So if you haven’t noticed, Christmas is now being celebrated earlier and earlier as the years go on. I’m pretty sure I saw Tesco advertising it in August this year. But what I’d like to know is, WHY. Why do people insist on celebrated this infernal holiday? I can understand why Christians celebrate it, what with it being big J’s birthday (sort of), but as atheists decided to make it their own, they also made it lose all purpose, as they often do. You can claim it to be a holiday of ‘giving’ all you want, but let’s face it, it’s more a holiday of ‘forcefully giving to other’s so they don’t feel bad, and hope you receive a much bigger thing from them’. The whole feel of Christmas is enough to make me want to play Call Of Duty 4 (yes, Christmas is THAT bad). Fake, pretentious joy everywhere you go and constant unnecessary lights, often in the shape of a fat gluttonous pervert who climbs down chimneys for fun, and manages to go down every last chimney in the world in the space of one night, even into the houses that don’t have chimneys. On a magical fucking sledge. With flying fucking reindeer. One of them has a fucking light bulb for a nose.
Everyone you go past feels a sense of euphoria while they say ‘wow everything’s so amazing, because I’m such a good person, and I’m totally enjoying the whole fakeness of Christmas right now’. While really what the person is thinking is ‘PRESENTS, PRESENTS, PRESENTS, PRESENTS, PRESENTS’. In fact the whole nation is so ridiculously over excited about a holiday they shouldn’t even be celebrating, that they actually buy themselves, or others, calendars leading up to Christmas day. Oh and did I mention they were filled with tiny, impossibly disappointing chocolates that taste a bit like plastic cheese? (The calendars I mean, not the people who buy them).
Personally I feel with every present I receive my soul dies a little, if them being highly disappointing wasn’t bad enough, you have to smile and pretend you ABSOLUTLY ADORE THIS PILE OF SHIT THROWN AT YOU. If one of my 2 friends came up to me and punched me in the face on Christmas and declared it to be my present, I would officially, according to the big book of Christmas rules, have to pat them on the back and thank them any way I can while in an extreme state of contained rage. And I don’t know about you, but I am NOT good at displaying gratitude.
Of course, the night before Christmas is never a fun one either. As a child it would take me hours before I could sleep on Christmas eve, and somehow, SOMEHOW, this still plagues me. Before it was some impossible sense of excitement that a strange obese man would walk into our house eat our mince pies (especially with mince pies being the best thing about Christmas), then deliver strange presents underneath a tree…an indoor tree. But now, it’s some sort of blind rage and dread that keeps me awake at that night, staring at my ceiling, wishing all my god forsaken presents were next to me, and the whole thing would never have to happen.
Fuck you Father Christmas, I hope you rot in hell for plaguing me with this abysmal holiday. If you touch my mince pies one more time, I will go round you’re Lapland-esque house and slit your throat.
Well…next stop, Easter. This world just keeps getting worse and worse.
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