Merry Christmas!

To all you merry little Christmas imps who've been listening to holiday cheer on WLIT since mid-November and have made my seventh consecutive retail holiday season my most "festive" ever:

You're all evil, Xmas addicts. You've turned a relatively benign family holiday upside down like the crucifixes in your blood-soaked bedroom. Your soul is darker than a shadow's asshole and slimier than a Jolly Rancher in Paris Hilton's twat. If there is justice in the universe, your genitals will dry up like ash and your earwax will burst into flame with every jingle bell ring. Your only blessing is that all the retailers you have tainted with your toxic aura this holiday season have not risen up as one and slain you. Every Santa, every elf, every denizen of Winter Wonderlands should piss on your screaming toddlers and puke directly into the gaping chest wound Rudolph gored into your flesh. May you shit broken Christmas balls until the end of time.

And have a happy new year, everybody!

Comments

[amyc]

Amen, brother!

[Reverend H.L. Spork]

What struck me as hilarious the day after I posted this was that it took me less than twenty minutes to write this, most of that taken up by the following argument inside my head: "'Cunt' satisfies my need to convey the seriousness of my holiday angst, but I've never liked that word. 'Twat' is okay, but it's an inherently silly-sounding word. 'Vagina' is okay, but it interrupts the flow of the post and clashes with the rest of the sentence..."

I shudder to think how many times female anatomy has sabotaged the meter of many a potential classic poem.

[eighmie]

Very well put, sir.

[Wife]

So really, the fact that you sat down to watch "The Grinch" with me was a bigger feat than I realized.