Thursday, December 25, 2008

Down with the fat man!!!!

Ahhhh…Christmastime! The time of year when we all seem to shat all sense of reason right out of our preverbal buttholes. That special time of year when semi-functional adults are reduced to out of control (from buyin’), blood thirsty, zombies. I tell you, it’s the most wonderful time of the yeeaaarrrrr!

Ughhhh…whatever. So, a few years ago I instituted a new policy toward Christmas giving. I bucked tradition and started giving my kids a gift from me, their ol’ man. The gift was usually something I was hopped up on goofballs about, something that I really wanted them to have. It was so sweet of a present, that I wanted all the credit for it. I wanted some of Santa’s spotlight, god damn it! Why the fuck should he get all the credit for my brilliance in finding the perfect gift?

It's time, though, to step into our wayback machine. Instead of going into the past, though, let’s fast forward to this year’s holiday madness (cause even though it’s called the wayback machine, it moves forward in time, too. I’m just clever like that). This year, I got each kid a few things that were super, extra cool. I had a hard time deciding what gift was gonna be from me, the ol’ man, and what was gonna be from Santa. So, as I was going through all the crap I bought, I got to thinking. Know what I was thinking? Of course not, why the hell would you be here if you did? I’ll save you the trouble. I was thinking: WTFMFF!!!! You (and me) as adults, work our asses off. Day in and day out, slavin’ away for the man. Right? Can I get an Amen?!?! No? Ok…

And every year, every friggin’ year, we take time out of our busy schedules to buy our loved ones all these gifts, which, I think we can all agree is a major pain in the arse. But, that’s not enough. Noooooo…then we’ve got to spend 17 hours wrapping all those suckers. And for what? So some imaginary, red velvet wearin’ fat man gets all the credit? Fucketh thateth! What on the Christ’s blue marble is wrong with us? Why are we perpetrating this lie?

Now, before you start accusin’ me that I’m a “Scrooge”, or just plain ol’ bitter (which I ain’t denyin’), let’s get the facts straight. I “love” Christmas as much as the next dude. But, c’mon!!! What are we doin’ here?!?! We’re lyin’ to our kids. And for what? So, when they turn 7, some smartass schmuck they go to school with can break their little hearts? As parents, isn’t that our job????

Ok. Let’s be honest with each other here. Tell me what do you remember better: The day you lost your virginity or the day you found out there isn’t any Santa Claus? I’d wager dollars to donuts you can name the exact time and place when the Santa farce finally came crashin’ down. It probably even happened something like this:

“Hey, Johnny (or Suzy). Guess what?”

“What, 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear?” Johnny (or Suzy) said.

“There ain’t no Santa Claus.”

Johnny (or Suzy) looked at the prick, dumbfounded. “What?”

“That’s right.” 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear said smugly. “There ain’t no such thing as Santa Clause.”

“First of all. I know you’re lyin’.” Johnny (or Suzy) said. “’Cause that’s twice you used the double negative.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but I outta kick your ass.” 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear threatened grabbing Johnny’s (or Suzy’s) shirt. “I’m tellin’ you, there ain’t no Santa.”

Johnny’s (or Suzy) eyes begin to well up. “No! You’re wrong!”

“No I’m not!” 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear laughed. “You’re stupid! You’re a stupid kid!”

Johnny (or Suzy) freed himself (or herself) from 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear death grip. “I hate you, 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear.” Johnny (or Suzy) screamed running across the school yard. “I hate you!!!!”

10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear laugh echoed through the playground. “Not as much as your mommy and daddy hate you for lyin’ to you!!!”

Hmmmmm…at least that’s how I found out there was no Santa. Sorta.

But, I digress…

So, how about this? How about for 2009, we all agree to drop the charade? Any new children being born in 2009 will not be told there’s a Santa. We can let the children already existing keep their beliefs. We’ll let nature run it’s course on them. But, any new kids get told the truth. Santa Clause is a coat tail ridin’, spotlight hoggin’, so and so!!!

I’m tellin’ you, it’s the way to go!!!
C'mon! You know you wanna