybody is reasonably healthy. We can enjoy the holidays in each other's company, a rare and significant treat we mustn't take for granted. I see my elderly parents, still together and in love, in the home they built. It's this stability, this love transpiring within these walls, is why I turned out as good as I did, and aren't shooting customers in a Costco with an M16.

Christmas is a time forbeing together and giving presents to others, even if you don't know them. It's when we temporarily forget the world is a clusterfuck of danger and corruption and revel in songs and cookies and laughter. We see the eager anticipation in a child's eyes and the smiles of the elderly. We rejoice in ourselves and our loved ones. We reach out to those less fortunate than ourselves and show compassion and peace. This one time of the year when we put down our cudgels and hatchets and just exist with our fellow human beings.

Santa Christ, as you drink spiked eggnog from your rocketship orbiting Earth and peer down through bloodshot eyes at a weary and frazzled planet, remember we're not all monsters. Humans are capble of great acts of heroism and love. We just need a little prodding from time to time to remind us how fragile our lives are. The greatest gift we can give to others is our time and our talents.

Merry Christmas, ya fat fuck.

P.S. Timmy wants a pony. Don't stiff him like you did last year.

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