there is no santa clausChristmas.

The machine of Christmas was developed by man in the name of a sacred man, Jesus, to drive man (modern, primitive or whatever) over the brink.

Stressed out crowding, useless spending, buckets of guilt, childhood traumas from the past, and neurotic behavior due to too many hours back home are some of the favorite things to forget during the holiday season. So this year, I’m not going home. “No money ma” which was easy and true.

Then you can watch. Watch the sickness seething all around you, the inherent cycle of desire and denial that you learned way back at the Toy’s R Us in Wilmington Delaware, strapped inside a shopping cart screaming, “I want This. I want That” me me me… knocking Ken and Barbie dolls off the shelves, all in the name of one day that rules the Wall Street World.

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Well f*ck you little brat with that lolly pop stuck to the side of your face, you’re young, pink and innocent now punk, but it’s already started. MR. GREED. MR. UNSATISFIED JOHNNY doesn’t DESERVE any new toys.

Suzie does. She’s been a good dog. Very good, Johnny’s learning to be a competitive little sh*t so soon. Learn to be another dissatisfied overweight soulless runner in the future race of rats. Kid, I hope you have enough sense to get as far away from your parents as possible during this season as soon as you are old enough.

Otherwise you’ll never get away from consumer overlord-ism and you’ll be just like them, only worse, due to the heaviness of planetary vibes that I can’t go into here.

Just look around, the big babies in the stores in their Adolph suits who are still crying “I want, I want” the last bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label two days before the birth date of the beloved Christ child, both ripping it out of the innocent cashiers hands: Which reminds me: kids don’t get lost in department stores, parents do! Cashiers are humans too.

Ladies, punching each other at the mall over who’s kid is going to get the last Power Ranger figurine? Mothers, the breeders of us little b*stards, for shame. From the shopping cart to the grave with greed and desire and the senselessness of spending hard earned cash on stupid gifts for people who will hate them and pretend to like them.

You have never been able to please these folks since you popped out of the womb, what makes you think you’ll find the perfect gift after 32 years? Remember, it was a pain in the ass and caused your mother great suffering that she’ll never forget. You may notice a pattern here.

In the name of Christ, if you feel like the Christmas spirit is something you might like to try again, go ahead. Hey, alternakids, why don’t you convince the boss to buy a real living tree this year? Lazy creeps. Tell him it’s a tax deduction if given to a charity. That’s sure to put the big baby in the X-mas spirit.

At work, Christmas is only good for parties and bonuses. They won’t be that great anyway, so indulge a little self-assertion and whine about another dead tree. Or if you’re feeling real generous, give some condoms to the hookers on the Square, buy them a drink. They’ve got lives too ya know…

Take intoxicants to get thee shopping done. I say don’t shop, and ignore your family, they’ll think you’re an alcoholic. Go to the Charles Bridge, take some acid, talk to God, hallucinate and have a happy holiday.